Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
Travis and I go on a date every day for the next five days.
I sleep late in the mornings, join my daily video session with Dr. Rowland, go grocery shopping or clean the house or meet with Jada during her lunch break at her school, and then, in the afternoons, Travis picks me up.
Since he chose the observatory for our first date, I decide the spot for our second. We spend hours exploring the Santa Monica Pier while I tell him all about the memories I have from when I came here with my family, just once, ten years ago.
In Fisherman’s Village, on our third date, Travis confessed that he flinched during the fireworks show at the New Year’s party because of his PTSD from the Navy. That it never fully goes away, and he’s made peace with that. I tell him about my kidnapping—how I escaped, the promise I made to the sky, and the nightmares that still make themselves at home in my mind some nights.
While we stroll through Palos Verdes on our fourth date, I tell him about my time in Dallas, Nashville, and all the small towns I’d lived in before reaching Maine. He laughs at the fact that I only ended up in Bannport thanks to a car malfunction, and it’s the most beautiful sound I hear all day.
In Little Tokyo, on our fifth date, I tell him that I’m a natural blonde—he must know since he saw the interview, but I want him to know because I told him—and he asks if changing my last name was a tough choice.
“By that point, it wasn’t,” I admit. “I’ve never felt connected to my parents, so becoming a Smith didn’t feel like a big deal. I don’t know. Last names mean nothing to me. Buccieri doesn’t anyway.”
And after our sixth date, as he stops the car in Jada and Paul’s driveway when we come back from a drive-in theater, this fantasyland we’ve been living in for the past week comes to an end.
“I have to fly back home tomorrow,” Travis says into the night, his eyes on me, while we’re still inside the car.
“Okay,” I say slowly. I knew this moment would come. He’s the boss, but he can’t stay away forever. So why do I feel nauseous?
“Sorry it’s so last-minute.” His voice has an edge to it, almost as if he was mad at himself. “I didn’t want to ruin tonight by telling you before the movie.”
“It’s okay.” My throat works a swallow. “Thank you for coming here. You didn’t have to.”
His expression softens. “I’d do it a million times over.”
I resist the urge to throw myself into his arms. How am I supposed to control myself around him when he says things like that?
“Before I go, I…” He pauses, and I can almost see the gears turning in his head. “I need you to know that I don’t expect anything from you. Me coming to Los Angeles wasn’t meant to guilt-trip you. I just wanted to see you and talk to you.”
“I know,” I reassure him.
“I want you to spend as much time as you need here with your loved ones,” he says, his voice serious. “And when you’re ready, if you ever are, The Lair will always be your home. I will always be your home. Okay?”
My chest falters when I try to take a deep breath. “I don’t… I don’t want us to become strangers.”
“We won’t.” He reaches out his hand until he’s holding mine over the console. “Whenever you’re ready, Allie. I’ll be there. I mean it.”
We haven’t kissed since the observatory. I’m aware that he’s giving me space, but not knowing when the next time I’ll see him will be is making me want to kiss him again.
“Slow,” he rasps out, as if it pains him to say the word. As if he could read my thoughts. “We’ll take it slow.”
He doesn’t want to kiss me.
No.
He wants to make sure I’m in the right headspace for things between us to happen.
The cutthroat way in which my own head interrupts my obsessive thinking takes me aback. I’m not used to it, but it’s not an unwelcome change.
Plus, my non-catastrophic inner voice is right. I know what Travis feels for me, and what I feel for him. But the time to act on those feelings isn’t here yet, and I don’t know when it will be.
For the next five weeks, I stick to a firm routine—runs in the mornings, daily video chat with my therapist, meal prep, and quality time with Jada and Paul.
For the next five weeks, I only do things that I enjoy. I fight against the guilt of what I did to my parents, the regret of not having lived for myself before, and the nightmares that have gone nowhere.
For the next five weeks, I relearn how to live.
And I listen. Not to my self-deprecating thoughts, not to online forums, not even to Jada and Paul.
I listen to myself.
There’s something to be said about selfishness. Why is it considered self-centered to have boundaries? Why would it make me a bad person to say no or to refuse certain things and accept others? Why is loving oneself and showing it so frowned upon sometimes?
So, for the next five weeks, I become selfish—if that’s what it means to start living for myself. Personally, I’d call it authenticity.
And it’s that authenticity, that refusal to waste any more time, that desire to follow my heart, which leads me to the living room five weeks after Travis left for Bannport.
Jada and Paul are watching a romcom hours after dinner when I walk in.
Paul pauses the TV. “Everything all right?”
“I thought you’d be asleep,” Jada says.
“I’m leaving,” I announce.
Silence.
“I want to go back to Maine.”
More silence.
I want my life back.
No.
I want to build a new life from the ground up. A life that feels authentic this time.
I know I haven’t healed in five weeks. I doubt I’ll heal in five years —and I’m okay with that. I’ve also learned to be patient with myself, and I’m ready to take on the challenge of self-growth.
“I’m tired of waiting around for everything to be perfect and under control to start living the life I deserve. So, I… I’m leaving tomorrow. To Bannport. Because that’s where I want to be,” I tell them.
Jada swallows. “Are you sure?”
“I love you both. So much. You’re my family, and nothing and no one will keep me away from you anymore—not even myself. I’ll come back to visit you. But I want to leave. I want to go back to Travis and my friends. I’m never hiding again.”
Because this is my life. And as cheesy as it sounds, I only have this one, and I’m done wasting it obsessing over how unfair my past was or how little control I have over my future.
I deserve to move on, and I’m tired of waiting to be ready. I feel ready, and that’s enough. It doesn’t mean I’ll stop going to therapy or that I won’t have bad days. But I was abused, and I told my story because I had every right to. Society needs to have a conversation about online safety for children, and I’ll never understand why I was among those who had to initiate it, but I’m done wondering.
I deserved to speak out. Everything I said was my truth, and I don’t regret a single word.
“You have helped me grow into the confident woman who has been hiding inside me all along,” I continue. “I could never thank you enough for protecting and loving me. So yes, Jada, I’m sure. I’m very sure. I’m ready to start again.”
She’s the first one to get up from the couch and hug me tight, tighter than she ever has before. Paul follows her, holding us both, and a thought crosses my mind.
My parents didn’t ruin my life.
Yes, what I went through was horrible. Yes, the abuse I was put through should’ve never happened. And yes, not every bad situation needs to have a meaning or lesson behind it.
But I choose to see it this way.
Without my parents’ questionable choices, I would’ve never gotten Jada and Paul.
I would’ve never gone to Maine or met Charlie, Sandra, or Jude, and I wouldn’t have worked at The Lair.
I wouldn’t have fallen in love with Travis.
And most importantly, I wouldn’t have found my voice. My authentic voice.
Good luck, world, trying to silence me again.