Chapter 9 #2
She nods slowly. "Then that's what matters.
" She reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear—the same gesture she's made since I was a little girl.
"I don't care if he's the President of a biker gang or the President of the United States.
As long as he treats my daughter right, he's okay in my book. "
I laugh—a wet, surprised sound. "That's it? No lecture about making good choices?"
"Sweetheart, you survived three years with a monster. You got yourself out. You're sitting here, alive and whole, telling me about it." She cups my face in her hands. "That tells me everything I need to know about your choices."
The tears come again—but these are different. These are relief and love and the overwhelming feeling of being seen, being accepted, being home.
"I love you, Mom."
"I love you too, baby girl. Always have. Always will."
I stay for about four hours.
We talk about everything and nothing—her job at the hospital, the Steelers' chances this season, the neighbors' new dog that won't stop barking.
Normal things. Mundane things. The kind of conversation I haven't had in years.
She makes me lunch—grilled cheese and tomato soup, my favorite from childhood.
We eat together at the kitchen table, and for a little while, I'm just Ripley Tiernan again. Donna's daughter.
A woman with a family who loves her.
When it's time to go, she walks me to the door. "You'll come back," she says. It's not a question.
"As soon as I can."
"And you'll call. More than once every few weeks."
"I promise."
She pulls me into a fierce hug, holding on like she's afraid I'll disappear if she lets go. "You tell that man of yours," she says into my hair, "that if he ever hurts you, he'll have to answer to me. And I know where to get a gun."
I laugh, even as tears prick at my eyes. "I'll tell him."
"Good." She pulls back, holding me at arm's length. "Now go. Before I change my mind and lock you in your old room."
I walk down the front path, lighter than I've felt in years.
Behemoth is still parked at the curb, exactly where he said he'd be.
I slide into the passenger seat, wiping my eyes.
"Everything okay?" he asks.
"Yeah." I look back at the house, where my mother is still standing in the doorway, watching. "Everything's good."
The nightmares come again that night.
Different this time.
Not Cain in the apartment, but Cain in the clubhouse.
Cain walking through the main room, through the halls, up the stairs.
Cain finding me in Levi's bed, wrapping his hands around my throat, whispering you thought you could escape me as the life drains out of my body.
I wake up screaming.
Leviathan’s there immediately, pulling me into his arms, murmuring words I can't quite hear over the pounding of my own heart.
I cling to him, gasping, trying to separate the nightmare from reality.
"He was here." My voice comes out ragged. "He was in the clubhouse. He found me—"
"He's dead." Levi's voice is calm. Certain. "He's dead, Ripley. He can't hurt you anymore."
"I know. I know that. But it felt so real—"
"I know." He holds me tighter. "I know it did. But it wasn't. You're here, with me, and you're safe."
I bury my face in his chest, letting his heartbeat steady me.
Slow and strong and utterly reliable.
An anchor in the storm.
"I thought they'd stop," I whisper. "The nightmares. I thought once he was gone, they'd stop."
"Trauma doesn't work like that."
"Then how does it work? How do I make them stop?"
He's quiet for a moment. "You don't make them stop. You learn to live with them. To carry them without letting them crush you." His hand strokes through my hair. "And you don't carry them alone."
"I'm so tired. I'm tired of being scared. Tired of jumping at shadows. Tired of waiting for the next bad thing to happen."
"I know."
"I want to be normal again. I want to be the person I was before."
"You can't go back to who you were." His voice is gentle but honest. "That person doesn't exist anymore. But you can become someone new. Someone stronger. Someone who carries her scars instead of being buried by them."
I pull back, looking up at him in the darkness. "How do you know that?"
"Because I did it." He brushes a tear from my cheek. "After the war, after everything I saw and did, I thought I'd never be whole again. I thought the nightmares would eat me alive. But they didn't. I'm still here. Still fighting. Still living."
"Does it ever get easier?"
"Yes." He kisses my forehead. "Slowly, painfully, but yes. It gets easier. You just have to keep going."
I curl into him, letting his warmth seep into my bones.
The nightmare is fading now, retreating into the shadows where it belongs.
It'll come back—I know it will—but for now, it's gone.
"Stay with me," I murmur against his chest.
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise?"
His arms tighten around me. "Promise."
I close my eyes, letting myself drift. The fear is still there, lurking at the edges, but it's quieter now. More manageable. And somewhere beneath it, something else is growing.
Hope.
Fragile and tentative, like a seedling pushing through cracked earth, but there.
I fall asleep with Levi's heartbeat in my ear and hope blooming in my chest.
The next morning, I make another decision.
I find Levi in the main room, talking with Zenon and Behemoth.
They all look up when I approach.
"Can I talk to you?" I ask Levi. "It's important."
He nods, following me to a quiet corner near the window. "What's on your mind?"
"I want to start looking into teaching programs." The words come out in a rush, before I can lose my nerve. "Online courses, certification requirements, whatever I need to do to get back on track. I want to figure out how to become a teacher."
Something shifts in his expression. Softens. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I square my shoulders. "I'm tired of letting Cain's voice define me. Tired of believing I'm worthless, that my dreams don't matter. You said I get to decide who I am now. Well, I'm deciding. I want to teach. I want to make something of my life."
Levi is quiet for a moment. Then a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth—rare and genuine and beautiful.
"Good," he says. "That's good."
"You'll help me? Support me?"
"Whatever you need." He takes my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. "I'll be right here."
I squeeze his hand, feeling the hope in my chest grow stronger.
It's not going to be easy. I know that.
There will be setbacks and struggles and days when the fear comes roaring back.
But for the first time in years, I have something to work toward. Something to believe in.
A future that belongs to me.