Chapter 33 #2
Shallow breath still whistles into her lungs, mascara smudges the edges of her big, beautiful eyes, and her mouth flounders for a second as if trying to find words.
“You’re safe.”
“H-he’s gone?” She swipes at her nose, glancing fearfully at the closed door.
“He’s gone, and he’s not coming back.” I gently brush the hair from her face and wipe away a fresh tear with my thumb when it falls.
Her shoulders wilt, her head dipping forward to rest on my chest as she tries to get herself under control. I wrap my arms around her and wait, rubbing my hand up and down her back soothingly.
We stay this way for who knows how long, her head leaning on me with the occasional hiccup and me resting my cheek on top, her heart rate finally coming back down to normal. I inhale her sweetly soft scent, taking comfort in the solid feel of her in my arms.
My thoughts race, all the way back in time to another image of someone equally as panicked…equally as violated. Except it’s not an image, it’s a reflection. It’s me. A much younger me with skinny limbs and boyish features.
“I know I’m fucked up,” she murmurs against my chest, the noise slightly muffled.
I jerk my head up, cupping her face and forcing her to look at me. “You are not fucked up.”
“I feel it,” she whispers, fresh tears still gathering.
The bridge of my nose prickles, and I admit the only thing I can think of. “Sometimes I feel fucked up too.”
The memories I refuse to acknowledge, the incessant drive to create a world where I’m in charge of my own environment, and the constant masking that sees me perform as court jester—all of it born of some fucked-up situation I realistically had no control over.
And slowly, over time, all of those things infiltrated the cracks of who I once was, forming into hard lines to fuse me back together into who I am today.
A creature reborn. Still damaged, but strong.
“Why?” The space between her eyebrows creases and she swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand.
My molars clamp together, a crawling sensation prickling beneath my skin. I never talk about this, never even think about it. But she deserves this small grace, to not feel so alone with the broken bits she tries to hide.
“How much do you know about my father?”
She goes still, scanning my face, which feels nothing more than a mask of stone. “Barely anything, aside from his business ventures, and…and that he went to prison.”
I nod once, a lump forming in my throat as I lower my hands and brace them on the couch on either side of her. I know there is little to nothing about Jack Walker online, because me and my family fought damn hard to keep it that way when everything unraveled.
“The prison thing is a long story, and one that isn’t mine to tell…” I think back to those hellish weeks when our family lay in tatters, Mason facing a sentence of twenty years for a crime he didn’t commit and my mother distraught.
“But he was—” I rub the back of my neck, feeling the long-ignored anvil of my childhood weighing on my chest. “He did things that were…inappropriate.”
Suddenly I can’t meet her gaze, instead looking out of the floor-to-ceiling windows where the bustling city conducts her usual business.
Skyscrapers, landmarks, and the sweeping Hudson River.
A rat race of hustle, from street level to penthouse.
I love this city, but I can’t deny that it holds some dark memories to go with the good.
“Chase.” Pepper uses one hand to slowly draw my face back, and I lean into the warmth against my cheek, feeling my stubble scratch her palm. “Tell me.”
I turn my head and kiss her palm gently, before taking hold of it and lowering it into her lap.
“He used to sneak into my room at night when everyone was asleep, and I—” My voice falters and I clear my throat. “I was too young to understand what was happening, but I knew that I didn’t like it.”
Tears fill her eyes again for a whole new reason. “Oh Chase, I’m so sorry.”
She slips her arms behind my neck and pulls me into her, crushing our foreheads together.
I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight to anchor myself into the present.
I’m not that defenseless boy anymore. I’m a grown man with an empire at my fingertips, and my father rots in the ground where he belongs.
“Don’t be sorry for me, I survived. Just know that I understand what it’s like to feel broken, and you never need to hide that part of yourself from me.”
I wash the ghosts of my past away with one long look—drinking her in like a starving man in the desert—eyes glistening and full of compassion, smooth skin and the most beautiful soul beneath it all.
She might pretend to be this big, hard character to the world, but I see the real her.
The soft one who loves fiercely and fights for the ones closest to her.
Who fights for people who don’t have a voice.
“That man.” Her voice is a low, rough whisper. “I went to school with his younger sister, and they used to throw big parties at the start of each summer.”
I still, my stomach twisting with dread.
“They had a huge house by the river and everyone always wanted to be invited.” Her eyes gain a faraway look as she treads an old path in her memory, a sad smile ghosting over her lips. “And I never was, being the weird kid in foster care who always had secondhand clothes.”