Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
Lucas
S adie rests in my arms for so long that I think she’s fallen asleep. Her warm breath tickles my neck, and I don’t have it in me to move her, no matter how much I want to kiss her again.
It’s almost ironic how much more intimate a kiss is than what we’ve already done together. But it was so much more than a kiss. It was a vow. A declaration. It spoke volumes more than words ever could. More poetic than the most eloquent sonnet ever written.
Kissing her erased every shred of doubt in my mind. I love her.
I love her in a way that makes me think I’ve never loved anyone or anything before.
I love her in a way that makes me think I can have both. I can keep my job. I can go to England. I can do something important. I can make something of myself and still have her.
Eventually, she lifts her head from my chest and stares down at me sleepily with a happy smile on her face. Then she leans in and presses her soft pink lips to mine.
“Let’s go to bed,” I whisper when our kiss ends. She climbs from my lap and grabs a tissue from the table to clean up. Then I stand from the couch, taking her hand as I guide her back to my room. I quickly pull off my clothes and throw them into the laundry basket before climbing into bed next to her.
As soon as my head hits the pillow, she rolls closer, resting her head on my arm and draping her leg over me. When we lie together like this, I wonder how I went so long without her or how I thought I was going to live without her after this.
We kiss for a while longer, like a couple of teenagers, and it’s not rushed or heated. It’s kissing for the sake of kissing. When she finally pulls away, she rests her head on the pillow next to mine, staring into my eyes.
Softly, she asks, “Did you really mean what you said? Do you really think we can make this work?”
I run my fingers through the soft red strands of her hair. “I’m not sure there’s any other choice,” I reply.
Her brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” My voice trails as I let out a sigh. I’m not good at this. I don’t know how to express what I’m feeling, which is ironic for someone who expresses a lot in writing, literature and poetry. I should be good at this. “I mean, I tried desperately to not want this. But I do. I want you. I want us, and I think we can make it work. I think if we try…I think if we really work at it.”
“So you’re still going?” she asks.
“Of course,” I reply instantly. “I have to go, Sadie.”
The expression on her face isn’t entirely disappointed, but not hopeful either. It’s somewhere far too neutral for my comfort. I can tell there are thoughts worrying in her head that are too complicated to express. But I’m giving as much as I can.
“Okay.” She nods gently. “We’ll make it work.”
I lean forward and capture her lips again because speaking doesn’t seem to work as well for me.
After a moment, she rests her head again on my arm, softly tracing her fingers around my chest.
“Can I ask you a question?” she says.
“Of course.”
“Why are you so adamant about not wanting to get married or have children? What was it that stopped you?”
I’ve never given thought to this question at all. It’s just always been something in the back of my head for as long as I can remember. But as I ponder it over in my head, I realize there is a moment that this question leads to in my memory.
But am I ready to be this vulnerable with her? Emphatically, the answer is yes.
“My father hated me,” I say.
Immediately, Sadie tenses and glances those big green eyes up at me. “You don’t mean that,” she says.
“Yes,” I reply, “I do. He hated me.”
“Why would he hate you?”
“I don’t know. To be honest,” I start. “Probably because I wouldn’t fall in line. I never believed anything he preached. I was argumentative. I never had faith. Not once in my life. I don’t even know what it feels like. My brother Adam was the embodiment of faith. Caleb could fake it enough to get by, even if he didn’t believe it. I was the difficult one when it came to religion. While my father spouted scripture, I retorted with logic, and he hated that.”
“But he didn’t hate you,” she says.
“He did. On my thirteenth birthday, he beat me over the head with a Bible.”
Her head snaps up again, her averted gaze on my face. “No.”
I let out a heavy breath. “I argued with him, as I often did. And he usually responded with some authoritative discipline, often in the form of a backhand. But that day, he looked at me like he couldn’t stand me. I could see it in his eyes. He wanted me gone.”
Moisture brims in Sadie’s eyes as she touches my face. “You didn’t deserve that,” she murmurs.
“It’s okay,” I reply softly.
“No, it’s not. It’s not okay, Lucas,” she argues vehemently. She rests her elbow on the bed, propping up her head as she stares at me. “The way our parents treat us defines what we think we deserve. Your father mistreated you, and he made you believe that is what you deserve. And so you carried that with you your entire life, thinking you don’t deserve love. You don’t deserve a wife. You don’t deserve a child because your own father never demonstrated that for you.”
I’ve never felt such discomfort from words before in my life. How can something ring so true and be so painful at the same time? It makes me want to argue with her and tell her she’s wrong; this isn’t possible because I don’t like it. I don’t like the way the truth feels when it hits so hard.
I’m stroking her face softly as I gaze into her eyes. “How did you get so wise?” I ask.
“I’m not,” she replies sadly. “I just…” She forces herself to swallow. “I think my parents were always disappointed in me, and it’s taken me a long time to unlearn that.”
My brow furrows as my spine tenses, goose bumps erupting across my skin. “How could anyone be disappointed in you?” I ask.
“They just never gave me very much attention, so once I found out I could get attention from boys… Let’s just say there were some dark moments.”
I stop breathing altogether. “What kind of dark moments?” My voice has gotten lower. My muscles are taut and uncomfortable. I don’t like to think about anyone hurting her.
Her gaze bounces back and forth between my eyes for a moment as if she’s working up the courage to speak. I run my hands up and down her arms softly, squeezing her closer, making her feel as safe as possible.
“You don’t want to hear about this,” she replies before looking down. I touch her chin and lift her face until our eyes meet.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I will listen to you. No matter what,” I say.
Her eyes don’t leave my face as she breathes slowly. I think she wants to tell me whatever it is, so I wait as she works up the courage.
“I developed really early in my life,” she says. “So, I noticed when I was really young that I liked the attention. As I got older, I liked to flaunt it.”
Immediately, I don’t like where this is headed, but I try my best to train my features not to show my discomfort.
“In high school, my friends and I would get into clubs because someone always knew one of the bouncers, so we would go all the time. That’s where I would get the most attention. And I would make out with a couple of guys or dance with guys and get free drinks and it was always fun.
“But it progressively got worse. Until one weekend, I was out with some friends, and we caught the attention of a group of college guys.”
My molars clench, and my blood feels like it’s boiling in my veins. I don’t know if I can listen to this. I want to go back in time and murder somebody already and I haven’t even heard the whole story yet. I don’t know if I need to. I think I know where this is going.
“Anyway, my friends sort of took off without me. And the guys just kept giving me drinks. And I liked it…at first.”
Her voice cracks as she begins to cry.
“I think for a long time, I blamed myself for what happened. I shouldn’t have been with them. I shouldn’t have flirted so much. But I was young, and I didn’t know any better. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I mean, I don’t even really remember much after we left the club. I just…”
I reach for her, holding her face as if I can protect her from something that has already happened to her.
“I just remember asking them to stop. I remember fighting against them, but I was too drunk. And the next thing I knew, I woke up alone in a hotel room. And…”
I can’t bear to hear the rest. I feel like a coward. I pull her into my chest, her face in my neck as I squeeze her tight .
“I don’t want to ever hear you say that that was your fault again. Do you understand me?” I say in a deep, scolding tone.
She nods against my chest and I feel her tears dripping against my bare skin.
“You didn’t deserve that. That should have never happened to you.”
She nods again, this time with a whimper as she sobs. My throat burns like needles. I’ve never felt so sick with rage in all my life. I don’t know what else to say aside from I’m sorry so I mutter it quietly over and over again as I stroke her hair and her back. It’s not fair that something so awful could happen to someone so perfect and innocent.
As her tears subside, she relaxes against my chest.
“I think that’s why I always dated guys like Jax. Guys who were interested in my body first. I always thought that’s what I deserved. I thought I could make them love me. So when we were at the bar last night, and you talked about how smart I was…” Her voice quivers with her tears.
“I said that because it’s true,” I say.
“I know. I’ve just never had anybody talk about me like that.”
“Sadie, you deserve better,” I say.
“I think I get that now,” she whispers softly. After a few moments, she adds, “So that’s why I always wanted to manage clubs and why I wanted to own one of my own. Because I wanted to give women like me someplace safe. Something we deserve. I wanted to change the world so that nobody ever had to go through what I went through.”
“And you will,” I say with encouragement. “Because that’s the most noble fucking cause I’ve ever heard.”
She laughs against my chest. “I don’t know about that.”
“It is. And I’m sorry for ever making you feel like you needed to do something different to be more important. Because that is important and you are so important.”
She lifts up and presses her lips against mine again. “Thank you,” she whispers .
“You don’t need my approval,” I add. “And you never did.”
A soft smile stretches across her face. “No one has ever made me feel the way you do.”
Suddenly, I remember all the times I berated her. Patronized her. Made her feel as if she needed me to somehow make her life better. And I realize now all of that was such bullshit.
I was the one who was a mess. And what I realize now is just how much I need her.