Chapter Three
Molly
I stare up at the ceiling fan whirring above me, wondering what the hell Rhett thinks he knows about Tyler, and how I don’t know it already. I live with the man. I think I’d know if he were living some secret life. Then again, I’ve been proven over and over how good Tyler is with manipulating people. He even laughed once about it, thanking me about how I’d taught him emotions so he could use them to manipulate more people into doing the things he wanted them to.
I’m not sure why I laughed at it at the time. Maybe it’s because I really believed it was a joke, or maybe it’s because I didn’t want to see him for what he truly is. Holden says that’s what toxic relationships do to a person. They twist you up in knots so you don’t know what to feel. Then, just when you think you can leave, they turn the love on again, hard and heavy, so you start to question why you ever thought of leaving in the first place. You’d think something like that would be easy to see, but it’s not.
A truly manipulative person can turn something as simple and beautiful as love into a laundromat spin cycle.
Holden is right. Rhett is right. My gut is right. Once and for all, I need to get out of this relationship, and I need to do it as safely as possible. I pull a notebook out of my bedside table and set the ink into motion just before my phone buzzes. I reach for the distraction and I’m thankful when I see Holden’s number pull up on the screen.
Holden: I found your friend Rhett.
My heart squeezes then floods my chest with heat.
Me: What?
Holden: Turns out we know each other. We ride in the same MC.
They already know each other? MC? What? This can’t be in his job description. He’s taking a personal interest , right? He must be.
I ask Google if a therapist calls me outside of appointments to check in, is this normal?
Response… some therapists are open to texts and calls from clients outside of normal appointments, particularly if the client is feeling overwhelmed.
I blow out a breath. Clearly, I’m losing it. This is definitely a situation where I might be overwhelmed. Contacting Rhett probably makes sense to him in the same way it makes sense when a pharmacist checks with the doctor for a prescription. Technically speaking, Rhett is my prescription tonight.
I’m overthinking this. I’m sure the touching today was involuntary.
My stomach turns and a wave of nausea works its way up my esophagus. I’ve been feeling like this every morning lately. I think it’s my body’s way of telling me that it’s time to make a change. I Googled that answer as well.
Holden: I remembered you talking about a friend of your brother’s that worked construction awhile back. I took a leap and called a few companies asking for him. Turns out, Rhett’s a popular name up there.
Sorry, Holden, but Rhett’s not even his real name. That said, I imagine there are more than a few Ryans working construction in Alaska.
Hopefully Rhett’s not pissed. Since the whole relocation thing, he’s been more private than ever about his personal information. I can’t really blame him. He spent quite a while being chased by these loan sharks his parents tricked him into dealing with before they passed. He needs a fresh start while they catch these guys, and I’d never do anything to jeopardize his safety.
Me: Oh yeah? What did he say?
Holden: He was glad I reached out. He’s been worried about you. Small world.
Me: Small town.
Holden: That too, lol. It’s nearly dark. He said he’s meeting you at sundown. Did you prep like we planned?
Why are we moving on from Holden being a biker and coincidently friends with Rhett so quickly? This is kind of big news. I mean, how well do they know each other, and for how long? Not to mention, Holden rides a motorcycle? My thighs ache as my mind draws a picture of him outside of his office. A big, strong man covered in ink, climbing onto his bike. I wonder if he takes his tie off to ride, or if he tucks it into his button-down, rolls up his sleeves, and rides like a professional badass.
Dear God, what am I doing? I shake my head and stare down at my phone, typing out a response.
Me: Yeah, I’m ready. Just writing my note now.
When I first started meeting with Holden, we went over the basics of leaving a toxic relationship. First and foremost, I’m not to tell my abuser that I’m leaving. I’m supposed to write a short note that offers closure but lacks too much emotion. I should leave the note in a general area of the house, then leave undetected to avoid any blowback.
Holden: Good girl.
Good girl. There it is again. My body heats with some kind of feeling I’ve never felt before. I read the text again and again. That can’t be in the code of ethics for therapy, right?
I put this into Google as well but there’s not as much on this topic, instead, just a bunch of Reddit forums with opinion pieces. As fascinating as it is, I’m not interested in a fourteen-year-old’s opinion on how ‘ good girl’ is anti-feminist. I, in fact, like being told what a ‘good girl’ I am, even in this clearly, non-sexual way.
Why is that?
I ask Google.
Why do I like being called a good girl?
The results are clear. The term ‘good girl’ taps into feelings of validation and affirmation which lead to a feeling of connection, recognition, and intimacy.
Makes sense.
Me: Well, I appreciate the extra mile. I’m not sure I’d be leaving today if he hadn’t threatened to carry me out of here.
Holden: I wish I could do it myself.
There’s that twinge again. The one where my heart flips and my soul twists all at once.
Holden: You’ll be safe with Rhett. He’s a good guy. Just trust him, okay? I know it’s going to be hard for you to trust for a while, but he’s a good one.
Me: I know… and so are you.
Three dots dance across the bottom line for what seems like forever. I’m not sure what I meant by what I just said, but I’m sure it was platonic. I’m not the kind of girl that comes on to her therapist thirty minutes before she leaves an abusive relationship. No, that’s not me, though waiting for his reply is torture.
Finally, the message comes through.
Holden: Call me the second you get somewhere safe.
I blow out a heavy breath and smack my phone against my face. I can’t believe how dumb I am. Why did I tell him he’s special? He’s a therapist. It’s his job to check in with me. I respond with an okay, then toss the phone onto the bed beside me.
Dear God, I hope it’s not really this hard on the outside.
My note to Tyler is short and sweet, mostly because whatever I say usually goes in one ear and out the other anyway. I don’t think he’s ever truly cared about me or my feelings. I think he just went through the motions because dealing with me created an outcome he desired. A partner who, despite her pain, will still provide sex, income, and a sense of belonging.
It was all manipulation. I hate myself for letting him touch me. I hate myself for believing the good was real. I hate myself for trusting he felt anything for me… ever.
I shake my head as I scratch down the words.
‘I’ve tried for so long, but I think it’s time we see what else is out there. I truly do only wish you the best.’
It’s true, I do. Even after all the bullshit, I still hope that whatever it is he’s hiding, whatever life throws at him, I hope it’s kind. Deep down, we’re all people trying to make things work, and I know Tyler’s childhood set him up for darkness way before he had a chance to choose it.
The dishes stop clanking and heavy footsteps rattle the pictures in the hallway before Tyler pushes open the bedroom door with a tray of chocolate-covered strawberries in his hand. “Hey, babe. You’ve been so quiet today. You okay?”
The love bomb. He must sense that something is off. I can’t fall back into the trap. I tell myself that over and over again, but like a broken machine, my brain wants to believe he’s genuinely changed.
How? Less than twelve hours ago he was screaming at me, belittling me, refusing to look at me when I was crying my heart out, desperate for affection.
This man has not changed. The words are on repeat in my head, reminding me of how truly broken I am.
“Yeah.” I wrinkle my brows and hold my hand over my temples. My head is pounding all the sudden. “Isn’t the game still on?”
“The Raiders are killing us, so it’s not really a game anymore. Besides, I miss you. Tell me about your day. How are you feeling? What are you reading? Did I see you leave earlier? Where did you go?”
I could probably pretend to go to the grocery store, never come home, and he wouldn’t notice until dinner time.
“Therapy. Dr. Beck moved my session to today.”
He narrows his heavy brows. “A Sunday? That’s weird. I thought doctors liked their weekends.”
“He has a busy week, so he made time for me.” That’s a lie. I called his emergency line and asked for the appointment, which I’ve never done and I’m still feeling guilty about, but I needed a voice of absolute reason right now. That said, I’m not sure why I don’t tell Tyler that. Where I was this afternoon doesn’t matter anymore.
I tuck the book into the bedside table and grab a berry off the tray that he settles onto the bed. “Sorry the game is shit.” Why am I small talking? I hate small talk. “So, I’ve actually been wanting to talk to you all day about something.” My stomach tightens and my breathing gets shallow. Why did I tell him I need to talk? I was going to leave a letter. I was going to run. It was my plan. The plan I paid loads of money to make… with a professional.
I’m spinning out.
“Sure.” He smiles and grabs a berry for himself before tucking his shoulder beneath the pillow on his side of the bed. His beard is short and scruffy, and his Broncos jersey is stained with something red and sticky. He’s never really been the type to take care of himself particularly well. “What’s up?”
I contemplate an alternate story, but nothing comes to mind. Instead, a flurry of movements scratch at my legs. This man screamed at me all night last night over my need for reassurance. He watched me cry and he couldn’t conjure a single emotion. He believes that his value is the only value that matters. And now, he’s here with chocolate and a fake smile trying to make it all better?
Frustration and anger rattle through me like a train pulling into Grand Central with busted brakes. I stand from the bed, toss the berry back onto the tray, tuck my phone into the pocket of my hoodie, then pull the backpack from under the bed. Holden had me pack a go-bag a few months ago in case I needed to leave in a hurry. I was also supposed to plan two escapes from every room in the house. This room, I’d leave through the doorway or the ground level window behind me.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Tyler’s tone changes as though the mask he was wearing has slipped.
“I’m leaving.” I toss the note on the bed and pop open the window behind me. He hasn’t stood yet, so I think I could make it to the front door, but I don’t want to chance anything, not right now. Right now, I need to crawl out this window and start running for the woods. The snow is heavy, but there’s still visibility. I pull out my boots and slip them on quickly as my hand shakes, then pop open the window, and start climbing.
“What are you doing?” His tone is sarcastic, and I think I sense laughter.
I don’t stop to answer. I just keep going, climbing one foot over the other into the frigid cold. I’ve never left like this before, so I’m not sure what to expect, but he doesn’t do anything. He just sits there and laughs, watching me snag my jacket on the windowsill, then fall into the snowbank like a fumbling idiot.
“You always have been a dramatic bitch, haven’t you?” he groans and shuts the window. “You’ll be back.”
I want to scream and tell him I won’t be back! That, in fact, I’m gone for real this time. I want to yell until I’m blue in the face that I’m not ever turning back again, but what good what that do me? Instead, I push out of the snowbank and up onto my feet, trudging down the dimly lit driveway toward the headlights at the edge of the forest as I dial Holden.
He picks up on the first ring. “Where are you?” he asks as his voice wraps me like a warm blanket.
“I’m on the edge of the woods, walking toward Rhett’s headlights. I got out.”
“He’s not following you?”
I glance back at the little cabin I once thought I’d grow a family in. The little place I picked out with Tyler on a day I swore we’d be together forever. “Nope. He’s not moving at all.” I blow out a breath, watching the mist gather in the cool air around me. “I feel dramatic, like maybe I didn’t need to jump out the window.”
“Just keep moving. He’s shocked right now. I doubt this is over. Just keep going toward the tree line. Do you see Rhett yet?” Holden’s simple directions make taking each step easier.
Rhett’s big, black truck sits at the edge of the tree line against a blanket of pines that rise up and over a small mountain in front of the dark purple sky.
“Yeah. He’s coming toward me.”
“Good girl. Keep walking. Let me know when you’re with him.”
For a moment, the only sound around me is the crunching snow beneath my feet and Holden’s breath in my ear. Even my normally noisy brain has gone silent. It’s peaceful, like I’m leaving all the self-doubt behind. Like without Tyler’s voice in my head, there’s space for thoughts that don’t revolve around fixing us. Space for thoughts that don’t include wondering why I don’t matter to someone who claims to love me.
Rhett’s massive frame reaches out for me, and I bury myself against his chest, dragging in the scent of pine on his jacket. It’s not a cologne he’s wearing. It’s just how he smells, how he’s smelled since he got up here. I think it’s from working outside all day. “Jesus, trouble. I’m so fuckin’ glad you came.”
I nod, wicking away freezing tears as I stare up at my brother’s best friend. The one I most definitely don’t have feelings for, despite the current swelling warmth in my heart. “Yeah, I’m good. He didn’t even move from the bed.”
“Okay, well… that’s good, right?”
“I mean, yeah, it’s good. I’m glad I’m gone. I’m glad it’s over, but I guess I thought there would be a more intense end to the whole thing.”
“You call Holden? He’s worried about you.”
“Yeah. He’s on the line right now.” I nod toward my phone and put it on speaker.
“I’m with Rhett, Holden. Thank you.”
Holden clears his throat. “Good girl. I’ll see you tomorrow in therapy. Text me if you need anything tonight.”
I glance up at Rhett, searching his face for an expression that lets me know he thinks it’s weird Holden is calling me a ‘ good girl’ too, but there’s nothing but concern and relief.
“Thank you… for everything. I’ll, ugh…” Why don’t I want to let him go? Why do I wish he were here with me, with us? I sigh and pinch my lips together before saying, “I’ll talk to you in the morning.”
“See you then. Sleep well.” Holden disconnects the line, and I sense a bit of disappointment in his tone, though I’m sure I’m imagining it. He fulfilled his professional purpose. His job is done for the night.
Rhett checks in every direction as though he’s looking for assholes, then wraps his big hands around my waist as he helps me up into his truck. I shouldn’t love the strong, gentle way he touches me, but I do. He’s careful the way he grips my hips, and gentle in the way he ushers me in.
There’s another big truck parked behind him with the engine running, but I don’t ask questions. I assume it’s the buddy he was talking about earlier. The one he was bringing in case things got bad.
Rhett rounds to the driver’s side of the truck, and though I’m ecstatic to be done with Tyler and safe with Rhett, I’m not as happy as I thought I would be. I, in fact, am a little sad. I shouldn’t be. I’m about to start something new, something better, something for me.
I can make new friends. I can stay out until all hours and blare my music, and no one can stop me. I can work all kinds of hours. I can make cereal for dinner, and no one will complain. I can have a feeling without fear of repercussions. My brain is free of his bullshit. I’m free of his bullshit. It’s everything I need!
Yet, as I watch the little house up on the hill fade away, a crushing pain weighs my heart like a misplaced bag of sand. I know the feelings aren’t for Tyler. They’re for the dreams I had, the hope that I bought into, the years of my life I spent trying to fit a square peg into a circle, the time I’ll never get back.
Rhett’s rough hand lands on my bare thigh. I hadn’t gotten my escape clothes on yet. I’m only wearing the oversized t-shirt I usually wear to bed and a hoodie. Then again, I wasn’t expecting him to touch me or my thigh. “You okay?” His tone is as deep and comforting as his touch is.
I’ve never been so comfortable with Rhett that I’ve leaned on his shoulder or cozied up to him, but right now it’s where my body has landed, against his solid shoulder with the heavy scent of pine and cedar surrounding me. “Yeah. Just tell me you have some vodka. I need like an entire night of bottles up, sad music, and snacks.”
He nods toward the back seat where a load of chips, cookies, and ice cream are layered. “I figured you’d want some snacks, and yes, I have vodka. You gonna be okay if Maverick joins us?”
“Who’s Maverick? That the guy behind us?”
Rhett moves his arm and snuggles me into the perfect nook of his frame. I have to say, it’s been a long while since I’ve been held like this, with intention and purpose. It’s almost like he really wants me here. It feels good. “Yeah. He’s part of the MC I’m with. Good guy. He just got back from a long stint in Wyoming.”
“What was he up there for?”
“Oh, he’s a lineman. They had a bad storm, and he was doing his thing. He rents a few acres on my back lot, but he’s barely there. Anyway, I think he should stay around tonight in case Tyler tries to pull some shit. It’ll be good to have backup.”
I wonder again what it is I don’t know about Tyler, but I don’t have the mental capacity right now to handle it yet. I mean, what if he was cheating on me this whole time, or robbing banks? Or maybe he’s a big-time drug dealer who makes people swallow bags of cocaine to get it across the border. I did see stacks of cash in his dresser one day when I was cleaning. I should have asked about it, but I figured he was on a bender about not trusting banks again and I didn’t have the capacity to manage the lecture. Sort of how I don’t have the capacity for anymore right now. It’s a defense mechanism of some sort, I’m sure. “Yeah, he can stay. If you like him, I’m sure I’ll like him.”
Rhett chuckles low, and the vibration rumbles through his chest and into my ear. “Who is this subdued girl I’m talking to right now? Where is that spark of energy and all that mouthy sass I love so much?”
I lift my head for a second and glare at him. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m not mouthy.”
“You most definitely are the mouthiest girl I know. That’s why your trouble.”
I roll my eyes and settle back onto his chest. “Oh, I’m gonna be trouble tonight. Trust me.”
“There ya go,” he groans playfully as he twists the dial up on the radio. He has it set to classic country.
“So, ugh, how well do you know Holden?”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. He told me he rode with you, and I thought it was weird.”
He lifts his chin. “That your therapist rides a motorcycle?”
“No. I mean, yes. It’s weird that he rides a bike. He doesn’t seem like the type.”
Rhett laughs under his breath. “We call him Ghost because he checks out for months at a time. I think he gets preoccupied with work. I guess you two have that in common.”
“Whatever! I don’t get preoccupied with work. I work when work needs to be done.”
“And you disappear for months at a time.” He laughs and squeezes my shoulders closer to him. “I like it. You know what you want, and you do what it takes to make it happen.”
My working never bothered Tyler. I think he liked me busy. It meant there was less burden on him to show up for us. Maybe I should thank him for that because his lack of desire pushed me to open the flower shop in town that I’d wanted forever. My friend Rosie agreed to go in on it with me and we’ve since turned it into our passion project. I don’t know what I’d do without the place. Having the shop keeps me grounded in something outside of myself. It gives me purpose. It’s become my life.
Red lights flash behind us, distracting me from my thoughts. I turn back to see a car taking a left turn, shining a spotlight on the fishing poles in the back of Rhett’s truck.
I drag in a deep breath. “You, ugh, you remember that day out on Glacier Lake? You pulled like three trout and everyone else went home empty-handed.”
He laughs and pulls into the long driveway of his cabin, parking at the side of a three-car garage before turning toward me and running his finger over the scar on my forehead. “And you slipped on the ice and went home with a set of redneck stitches. How could I forget?”
“You carried me home that day. You read me books and brought me snacks while the rest of your friends bitched about cutting the day short.”
He bites back the sweetest grin. “You were pathetic looking, and I was raised right. Besides, I thought your brother was going to kick my ass that day. I was supposed to be keeping an eye on you while he went back to grab the spud bar. When he came back, you were bleeding all over the ice.”
My gaze meets Rhett’s and there’s a spark, but this time it feels different. It starts at the base of my neck and tickles down my back, settling between my thighs with a heartbeat all its own. “Well, I’m not sure how you keep getting stuck with me, but thank you. Turns out, you’re a pretty hard worker yourself.”
His rough thumb lifts slowly and brushes against my cheek. “It’s never work taking care of you, trouble.”
My heart skips a beat, then two. I can’t let this go to my head. Rhett is like family. He’s a buddy. He’s helping his best friend’s little sister, just like Holden is a therapist who’s helping a client. These guys are just being nice.
That’s all this is. Kindness.
I suck in two quick beats of air, and reach to open the truck door, thankful vodka is in my near future.