Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The interview airs on Friday night. By Saturday morning, the witch hunt starts.
I don’t hide behind Jada and Paul anymore and instead face the music by reading article after article about my parents. About myself.
It starts with the public. The same people who mere hours ago worshipped the ground my parents walked on have now turned against them. They demand a statement explaining the footage they’ve seen in my video. They demand an apology they won’t accept anyway. They demand they take my siblings off their pages immediately, especially Cindy.
On Monday, every company my parents have recently worked with announces they were “parting ways” due to “recent events they deem unacceptable.” Those who have included me or my siblings in any publicity campaigns apologize for “the harm we’ve unknowingly caused” and promise “to do better moving forward.”
On Tuesday, I hop on a video call with George, where he explains that, “Your interview is getting far more traction than we had anticipated, and we’re working on a law change proposal for Congress. We’d love to have your input, Allison, since you’re a direct victim of the very thing we’re up against.”
I accept. No second-guessing.
On Wednesday, I book my first appointment with a therapist. I owe it to little Allie, who wasn’t given a chance to heal. And I owe it to this Allie, who defied her past for a chance at a real future.
On Thursday, my parents speak out.
“Allison was always a difficult child,” my dad starts, his voice as robotic as usual. He doesn’t talk much throughout the fifty-two-second video they post across all their platforms. I find it funny how he’s wearing an old, nonbrand T-shirt he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing in public. “We did the best we could with her upbringing. Other parents will understand.”
“We are heartbroken by this situation,” my mother adds. I don’t even bother rolling my eyes at her makeup-free face and old hoodie combination—a clear attempt at looking disheveled to gain sympathy, much like my father. “The clips shown in that video were filmed during a very difficult time in my life when my mental health was at an all-time low.”
Mental health professionals didn’t take long to react to my mother’s words—even if it was true that she was struggling during that time, poor mental health doesn’t excuse the fact that she verbally and physically abused her child. That her and my father’s carelessness caused a kidnapping.
On Friday, I meet with George and his team to go over my ideas for the law proposal. I haven’t left the house all week, and venturing into downtown Los Angeles is the last thing I want, but George, always understanding, agrees to meet over a video call.
The sun is setting by the time I shut my laptop. Rubbing the exhaustion off my face with the heels of my palms, I let my head fall against the back of the couch and close my eyes.
This is my life now. I’m a twenty-five-year-old woman who has just exposed her family on national television and is now helping a production company draft a law proposal in hopes of Congress protecting children from what she endured growing up.
And honestly?
It feels right. Still scary, sure. But for the first time in a very long time, I look at myself in the mirror and don’t see an impostor. I don’t see a liar or a woman who’s living an inauthentic life.
For the first time, I see myself . A person who is finally fulfilling her promise.
I place my laptop on the coffee table and head to the kitchen. Jada and Paul won’t be joining me for dinner—they asked me if it’d be okay if they met with some friends tonight, if I’d be fine on my own, and I begged them to go. Not because I want to be left alone, but because they deserve to live their life. They’ve done more than enough for me already.
Since I’m not expecting anyone until well into the night, it takes me far too long to register the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Thinking Jada and Paul had a change of plans, I peek through the kitchen window and?—
That’s not their car.
I can’t see who’s behind the wheel from here, but I don’t go near another window in case they see me inside the house.
What if my parents have found me again?
I stop myself.
So what?
I have nothing to hide. I am who I am, and I did what I had to do to end this nightmare and protect other children from a similar hell. I don’t regret what I’ve done, nor do I owe any explanations to people who don’t deserve them.
I have no solid plan as I storm out of the kitchen and throw the front door open other than to confront whoever is set on disturbing my newfound peace.
But my steps come to a halt and so does my heart when my eyes land on the person getting out of the car in Jada and Paul’s driveway.
I’m still not convinced this isn’t a dream as Travis shuts the car door and sets those green eyes on me.
I can’t breathe.
Travis is twenty feet away, here, in Los Angeles, and I can’t breathe.
Unable to move, I watch as he rounds the car—it’s not his truck, so it must be a rental—his tall body coming into full view. He doesn’t get close, but he doesn’t need to. His eyes don’t stray from mine, not once, and that’s enough to make everything come back.
The Lair. His confession. The kiss.
My lies. All the reasons he deserves the best, and all the reasons I’m not it.
In the privacy of my mind, I’ve imagined this moment a thousand, million times. I’ve allowed myself to daydream about being courageous enough to call Travis. The outcome of that phone call varied depending on my mood that day—when I was feeling hopeful, he asked me to come back and start anew, and when guilt took over, which happened most of the time, he never wanted to see me again.
But now he’s here, and I don’t know if I’m ready for either to happen.
“Allie.”
The baritone rumble of his voice seeps through my skin, coating my undeserving heart.
At my sides, I ball my hands into fists because I don’t want him to see how badly I’ve started trembling. But this is Travis, so he notices.
His face, stoic until this moment, falls. “Sweetheart…”
That word feels like a punch to the gut.
My eyes get glassy, and I can’t see him clearly anymore. But I hear his heavy footsteps climbing up to the front porch of Jada and Paul’s house. To me.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice soft and close and everything that is good in this world. Everything I don’t deserve.
I blink the tears away.
“Why are you here?” I breathe out. “Why did you…”
My eyes come into focus, and the sight of him takes my breath away. He looks the same, but his face… his face looks gentle. And no matter how hard I’ve willed my brain to forget how it feels to have him close, my heart hasn’t. Not for one second.
“I’m here for you, Allie.”
My chest caves in.
Two conflicting emotions tug at my heart—the blinding need to throw myself into his arms, where everything always feels right, and the overwhelming feeling that I should push him away. For his own good, I should.
Before I know it, I find myself shaking my head.
“No, what?” he asks. His voice has never sounded so patient. When I still say nothing but keep shaking my head, he goes and kills me some more. “You can talk to me. You know that, right?”
Under Travis’s confused stare, I ask him again, out of breath, “Why are you here?”
Because I don’t understand. Why is he not in Maine? At The Lair? What is he doing in California?
What is he doing here ?
The man in front of me inhales, his wide chest expanding in size. His face takes on a more somber expression, reminding me of the Travis I met that day I ended up in Bannport by chance.
I’m starting to believe it was a thing of fate.
“I’m here for you,” he repeats. “Because we don’t belong apart.”
I can’t breathe normally anymore.
“I lied to you,” I whisper, my guilt caving in even deeper.
He sighs. “Allie.”
“N-No.” My voice shakes along with my head. “I’m a liar, Travis. I lied to you, to everyone , for a year.”
“I watched you on TV. We all did,” he says, making my blood turn cold. We . Does he mean everyone at The Lair? “But even before that, Charlie showed me.”
“What did he show you?” I ask, not sure I’m ready for the answer.
He swallows, as if it hurt him to say it as much as it hurts me to hear it. “The videos. From your family. The articles about the kidnapping.”
My heart stops. “You knew who I was all this time?”
“No,” he says. I wouldn’t know how to feel if he’d said anything else. “But when your family left, Charlie recognized them and showed me everything. I’m so fucking sorry, Allie.”
When I blink, more tears fall. “You don’t have to apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
But he shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have gone through that shit. A kidnapping, Allie? For fuck’s sake. I can only imagine what went through your head the night of the break-in. I should’ve done more to protect you. Shouldn’t have gotten angry at you like I did.”
“You had no idea what had happened to me,” I point out, my voice small.
“Maybe not, but I could’ve asked.”
“You did. And I lied.”
“I knew you were lying,” he admits. “I should’ve insisted. I should’ve done more to help you.”
Is that the sound of my heart shattering?
My brain is telling me that I shouldn’t, but my heart doesn’t listen as I step closer to him.
“Travis… you couldn’t have done anything because I didn’t let you. You were just respecting my boundaries. You should be mad at me, not at yourself.”
He frowns. “Why would I be mad at you?”
Why would he not ?
“I lied to you. Omitted so many things about my past,” I repeat. “I don’t deserve your compassion. I don’t deserve you being here right now.”
“Allie—”
“No, Travis.” My voice sounds firmer, but my tears keep falling. Does he not see it? “You’re a good man. The best I know. You deserve better than someone who lies, hides, and doesn’t have a healthy relationship with themselves. Someone who doesn’t know how to do anything but run away from her problems.”
When I swallow, my throat feels as if a bunch of nails were passing through it.
I might have had a couple of therapy sessions this week, and they might have gone great, but I’m far from where I want and should be. My brain is in survival mode, Dr. Rowland said, and it’s going to take a long time to learn healthy habits and discard old ones. Until I can get a hold of the version of myself that I know is hiding in there somewhere, I can’t…
I can’t do this. Not to him.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I mutter.
“I’m here because I can’t fucking stand being in my own house knowing you’re not there.”
His words leave a sea of goose bumps on my skin.
“I’m not mad at you,” he declares, his voice the firmest I’ve ever heard it. “I understand why you had to lie or omit things. I don’t hold it against you. I could never.”
“You should,” I whisper.
“No, I shouldn’t,” he argues. “You don’t owe anyone your full story, Allie. Not even me. You were going to tell me that day in my office, am I right?” I give him a faint nod. “That’s good enough for me. You needed time to trust me, to feel comfortable opening up to someone for the first time. I, of all people, know what that’s like.”
His words make sense, too much sense, and they’re making me feel defensive when I shouldn’t. Maybe it’s his stubbornness, or perhaps mine, that finally makes me snap.
“You don’t know me,” I tell him, tired. I’m tired of him ignoring the obvious. He opens his mouth to argue, but I beat him to it. “No, Travis, you don’t. I’ve barely opened up to you because I was scared shitless of getting close to anyone. I couldn’t risk people finding out about my past. So don’t tell me you don’t hold that against me because you must . You’ve let a stranger into your business, into your home, when I’ve done nothing but hide things from you or lie about them.”
“I don’t know you?” It sounds like a question, but I know he’s not waiting for an answer. “You’re gonna look at me with those beautiful eyes and tell me I don’t know that you’re the strongest fucking person I’ve ever met, and that I admire you more than I’ve ever admired anyone? You’re gonna tell me I don’t know that you love carrot cake beyond reason, that you change into your pajamas as soon as you get home because you can’t stand sitting on the couch with your outside clothes on, that you love cooking because it brings you peace, that math gives you a purpose, and that your lips aren’t the sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever tasted? That’s what you’re gonna do, Allie?”
My eyes fill with more tears as the butterflies in my stomach fly free once again. And even though it pains me to no end, I still tell him, “That’s not enough, Travis. You know things about me, but you don’t know me. I never allowed anyone to get close enough. It’s not your fault.”
“So allow me to get to know you. And let me show you who I am too. If you’ve been closed off, so have I.”
I’m about to tell him that I know who he is, but I stop myself because he’s right. We haven’t been fully honest with each other for different reasons—me because I was scared, and him because that’s simply how he is.
My voice quivers. “Why are you really here?”
He takes a step in my direction, then another. And when his hand lands on my elbow, cradling it with his gentle warmth, I don’t move. Because I may not deserve him, but I want to be selfish right now and take what isn’t mine.
“I’m not good with words or feelings,” he says in a low voice. Quietly, just for the two of us. “You… you’ve made me feel things I’d never felt before. It was uncomfortable at first. Until I learned to put a name on it.”
I close my eyes, my pulse beating in my throat. “Travis…”
“You don’t have to say anything.” His voice sounds gravelly. “You may not feel the same, and I’d understand. But I couldn’t?—”
“I feel the same,” I breathe out. “I feel everything. Every single thing, Travis. I have for months.”
He lets out an uneven breath. “You mean that?”
I nod. Then I feel rather than see his hand pulling me closer until my body is fully against his. Until both of his arms are around me, and I fall apart.
“I’ve missed you so much,” I croak out.
One of his hands moves to rest at the nape of my neck. “I’ve missed you more. Trust me on that.”
We stay silent for what feels like hours but is probably only a couple of minutes. I allow myself the last moments of selfishness in Travis’s arms before I force myself to be honest and do what’s right. No matter how badly my heart wants something different… my soul calls for this.
“I’m not ready,” I admit quietly against his chest. “I don’t want to stop talking to you, and I don’t want us to become strangers. I want you to get to know me, to really know me, and I want to know you better too. I care about you more than I’ve ever cared about anyone, but I’m not ready for… for more. Not yet, even though I want to. I need to find myself first because you deserve the best version of me, and she doesn’t exist yet. I-I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to apologize for asking for what you need.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear so lovingly, it takes everything in me not to bawl my eyes out. I love him. I love him so much. “However long it takes you, Allie, I’ll be here. You’ve got me, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”