Trevor
This must be what having a stroke feels like.
My girl…
My beautiful, strong, incredible woman was raped?
The raw, primal anger burning inside me is too much. I want to rip my clothes off. I feel like I’m about to Hulk out. But then she keeps talking.
“I didn’t tell you last week, but the reason for my panic attack and turning off my phone was because I found out you play baseball—played at Syracuse—and the guy… he said he did too. My memory is so hazy, but I remember him being almost too proud about it, and—”
I fly off the couch.
“Who was it?” The words are a barely contained scream. Not at her. For her. Because if I know the person who laid his hands on her, forced himself inside her, I will cut off every part of his body that touched her, then dump him in a shallow grave. I’ve never wondered if I’m capable of murder before, but fun fact, I am. I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced visceral rage like this. I’ve wanted to rain hell on Hyla’s parents before, but this is next level.
Knowing that anyone has endured such a deep violation is horrific. But Chelsea? She’s mine. And even though she wasn’t when it happened, I’m still ready to go scorched earth, hunt this fucker down, and make him pay.
Kill my way across a continent? That’s cute. I’ll chase this guy to the ends of the earth, and when I get my hands on him, I’ll make him sorry he ever looked at her.
Chelsea blinks at me. “I don’t know. We had one drink together while playing pool, and he flirted with me. He must’ve spiked my second drink. The whole night and next few days after that are hazy. I don’t remember how I got back to my dorm that night, I only remember stumbling through the door and collapsing on my bed. For two days, I barely moved. Drank some water. Went to the bathroom. That was it. My roommate panicked and called our RA, who called my dad. He and Robbie showed up, and when I mustered a few words to tell them what happened, they took me to the hospital. I was swabbed and poked with all the tests they could do. My bloodwork showed trace evidence of me being drugged. And supposedly they got some DNA from my kit that didn’t match mine, but it didn’t match anyone else on file, either. It’s technically still an open case because I couldn’t remember his name or give a stronger description than hazel eyes and shaggy blond hair. On a campus that big… they weren’t going to find him.”
“But you said he played baseball.”
She shakes her head. “That’s what he told me. But who knows if that was true. I have no idea how much the police looked into that because I dissociated from life.” Her shimmering eyes drop to the floor. “I moved home and spent the next few months lying in my dark bedroom and refusing to talk to anyone. Not a shining moment for me. Eventually I clawed my way out, but—”
I drop to my knees in front of her, cutting off her words, and run my hands up her legs.
“I’m so sorry you had to endure that. No one should ever have to feel like you felt, and if I could take it away for you, I’d give anything to do it. But don’t be hard on yourself for feeling every feeling you needed to after or for how things went tonight. It takes an incredible amount of strength to climb out of the darkness, and it takes time to face even the smallest pieces of your trauma again without shattering. You should be proud of your strength and your grace and the way you’ve risen. I am honored to be the man you share your pain with, and I promise to protect it and you always.”
She cups my cheek and rests her forehead against mine.
“Thank you.”
I wrap one hand around her arm, and we sit like this for a moment, the weight of it all swirling around us.
I don’t blame her for being surprised by my actions or being cautious with her trust and her heart. A guy with no care for anyone but himself stole a part of her and broke the person she used to be. It takes time to recover from that kind of trauma. While I’ve loved the little ways we’ve found that we’re connected, I’d cut this particular string if I could. If it would somehow erase that past for her.
And yet, here she is. Still struggling, but I’ve seen her vibrance—the way her eyes dance with mischief and that joyful smile that sends me to my knees.
“What do you need?” I whisper.
“Hot cocoa. Food. And you. My safe place.”
I brush my lips over hers. “You’ve got it.”
No matter what she asks for, what she needs, I’ll find a way to give it to her. I’d do anything for her. Support her, uplift her, fall to my knees and worship her. That’s what she deserves and more, and I have every intention of giving her everything I can. It might not be that guy’s head on a platter, but if I can help her find him and make sure he pays for what he did, I will. Most importantly, I’ll protect her and her beautiful heart with my life, so no one can ever hurt her like that again.
We talked through half of our first episode of Haven . Chelsea gave me more details that sent my blood pressure skyrocketing. Knowing that it happened in the baseball house—not where I lived, but where I regularly was—made me want to puke.
It also made me discreetly text one of the few guys on the Syracuse team I trust when she went to the bathroom. I didn’t give him any big details, but asked him to poke around and see if any investigations might’ve happened. From what she said, it’s been almost a year since it happened, so I would’ve still been there, and I figure I probably would’ve known if any investigations happened—but if there was a stronger suspect maybe it would’ve been kept quiet. I’d like to think my old coach—asshole that he might’ve been to me after my accident—wouldn’t push aside sexual assault allegations, but I’ve learned people aren’t always who you expect them to be.
Damn straight I’ll be going through my old team photos to find anyone who might match the description she gave.
My anger is still roiling beneath the surface, but I’m keeping it calm for her. She’s had to deal with enough. I can rage about it later to one of my friends. I assume Rae knows. I’m a dumbass for not putting that together. She works at Promise. I just took it as her wanting to empower women, but that’s only a piece of it.
When our second episode of Haven ends, Chelsea switches the TV off and turns to me.
“I want to talk about sex. Sexual stuff. I don’t know. It feels like a massive elephant in the room right now, and I feel better when I can talk things through with you.”
A surprised laugh slips out. “Uh, yeah. Of course. We can talk about anything you want to talk about. But before you say anything, I want you to know I will never push you. You give me whatever you’re comfortable with, and whenever we take those steps, I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you feel comfortable and safe.”
She runs her hand over my cheek. “I know you will because you already do. And that’s part of the reason we’re having this conversation. You’re the only person who has brought out sexual desire—specifically sexual desire with another person—since it happened. I’ve been turned on by book scenes and things like that, and before that, when I was trying to feel comfortable in my body again, I focused on enjoying my body and turning myself on… if that makes sense? But the first time I imagined doing something with another person was the night we met. I felt so free for a moment—”
“And that’s why you were upset and panicky. I’m so sorry. I understand why you wouldn’t have randomly told me that, though. It makes a lot more sense now.”
“I still feel bad about how I handled it.”
“You shouldn’t. You had no idea who I am or anything about me—not the things that mattered. I understand more now why you were adamant that I let you tell me what you’re comfortable with rather than assume and hold back. The last thing I want is to take any autonomy from you.”
She lets out a heavy sigh. “I appreciate that. And with where we are now, I have complete trust that you’ll respect my boundaries. That’s why I’m not afraid. Even if you move a little faster, I know you’ll stop the second I ask. That’s what really matters to me.”
“So, where are you at now? Just so I understand. You said getting handsy and grinding might be okay last week. Is that still where your mind—or body—is?”
She throws her head back. “This is the hardest part. I want more. I’ve been starting to really imagine—and maybe touch myself to the thought of—being with you.” Her cheeks go bright red, but she continues. “Not sex. Not yet. But maybe touching each other—or even touching ourselves while laying together. But that would require getting naked, and I don’t even know if I’m comfortable with that yet.” She sighs. “I want to be, but I don’t know how to get there.”
I rub my thumb over her shoulder, thinking.
“What if we took the sex out of getting naked together?” I ask.
Her eyebrows go up. “What do you mean?”
“Well, if you’re considering getting naked as the first step to something sexual happening, what if we just be naked together in a nonsexual way? It can help you build trust that being naked doesn’t have to lead to anything sexual. Then whenever you’re ready for something else, you’ll already feel safe being naked together.”
She climbs onto my lap and gives me a soft, slow kiss. “That is a very sweet suggestion. Should we just become nudists around my apartment?”
Finally, I see a hint of that amusement in her eyes again.
“Maybe we should start slow. Watching more TV together? Eating a meal might get messy. We could take a shower—”
“Yes. I like that. There’s intimacy to that. It might… help build the trust. Not that I don’t trust you—”
“I understand. And I’m good with that. Tell me whenever you want to do that.”
She climbs off my lap and grabs my hand. “How about now?”
“After everything today? Are you sure?”
She nods. “I think that’s why I want to do it now. I want to wash away—accidental pun—everything else that happened tonight, and focus on you and us.”
I let her pull me up, then I look into her eyes. “If that’s what you want, I’m in.”
She intertwines our fingers and leads me to the bathroom.
Once she has the water running and towels set out, she turns to me.
“Will you start?”
I strip my shirt off and drop it on the floor. “Are we doing tit for tat or do you want me fully naked so you can get the whole show first?”
She smiles, and the remaining wisps of uncertainty vanish from her eyes, replaced by playfulness. “Get down to your boxers. Then I’ll give you some tit.”
“Is this a preview of the dirty talk I have to look forward to in the future?”
Now I get a full laugh out of her. “Oh yeah, baby. Take off those socks. Let me see your hairy ankles.”
“You can blame my genetics for my yeti-like state. Sorry.” I shrug and drop my pants before toeing off my socks.
She tilts her head. “Legs maybe. Your chest isn’t too bad.” She runs her hand over my pec. “Just the right amount of hair.”
She tugs on one and smiles, then pulls her shirt over her head.
I have no issues with doing this tonight, other than I wish I could’ve beaten off first. Because not getting hard at some point is going to be a challenge. And while I’m not some asshole who is worried about blue balls, I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.
It doesn’t help that she’s my absolute dream. All soft curves with the slightest hint of muscle beneath them. Her creamy skin is dotted with freckles. I can’t wait until I get to kiss every single one. But that’s not the point tonight, so I force a deep breath, think of non-boner-inducing things, and watch as my dream girl gets almost naked in front of me.
“How are you feeling so far?” I ask.
“Better than I thought. Trying to turn my sex brain off.”
I chuckle at that. “I think it’s understandable that we’d be at least a little turned on. We’re dating and obviously find each other attractive. It’s bound to happen. Maybe that even helps. This will prove to you that even with those feelings, there can be intimacy—and safety—while naked without anything sexual happening.”
“You’re so smart,” she breathes, then takes her bra off.
One day. One day I will get to play with her beautiful, full breasts. And I can’t wait. But today isn’t about that.
“Same time?” I ask.
She nods and a few seconds later, we’re both naked. Thankfully, I’m keeping my dick to barely a semi.
“I know it’s not about that, but you’re stunning,” I say.
“Funny, I was going to say you’re hot as fuck. Potayto-potahto.”
We both laugh, then she opens the shower curtain and we climb in, switching out for space under the showerhead.
Once her hair is wet, I trail my fingers through it, then grab her shampoo. “Can I?”
She looks at me over her shoulder with big eyes. “Yes.”
I squirt some into my hand, then work it into a lather and slowly work it into her hair, making sure to get everywhere, then I spend a little extra time at the roots and massage her scalp.
She lets out a happy noise, and I keep working my fingers.
“You’re safe,” I whisper. “You can be naked with me anytime and I will never touch you in any way you don’t want. If you let me, though, I’ll take care of you. Naked. Clothed. However you want me. However you’ll let me, I’ll make sure you’re cared for in every way.”
She lets out a shuddery breath, and when my hands drop, she spins around, eyes closed, like she doesn’t want to break the spell yet, and rinses her hair. Then she turns back around.
“There’s conditioner too. Use plenty.”
With those words, she’s given me another sliver of trust.
I work the conditioner in, making sure I get every strand, and when I’m finished and she’s rinsed it all out, her gaze finds mine, eyes rimmed with tears. I almost worry until she leans into me, resting her head on my chest.
“Thank you.”
I wrap my arms around her. “You don’t ever need to thank me for caring about you, and I hope one day you’ll know deep in your bones that you never need to thank me for anything like this.”
She leans up and presses her lips to mine. “Stay with me tonight?” She looks down at our naked bodies and laughs. “Fully clothed?”
“I’d love to.”
We both still have wet hair and shower-warm skin when we settle into her bed. I always keep an extra set of clothes in my car—a habit my mother drilled into me after our car broke down out of town once—so I’m comfortable in sweats and a T-shirt. I might sweat my balls off tonight, but I’ll do anything that makes her feel safe.
“Still good?” I ask as Chelsea pulls the sheets up. She’s wearing pink pajama bottoms with pictures of iconic women—Rosie the Riveter, RBG, Frida Kahlo, and some others—and a black tank top.
“Yep. The only weird thing is… I can’t remember ever really sharing a bed with anyone. So sorry if you catch an elbow in the middle of the night.”
“Violent sleeper?”
She shrugs, smiling. “Guess we’ll find out.”
“Guess so.”
She flicks her lamp off and slides down in bed, turning toward me.
“When was the last time you… shared a bed with someone?”
My brows flick up.
“Sorry. It’s the only thing we didn’t talk about tonight, and I’d rather get it out of the way before we’re in a heated moment.”
“You don’t need to apologize. Last time I only shared a bed with someone was probably after my accident. Hyla slept in bed with me for a couple of nights when I first came home and was struggling to move. So, not exactly anything fun. As for the sexual stuff… it’s been a while.”
“Yeah?”
“Before my accident.”
“Wow. Really?”
I turn to face her. “Yes. Why is that surprising?”
“Because you’re hot as fuck.”
That gets a laugh out of me. I lean over and kiss her. “While I appreciate that, so are you…”
She scrunches up her face. “You weren’t damaged the way I was.”
Fuck that. “Damaged? How about we pick a new word? I don’t like that one. There’s nothing damaged or broken about you.”
She shakes her head. “You didn’t see me at my worst.”
“If I had, all I would’ve seen was your strength. The ability to keep going through the darkness, even when you have no idea when it will end is strength.”
“Even when you feel like all you’re doing is floating?”
I brush my thumb over her cheek. “Floating’s better than drowning.”
She stares at me for a moment, then shakes her head. “Okay, that is why I’m shocked you haven’t been with anyone in that long. You’re not just hot, you’re kind. And sure, some girls like dickhead guys, but most of us want one who gives a shit.”
I wrap my arms around her and pull her close. “Maybe I’ve been looking for someone who gives a shit. After everything I went through, meaningless hookups were the last thing I wanted. I wanted something more.”
“That makes sense. I’m sorry for assuming.”
“Don’t be. I’d rather you ask than sit around and wonder. I can’t read your mind, but I’ll answer any question you ask me.”
“Back at you.”
I hold her tighter, playing with her. To my surprise and stupid delight, she reaches up and does the same, resting her hand in my curls.
After a few minutes, she whispers. “I like this.”
“Me too. Just promise you won’t run away in the morning if you feel anything poking you. My morning wood thinks you’re hot as fuck, and he has no chill.”
She bites her lip as she laughs. “Then I’ll smother him with a pillow.”
“Fair enough.”
She rests her head on my chest and the comforting feeling of home washes over me. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this happy before. Not in this way. There’s a feeling of total peace when I hold her like this. And my heart goes wild feeling like I finally have something I’ve wanted for so long. There’s no doubt I’m falling hard for her, so I hold her tighter, savoring every second, and hoping that we’re headed for something deeper because I already know I’ll be crushed if I lose her.