Chapter 35
Iwake to the sounds of Beck moving around in the kitchen. I listen for a few moments, smiling when he curses as the unmistakable smell of burnt food permeates the air. I gather the comforter around my body and pad down the hall to see what he’s up to.
“Good morning. Why didn’t you wake me?”
He smiles. “You looked so warm and cozy under the covers; I didn’t want to disturb you.”
I lean against the wall, taking in all the golden skin on display. “Isn’t it a little dangerous to cook around grease with so few clothes on?”
Beckett scoffs. “I have clothes on.”
“I can’t imagine a pair of boxer briefs will offer much protection against a grease splatter. But, if you want to risk burning such a sensitive area...”
Beck grabs the nearby pot holder and shoves it down the front of his underwear. “There. Problem solved.”
I laugh at the ridiculous oval-shaped bulge. “I sincerely hope you plan on washing that before you hang it up again. I’m pretty sure things that touch your junk aren’t supposed to go near your food.”
He raises an eyebrow. “If I recall correctly, you were begging to touch my junk just last night, and you’re about to go near your food.”
I roll my eyes. “And here I thought you were a gentleman.”
Beck crosses the kitchen and cages me in against the wall. “If you want a gentleman, Pres, I’m more than capable of delivering.” He presses his hardness—and the potholder—into me, which is equal parts arousing and amusing. “But if you want really fucking dirty... I’m more than happy to provide that service as well.”
I shiver. “Beckett, I cannot have a serious conversation with you while that thing is down your pants.”
He nibbles on my earlobe and dips beneath the blanket to palm my butt. “So, take it out.”
“What happened to no reciprocation?”
He drags his tongue down the nape of my neck as one of his hands dips between my legs. “That was before I spent the entire night rock hard pressed up against your ass. Right now, I wouldn’t be opposed to a little tit for tat if you’re up for it. You might want to check for an indentation on your ass, by the way. I wasn’t kidding about having the boner from hell all night.”
I start to laugh, but it’s choked off when his finger teases my entrance. “Beckett.”
He places a soft kiss on my shoulder when the comforter falls down just enough to expose it. “This feel good, Pres? Do you want me to keep going?” He dips the tip of his thumb inside before pulling out and dragging it higher. “It sure feels like you do, but if I’m wrong, you just say the word, honey.”
My toes curl when his thumb begins making lazy circles over my clit. “Don’t stop.”
The moment Beckett’s finger slips inside of me, I shove my hand down the front of his shorts, remove the damn potholder, and fist his length.
“Fuuuuuuck, Pres.” He pulses in my hand as I flick my thumb through the bead of moisture at the tip.
Beck and I develop a rhythm—his finger pumps in and out of my body while my hand moves up and down his shaft. Just as a delicious ache is forming low in my belly, the screech of the smoke alarm echoes throughout the room.
“Shit!” Beckett shouts, pulling away and looking at the smoke rising from the pan. He turns off the burner, switches the fan to high, and opens some windows. “Shit. Goddamn fuck fuckity smoke alarm!”
I pull the comforter around me more securely and head to the front door. While I’m swinging the door back and forth, trying to fan some fresh air into the room, I see my father’s truck coming up the drive.
I slam the door shut and plaster my back to it. “Crap! My dad’s coming!”
“What?” Beck exhales in relief when the smoke alarm finally shuts up.
“My dad!” I repeat. “He’s coming up the driveway, and I’m naked!”
He laughs. “Well, then go get some clothes on.”
“Beckett!” How can he be so nonchalant about this? “I’m naked. The sun’s barely up. It reeks like sex in here, and I’m betting that scent is even stronger on your hand! And my dad’s coming!”
The infuriating man leans against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest. “Honey, you do remember we’re thirty years old, right?”
I growl. “And I’m a married woman! I’m married, and I’m standing naked in your house, first thing in the morning, looking and smelling like sex!”
His expression instantly darkens as he clenches his jaw. “Right. How could I forget such an important detail like the fact you’re married to another man? I’ll try my best not to make that mistake again.”
My face falls. “Beckett, I didn’t me?—”
“Go get dressed, Presley. I’ll take care of your dad.”
“You two do realize that half the windows are open, and I can hear everything you’re sayin’, right?” My head swings in the direction of my father’s voice. “Don’t worry about me; it sounds like you kids have some things to sort out. I was just headin’ out and heard the smoke alarm. Wanted to make sure everything was all right. I’ll talk to you later.”
I can feel all the blood rushing to my face in mortification as I hear my dad’s truck kicking up gravel. “Oh, God.”
Beckett grabs the pan off the stove, tosses it in the sink with a loud clank, and grips the edge of the counter with his back turned to me. I can see his muscles tensing as he takes labored breaths.
“Beck—”
He spins around, fists clenched and nostrils flaring. “I said, get dressed, Presley! Now!”
My blood immediately turns cold when I see the look on Beckett’s face as he’s yelling. My feet can’t carry me back to the bedroom fast enough. I slam the door, lock it behind me, and put my hands on my knees, telling myself to calm down. Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop the tears from pouring down my face as I begin to hyperventilate. I fall to the floor, chest aching, gasping for air. I whimper when I hear the doorknob jiggle.
“Pres, open the door.”
My forehead moves from side to side on the hard floor, but I can’t speak. I’m nauseated as my lungs wheeze, and hacking coughs wrack my body. Black spots dot my vision.
“Presley, goddammit, open the door!” The knob jiggles harder, and something slams into the wood, making me jump. “You’re scaring the shit out of me. Don’t make me break this damn thing down.”
I wail, lost to the panic, trapped in a loop of awful images that won’t stop flashing through my head. I curl into a ball and rock back and forth, begging a God I no longer believe in to make it stop. Another series of curses and bangs before the door to the bedroom blasts open, with a furious man standing in the middle. I immediately scramble for safety.
“Presley, damn it, stop moving!”
When he grabs at me, I kick my legs, landing a solid blow somewhere that makes him grunt. I look around, frantically trying to find an escape route. The window would take too long, so my only hope is getting past him and out the door. Unconcerned about my nudity, I hop up and over the bed and start sprinting for the door, arms flailing when I see him coming at me from the side. The wind is knocked out of me when he tackles me to the ground, but I keep fighting. I can’t let him win. I won’t ever let him win again.
“Get off of me!” I scream at the top of my lungs, digging my nails into his arms. When that doesn’t work, I clamp my teeth down, pulling back when my mouth fills with the metallic taste of blood.
“Jesus Christ, that fucking hurt! Presley, what’s the matter with you? Calm the hell down.”
“I said, get off me!” I keep squirming, refusing to give in, refusing to let him beat me down again. I know if I do, I’m dead. He’ll kill me for sure this time.
He lies on top of me, using his weight advantage to immobilize me. “Honey, you gotta calm down before you really hurt yourself. It’s me, Pres! Beckett! Baby, you’re scaring me. You need to snap out of it.” He tightens his hold. It feels like there’s a boa constrictor wrapped around my lungs. “Please, Presley, snap out of it. Tell me what to do to make it better. I’m so sorry you’re going through this. I’m so fucking sorry, Pres. Just please, fucking come back to me. I need you. I need you, baby. Please.”
I don’t know which part finally makes it register. Once my mind clears, and I realize who I’m with, I release a shuddering breath, which is easier said than done with over two hundred pounds on top of you.
“Beck... can’t breathe.”
“Shit. Sorry.”
He immediately sits back, which allows my lungs to fully expand. I lie on the floor with my eyes closed, trying to regulate my breathing. I know Beckett is staring at me. I can feel it, especially when he releases a choked curse. He’s probably cataloging every little scar on my back from the lash of Sebastian’s belt. The razor-thin marks on my hips from my own pathetic attempts to distract myself from the agony I felt on the inside. The fucking initials carved right above my backside, so my psychotic husband could see his name on me every time he took me from behind.
I carefully angled my back away from Beckett last night, but now he’s seeing me in all my shameful glory. There’s no sense in trying to hide my body from him now. I’m sure all the little pieces clicked together while I was in the process of having a meltdown. The only man I’ve ever truly loved is going to know that I broke his heart and ran straight into the arms of a devil. Beck’s going to see how weak I was to stay with a man who tormented me daily simply because it gave him a sick sense of satisfaction.
The marks on my body are nothing compared to the ones you can’t see. And now, thanks to my epic panic attack, Beck is intimately familiar with those invisible scars. He’s well aware the girl he fell in love with no longer exists. That my mind is so warped, there’s no turning back. I can’t believe I snapped like that. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before. Usually, when Sebastian would come after me, I would retreat to this special place in my mind where I felt suspended from reality. I was always fully aware of what was happening, but I had somehow figured out how to numb myself against the horror of it all. I guess I’m not so numb anymore, am I?
The mind is a tricky thing. The longer I’d been away from Sebastian, the more hopeful I became. I actually believed the old me was coming back. I felt in time, I’d be okay. Just this morning, I thought I could even be worthy of Beckett’s love. His forgiveness. But if my freak out earlier taught me nothing else, it’s that I’m too damaged. I’ll never be the same, I’ll never be able to have a normal relationship, and now Beck knows that. He knows I’m not worth the effort.
“Pres.”
I hear him shifting behind me, right before he covers me with a blanket. See? That right there proves how disgusting he finds me.
“You don’t have to say it, Beckett. I know.”
“You know what?”
“That I’m pathetic. That I’m crazy. That you’re better off without me in your life. If you can just give me a few minutes to get dressed, I’ll be on my way, and I won’t bother you again.”
“Well, clearly you don’t know because I wasn’t going to say any of those things. I would never even think any of those things.”
“It’s okay; you don’t need to spare my feelings.” I gingerly sit up, careful to keep the blanket wrapped tightly around me.
“Presley, look at me.” When I make no move to do so, he adds, “Please, honey. Just look at me.”
When I finally get the courage to turn around, I find Beck sitting back on his heels, his eyes bloodshot and glassy. His spine is straight, his fingers are spread, palms down on his knees. I cringe when I see the teeth marks on his forearm, little droplets of blood pooling in them.
“I didn’t... I didn’t mean to bite you. I didn’t realize it was you. I’m sorry.”
“I know, Pres. It’s okay.” His tone is even. Soft. “Do you need a glass of water?”
Now that he mentions it, my throat feels like the Sahara. “Um... yeah, that would be nice.”
Beckett nods. “I’ll be right back.”
I take advantage of his absence to dress as quickly as possible. Thankfully, at some point this morning, Beckett must’ve picked my bra up from the hallway floor and brought it in here. He’s just coming back with a tall glass of water as I’m pulling my jeans up my legs.
I take the glass from his extended arm. “Thank you.”
I tilt my head back and drink. I had only planned on taking a small sip, but I wind up gulping down the entire thing. Beck wordlessly offers to take the empty glass from me and sets it on the dresser.
He nods to the bed. “Do you want to have a seat? Or if you’d prefer, we can go out to the living room.”
I sigh. “Beck, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you don’t need to baby me. This would be a lot easier if I just left.”
“Honey, if you want to go back to your folks’ house, I’m not going to stop you. But I will follow you, and I will wait as long as it takes until you’re ready to talk to me.”
I’ve already burdened my parents enough. The last thing I’d want is for them to know about what just happened, so I sit on the edge of the mattress, rubbing my temples, trying to alleviate some of the tension. “What exactly do you want to talk about?”
Beck takes a seat on the floor directly in front of me. His back is propped against the dresser, and his long legs are stretched out in front of him. This room isn’t huge, so if I stretched my foot out just a little bit, we’d be touching.
“Have you ever talked to a professional, Pres?”
I frown. “About what?”
He never breaks eye contact. “About what he did to you. Have you ever talked to a professional—or anyone, for that matter—about it? Or have you been bottling this up inside yourself, suffering in silence?”
My eyes fall to my lap. I suppose there’s no point in denying it anymore.
I lift my chin. “Beckett, I have at least a dozen injuries that never healed properly because I wasn’t allowed to go to the hospital. When would I have been permitted to go to therapy?”
He’s careful not to react, but I can see the shadows lurking behind his eyes. “It doesn’t need to be a therapist. It could be a support group or a trusted friend. You had friends in New York, didn’t you?”
I give him a sad smile. “No.”
Beck’s forehead lines with creases. “Not a single friend the entire time you lived there?”
I shrug. “There were a few in college... but as you know, I left after the first year. From that point on, anyone I had contact with was connected to Sebastian somehow.”
“How long have you been living with this, Presley?”
I shake my head. “You really don’t want the answer to that.”
He swallows. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know. I know our situations are completely different, but one thing I’ve learned from all my shit is how valuable having a safe space to talk is. How meeting people who understand what you’re going through can help validate that you’re not as isolated as you feel sometimes. Why do you think I’ve been working so hard to get this program up and running? It’s because I’ve learned firsthand how powerful a support system is. As fucked up as my head is right now, I guarantee it would be much worse if I was still trying to keep it all bottled up. If you won’t talk to me, that’s okay. But you need to talk to someone.”
I think back to the first time Sebastian hit me. We were on vacation in Sint Maarten. I had never seen a more beautiful place; I believe I had referred to it as heaven on earth. We’d lie on the beach during the day, go boating, or sip cocktails by the pool, which I thought was particularly fun because I was only twenty at the time. We’d dine on exotic cuisine, then spend the next several hours in bed. Back then, I was caught up in our whirlwind romance. All of the exciting places I’d gone and the things I’d seen. It was a welcome distraction from everything I’d left behind in Georgia.
Then, about five days into our two-week vacation, Sebastian started behaving strangely. He’d snap at a waiter for no apparent reason. Disappear for hours at a time, only to come back drunk and disheveled. He blamed it on stress from work and claimed he just needed some time to cool off. On our tenth day in the Caribbean, which was coincidentally our first wedding anniversary, Sebastian had a big all-day celebration planned, but that morning, he got an email from work that upset him. To this day, I don’t know what it was about, but he said he needed to take care of an issue. He didn’t want my day to be ruined, so he encouraged me to spend the day on the beach, promising he’d be finished by dinner, then we could spend the rest of the night celebrating.
I hadn’t seen or heard from him all day. I ordered room service for dinner in our private villa and ate it on the couch, watching some reality TV show. When ten o’clock rolled around, and I still hadn’t heard from him, I became angry. When Sebastian finally returned three sheets to the wind about an hour later, I gave him a piece of my mind the second he walked through the door. When he backhanded me so hard, I stumbled into the wall, I was shocked. He immediately apologized, begged for my forgiveness, and promised he’d never do it again. I think I was so stunned, I believed the lie. When he kissed me tenderly, telling me how beautiful I was, how lucky he was that I chose him, I actually started questioning my sanity. At one point, I thought I had imagined the whole thing. That maybe I had dozed off waiting for him to return, and he was just waking me from sleep with his sweet kisses.
The next night when we returned to our villa for the evening, he had accused me of flirting with a waiter. That evening, when we had sex, he was rougher than he had ever been before. He was vulgar and demanding, calling me his dirty little whore, which I’d later learn would become his favorite term of endearment for me. On our final day on the island, Sebastian had woken me up by straddling my chest and pumping his erection, aiming it at my mouth. That was the first time he told me that my wifely duty was to serve my husband, however and whenever he pleased. That if I couldn’t satisfy his needs, there were plenty of other women who would. In retrospect, I recognize the manipulation for what it was. Still, back then, I was young, and I was so determined to create this fairy tale life where heartache didn’t exist that I was blinded by it. So, I let him use me and demean me because I thought that’s what my husband needed to be sexually satisfied. I had convinced myself I’d learn to enjoy it eventually.
“Pres, you still with me?”
I blink out of the memory to find Beckett closer now, kneeling in front of me.
“Sorry. I spaced out.”
“How long, Presley?”
I sigh. “Just over ten years.”
Beck’s sharp intake of air causes me to look up. His eyes are closed, and he’s taking deep breaths. He hasn’t said a word, but they’re filled with questions when he opens his eyes. Beckett lifts one of my hands and kisses each knuckle individually. “It kills me to see you hurting like this. Will you please consider talking to someone? A lot of therapists take virtual appointments if that’d make you more comfortable. If you’d like, I can get you the names of the people we’re working with for the lodge.”
“Why are you being nice? You were so angry with me just a little bit ago.”
“I’m not angry with you,” he corrects. “I’m frustrated with the situation.”
I hang my head, resting it on the top of Beckett’s. “I hate feeling so weak. I hate even more that you’re witnessing it. After everything I did... I don’t deserve your kindness.”
He wraps his fingers around each one of my calves, kneading the muscles. “I already told you. We were young. We both made mistakes. And as far as you being weak? I’m calling bullshit on that. The strength it must’ve taken to survive what you did, for as long as you did, is incredible, Presley. You just need to figure out how to be at peace with the past so you can look toward the future.”
“Hey, Beck?”
“Hmm?”
“I’d very much like your help findin’ someone to talk to.”
His warm breath blows on my hands as he exhales. “I’d very much like that too, darlin’.”