Chapter 38 - Wolfson #2
“You were legendary.” She gestures at the table, the wall, then the floor where we finished, keeping her words low enough for my ears only.
“Makes me question your honesty about this inexperience you claimed to have. I mean, up until an hour ago, I thought great sex was a myth. Now I know the real myth is you.”
“Careful.” My lips twitch. “You might want the myth forever.”
“I do.” Her eyes widen with a flash of worry before she blinks it away and smiles. “Go. Talk to your family.”
With the blanket still draped over my shoulders, I hold the edges together against my chest and walk into the living room where all the people I love most in this world are waiting.
Everyone watches me approach in that Strakh way, attentive and over-protective, waiting for the next emotional grenade to go off.
I pause in front of Frankie and hold out the journals. “Thank you for writing all of that and letting me read it.”
“Sorry I was so pushy about it.” She accepts the books.
“Don’t be. You gave me the guts to write my story.” I gesture at the journal on top. “And to share it with you. All of you.”
Her eyes shine instantly.
“No tears.” I shake a finger at her. “I’m shirtless, and if you cry on me, you’ll be tempted to cop a feel, and your husbands will make it weird.”
Leo throws a pillow at my head.
I dodge it.
Frankie ignores him, her hands trembling around the books. “You’re sure you want us to read it?”
I never told anyone the details of my ten months in Rhett Howell’s cage. Not until Dove.
“Yeah.” I nod at the journal. “It’s all there.
The dark stuff, the deranged conversations with myself, and all the brilliant verbal smackdowns I gave the doctor.
Whatever you think happened, it’s worse.
And it’s better. And it’s over. Read it.
” I yawn. “Or use it as a coaster. Prop up a wobbly table. Pee on it. Just don’t let Leo pee on it. ”
Before I lose my nerve, I let out a slow breath and shrug off the blanket.
It falls to the floor without a sound.
The room goes dead still as all eyes fixate on my bare torso.
I’m sure they stole glimpses when I had my meltdown in the shower. But this is the first real show-and-tell.
The scars across my chest and arms announce every nightmare I survived.
The arrow wound, the river impact, the surgical slices, and the mismatched, patchwork of crooked seams where skin was forced shut without mercy.
None of it blends, some spots still pink, some thick, some translucently thin, all of it monstrous like Frankenstein’s creature.
What can I say? I was taken apart and put back together wrong.
I force myself to stand there, to let them look, because hiding the damage hasn’t made anything easier.
Frankie swallows. Kody’s face turns to stone. Leo’s eyes darken with grief so sharp it cuts. And Monty…
The air thickens, squeezing around my ribs as he rises to his feet. Then his arms are there, banded around me, quivering with all the un-Monty-like emotion he keeps tucked away.
My throat clicks. My hands shake, too. My body wants to flinch, but it doesn’t because this is my dad. My biggest supporter.
He carries so much guilt for rejecting Gretchen when she got pregnant with me.
He blames himself for my childhood trauma, my captivity, and every terrible thing I endured.
But I don’t. I don’t blame him for a damn thing.
He didn’t abuse me or hold me captive in the Arctic.
He showed up in my life when I needed him the most, and he stayed. Every day, every hour, he’s been here.
Voicing this stuff isn’t really my style. But I wrote it. Every bit of my gratitude and love for him is in the journal.
“I want you to read it, Dad.” I step back and grip his shoulders. “Will you?”
His lips press together, trapping the emotion he can’t hide in his stormy eyes. Then he nods.
“Cool.” I turn to the others, my gaze latching onto Frankie’s wet cheeks.
“What?” I lift both brows. “Were you expecting a dramatic monologue? A speech? A group hug? Not happening.”
“That’s not…” She dashes away her tears, her anger rising to the surface as she examines my scars. “He used a scalpel on you but didn’t bother to heal the wounds. I mean, he was a fucking surgeon!”
“Yeah, well…” I rub the back of my neck. “He was stingy with the stitches. I never got an infection, so he must’ve put antibiotics in my food.”
Monty exhales like a man preparing for war.
I swallow and try to come up with a joke, but nothing lands.
Dove steps to my side, and her hand skims around my waist, her fingers slipping into the dip above my hip, holding me together. Who needs stitches when I have her? She’s my seams.
That’s when it hits me. With my scars out, my story written, and Dove standing at my side, I don’t feel the urge to curl up on the floor. I’m not blacking out or tripping into the scary-movie reruns of my life. My vision is clear, my mind lucid and present.
“No more hiding.” I meet their eyes, one by one. “I’ll talk about it instead of running from it. But right now…” I spot a bottle of vodka on the coffee table. “I say we drink.” My eyes lift to Kody. “Is that a new flavor?”
“I made it a while back. Been saving it for this moment.” Kody frees a rare smirk. “It’s cherry-free vodka.”
“What the fuck is cherry-free vodka?”
“Vodka that lost its cherry.” He looks me straight in the eyes. “Like you.”
I stare at him, waiting for my chest to burn with the defensive coil connected to my virginity.
But it doesn’t come.
Instead, something lighter pushes up under my ribs and tumbles out in a carefree laugh. “I’ll take that. I earned the hell out of it.”
Kody’s smirk grows into an expression that could damn-well be considered a smile.
“I’ll get some glasses.” Dove steps toward the kitchen.
“No.” Kody waves her back. “We’ll do it family style.”
Monty reclaims his spot on the couch as I grab the free armchair and pull Dove onto my lap. She settles across my thighs, her palm finding the center of my scarred chest.
Her touch sinks like a grounding bolt, pinning me to the moment, keeping me from retreating into the parts of my brain that still feel the scalpel opening my flesh.
Kody twists off the cap and takes the first pull, jaw feathering as the vodka hits.
Then he passes it to Monty, who drinks like he’s signing legal documents with his throat.
Leo takes a swig and releases a loud, aggressive shout, widening his eyes and fully extending his tongue like the animal he is.
Frankie laughs, snatching the bottle and giving the rim a mournful sniff. No alcohol for our baby mama.
Then the bottle comes to me.
I hold it to Dove’s lush lips and tip it back. She swallows like a champ, then I slug my share, the vodka burning warm all the way down. Clean and wild. Kody’s specialty.
“So…” Monty crosses an ankle over his knee. “What’s the plan for you two?”
“We’re getting married.”
Dove makes a sound of surprise. Everyone else looks at me like Duh, tell us something we don’t know.
“Oh, you meant what are our plans right now?” I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “We’re going to chill on the island for a week. Let everything settle after… Everything. We need time to get to know each other better.”
Leo snorts. “By that, you mean biblically, repeatedly, and with enthusiasm.” He shakes his head. “Poor Dove.”
“All right, let’s get this over with. I know why you’re all here and what you’re thinking.
I have no experience, so I probably fumbled it.
” I take a long pull from the bottle and hand it to Kody.
“Feral men and lady of the jury, allow me to present the evidence. Dove said, and I quote, I was legendary.”
“I meant it.” She touches her smile to my cheek.
“Now you know.” I glance around the room, enjoying the hell out of their squirmy discomfort. “In other news, I called Dr. Thurber yesterday.”
Frankie’s head snaps up, eyes going bright.
“He’s coming to the island tomorrow. We’re doing a session here. Oh, and you won’t see Gretchen’s robe again.” I motion at the flames in the fireplace. “I sent it back to hell.”
“Wolf…” Frankie practically vibrates. “I love that for you.”
Leo stares at the floor, smiling to himself. Kody gives an approving nod and takes a hit of the vodka before passing it. Monty sits back, studying me like I just lifted the weight of the world off his shoulders.
“I’m so proud of you.” Frankie casts a look at her husbands. “It took an act of Congress to get these three into a therapist’s office.”
“Here we go.” Leo takes a swig and returns the bottle to Dove.
“I support mental health.” Frankie flattens her hands on the journals.
“You support mental torture.”
“Shut up, Leo,” we all say in unison.
Dove laughs, takes a sip from the bottle, and offers it to me. As she curls up against my chest, her warmth sinking into my bones, the whole room shifts around that simple connection.
My past sits on Frankie’s lap.
My future sits on my lap.
My family sits around me, loud, supportive, and mine.
For the first time in my life, I’m surrounded by people and don’t feel alone.