17. Sloane
17
SLOANE
T he shower is hot as I step under it, taking as much pleasure as I can from how it beats against my tense muscles. Until the tears come. They’re hotter down my cheeks, falling hard as I slowly lower to the bottom of the tub.
This is the only place I can release these kinds of emotions without fear.
The violation of having unknown people in my house, touching the few things I own, my daughter’s things… it lashes deep. Almost as deep as the things Alistair did to me.
Only the threat is so much more obvious.
It should make this easier to deal with. The direct threat. But I learned how to dance around Alistair’s manipulations.
I’m so out of depth here.
At least nothing can get me in here. Right now. Not with those three overprotective assholes out there.
It takes time for the sobbing to stop and leave me with a hitch in my breath. Finally, after the tears are gone, other thoughts invade.
Like the way Shepard kissed me. At such complete odds with how I expected—so different from any way I’ve been kissed before.
My raging teenage hormones threw me at Skylar, and that mistake got me the best thing that ever happened to me. My baby girl.
But the aftermath left me alone. Vulnerable. A teen mom with an infant. No home. No parents to help me.
All I had was a dorm room and a pre-paid food plan.
And a mentor who took me under his wing. Who saw potential in me even though I’d fucked up my life so thoroughly.
His guidance and care got me through a rough time. Postpartum depression is a bitch. I was useless for weeks, and Alistair took over.
At first, it seemed like a blessing. Someone to help me rebuild my life, to lend some of their time and already established life until I could give back.
A sick shudder runs through me as I sink lower under the spray.
I did give back. More than gave back. My paychecks were deposited into his bank accounts the moment I got a job so that he could give me an allowance and pay my bills. My classes were chosen for me to learn under his colleagues.
My time was accounted for, given fifteen minutes to get to class and home again unless I did an errand for him.
Playing hostess to his intellectual parties—cooking treats, serving drinks, taking too many pats and squeezes of my ass. Too many leering men.
How he’d guilt me onto my knees at the end of the night for teasing his friends and making him jealous. It was an excuse he used often to get a blow job. Or he’d insult my technique and tell me I needed to practice. Or he’d say I owed him a favor for helping me with Reese.
I’d missed so many red flags with Alistair.
No red flags are popping now. Not with the way Shepard still pokes at me even though I keep pushing him away.
Not when Rhett almost kissed me this morning after staying up all night to watch us.
Or how Cole lingered at my back when I was one thread away from unraveling completely, all protective and warm.
And nothing? No warning bells other than the ones I keep trying to tell myself.
I don’t need this.
Not right now.
The overwhelming terror in my gut is that if I push too hard, they'll actually go.
I’ve never had someone fight to take care of me when I’m clear about not wanting them to. It’s their job. I know it, but my insides are jumbled and confusing.
I’m not anything more than a job. I can deal with that.
But I want things I shouldn’t. It’s making me more defensive. Especially when they try to manage me. I’d rather have watched Cole put the new door jamb together. To explain to me how it’s better, how it works, and the realities of someone trying to get in again.
I don’t like needing people. The best way not to need it is to be included in what’s happening.
I got left out of so much. I can’t survive it again.
My back is breaking from the pressure. The stress of everything. Every piece of my life over the last week has fallen apart.
Still, I can’t give up my control again. Not willingly.
Pep talk over, I repeat my mantra, I am capable, resilient, and worthy of my independence.
I chant the affirmations as I wash my hair and scrub my body clean.
The hot water runs out before I force myself out of the shower, dressed in PJ shorts and an oversized T-shirt. A towel twists around my head until my hair can dry some before bed. I hate having it soaking wet on my cheap pillow.
It’s like sleeping in a cold swamp.
Taking a deep breath, I pad back into the living room and sink into the couch as they all watch me. It’s not remotely the same way the men at Alistair’s parties stared at me.
Before, I wasn’t a real person—just eye candy for them to consume. But now, these men catalog everything about me with the intent to figure me out.
There’s a new chain on the door, and it yanks a laugh out of me.
God, I’m so tired.
“I don’t want to disrupt my daughter’s life again. Not so soon.”
The three of them hover around the couch, and it’s Cole who says, “We’ll do what we can, but keeping her safe is a higher priority.”
One thing I can’t be is stubborn in the face of my daughter’s safety. Fuck my pride if it means she might get hurt.
She’s the reason I finally escaped Alistair. I couldn’t explain away his behavior anymore.
“I know that, but I can’t let my life fuck hers up any more than it has.”
A kitchen chair settles across from me, snapping my eyes back into focus. Cole lowers himself on the edge of it. The concern and determination give him a grave expression, but it’s one that also says he’s ready to fight to help me, even if it means fighting me.
His elbows prop on his knees as he leans forward. “We’re going to figure this out. And she’s going to come out of it fine. You both are.”
I nod, hating the defeat slowly crawling inside me like my carcass is hollowing out from rot. Gathering my legs into my arms, I lay my cheek on my knees and disappear for a few moments.
Cole dismisses Rhett and Shepard to do their work. They have to find a place to hide me away.
I’m so sick of hiding myself away.
My front door snips closed again, and the new locks click into place. The jiggle of the chain latching brings me back to Cole and his oversized presence. It’s looming as he sits beside me.
It’s difficult to stand against him, facing off, but now, it’s so much more. I lean my head back to look at him and those steely gray-blue eyes.
“What’s your first name?”
He smiles at that. A little one, but it’s so much compared to his usual grave mannerisms. “Sterling Elias Cole.”
That cracks my smile. “That’s a mouthful.”
Old-fashioned. I like it.
Sterling clasps his hands between his knees and nods. “Sure is.”
He watches his hands as I examine the side of his face. His age looks good on him. Rough but not too rough, distinguished, hair silver with streaks of black. Sterling’s mouth is firm but pouty, and the dark dusting of hair accentuates his cheekbones.
I suck in a breath. “So, what’s the plan?”
He peers over at me. “The plan is to keep you safe.”
I doubt it will land, but I give him my best mom look. “But what’s the actual plan?”
The man has enough sense to bow his head and look sheepish.
“Step one. Put you and your daughter in a safe place. Keep an eye on you both. Step two. Find who did this and take care of them.” Nonchalance makes his voice low. Soft.
“Take care of them how?”
Sterling’s gaze flashes to mine, holding it steady. “However we need to.”
I refuse to look away, and we’re in a stare-off again. But I see what I need to see. He means it.
“Okay.”
His hand covers mine on my knee, and I grab onto it lightly, allowing myself that small comfort. Thankfully, Sterling doesn’t pull back.
After a minute, he gives me a tight squeeze and unravels me from my position.
“Why don’t we get you to bed with your daughter? You’ve had a rough day.” He stands me up, and I have to hold onto him to keep my balance.
I’m losing my steam, and fast. I can’t think anymore today. Can’t process. Sleep is my only option. “Good idea.”
Escorted to my bedroom door, I slip out of his grasp and turn into him for a hug.
He hugs me back with no hesitation. One hand unwraps the towel from on top of my head, and Sterling bends to plant a kiss in my hair.
“Go on.” His small nudge through the door propels me to the bed.
I crawl in behind my daughter, and the moment I’m settled, the door closes behind me.
My brain hurtles me toward sleep as one last thought zips through it.
So, this is what it feels like to actually be cared for.