CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
TRINA
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I’ve had a few days off work and still don’t want to go back. Being a hermit isn’t going to solve anything but curling up in the fetal position in my bed, watching the reruns of Yellowstone works well for me.
In saying that, the hero of the show—the burly powerful guy—reminds me so much of Marsh, and I end up crying almost every time he grabs the frustrating heroine and shakes her.
She loves him.
She just can’t and won’t let herself love him.
It’s like they wrote this show about me and my toy soldier.
Then the sexy scenes...oh god, the way the hero kisses her and holds her so dominantly. Passionately. Possessively.
I miss Marshall. I miss him so damn much.
I don’t know how I’ll feel the next time a man touches me. I don’t want to let what happened change me. I love sex. I love sex with the right man.
Marshall.
I’m a sexual woman and have been body positive all my life. After talking to a counselor yesterday, she said something that stuck. I can let this define me or I can push through it and see it as a horrible moment among an otherwise long and happy life.
At first I was like fuck you lady, you didn’t have some guy shove his disgusting fingers inside you, but as I’ve thought about it and been scrolling online reading other victim’s comments, I’ve decided I don’t want to be angry forever about this.
I was lucky—if you can call it that— I got away before he was able to fuck me. Or kill me. Or torture me.
There are so many worse scenarios.
I’m so proud of myself for fighting and getting free. Luck was on my side. Or perhaps there was a higher power looking out for me. Whatever it was, I will be okay.
Fuck Roger, I will not let him decide my future.
I’m going to trust...
Wait.
Trust? Have I ever trusted?
I want you to go out there and tell him that you are mine. Let him smell me on you.
I’m not yours.
Your pussy says otherwise.
This can’t be a thing. It’s just lust.
At least I can admit what I want. Stop hiding from this and fucking talk to me.
I told you. No. You don’t understand.
Yeah. I think I do. Your dad was military, and he died.
But is that really it? Because you’re happy to date that fucker out there who is Special Forces, but not me.
When I’d got mad with Marshall for investigating me, I saw the moment he resigned to my refusal to admit my feelings for him.
You know what, little wolf. You do what you want. I can’t make you want this.
Since Dad died and Mom—who finally phoned me and was very sad to hear what I’d been through, but made no effort to visit—gave up on life, I haven’t trusted anyone.
Briar and Alice, yes. Friends.
But not anyone more intimate.
I haven’t moved on, just like my mother. Only in my own way. Perhaps subconsciously I’d decided that if I never fell in love with a man in uniform, I wouldn’t get hurt. I didn’t want my own kids to go through the same pain of knowing daddy never came home from war.
I shut down.
Shit.
I’d been aware, but not at how debilitating my choices were. I thought I was being smart. Even now my brain is fighting, saying it was smart, no one has hurt you.
Roger did.
Life is full of situations that hurt you. The trick is getting back up on your feet and carrying on. Because I’m suddenly aware, I’ve not let anyone love me.
Not really.
I sit up in bed, pull my knees up under my chin and stare at the silent TV.
How do you trust?
I don’t want to rush in blindly and make a mess of my life.
Not dating anyone in the forces isn’t necessarily a bad decision. It’s a lifestyle you need to consider, moving around, and your kids not seeing their father because he is deployed.
I know, I lived that life.
But how many people cross our paths in life that truly make our hearts beat, the way Marshall does mine?
He’s not enlisted...
Shit, I think I love him.
I think I’ve lost a man I am totally and absolutely in love with.
Without fooling myself that he felt the same, despite it being clear he wanted more than just sex, I drop my head to my knees and let sadness fill me.
I’m such an idiot.
For a giraffe, he’s such a good guy and I have pushed him away. The truth is, if I’d done what he said, told Roger that I was leaving with Marshall, I would have been safe.
“Stop playing sliding doors,” I growl at myself. If I’d done any number of things differently, the situation would change.
But I didn’t.
Marshall still left. I still got in the Uber with Roger. And lost any chance of being with Marshall Adams, my beautiful toy soldier.
Tears slide down my legs and I sniff, wiping my eyes.
Knock, knock.
Startled, I stiffen and stare at the door to my bedroom. I scan my memory. Was Briar coming over? Alice? Did Mom say she might turn up?
God, if it’s someone selling insurance or wanting a damn donation they are going to get a fright. I haven’t brushed my teeth or hair in over a day.
Nor showered.
Wearing a pair of black and pink flamingo sleep shorts and a Pink Floyd T-shirt, I clamber off the bed catching a look at myself in the mirror as I pass.
Bird’s nest hair and dark rings under my eyes. Oh well, Mr. or Mrs. Insurance Sales Person is just going to have to enjoy the view.
I pad across the floor, blinking at the sunlight in the living room where I left the curtains open.
Then open the door.
Oh, shit.
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“MARSH,” I STUMBLE back, shocked to find him on my doorstep.
Oh god, my breath.
It’s rancid. I’ve never needed to brush my teeth more in my entire life than this very moment as I take in the gorgeous man before me.
Marshall’s wearing a pair of blue jeans and a black BHS T-shirt. The sleeves strain around his biceps and I feel the need to whimper. A few days growth on his jaw gives him an even more than usual masculine appearance. But it’s the dark shadows around his eyes that capture my attention.
Okay, lies.
It’s the way his T-shirt hugs his pecs.
I’m a pec girl.
But still. What is he doing here?
“Can I come in?” Marshall asks roughly.
When I go to answer, he reaches up and grabs the door jamb as if holding himself up. Damn him for looking so damn sexy.
“I know you don’t want me here.”
Wrong.
“I think you know me well enough that I’d slam the door in your face if I didn’t,” I say, studying his face to see what he might be thinking.
Feeling.
Is he here to work through his guilt? Because I don’t know if I can give that to him right now. Not after working out that I have true feelings for him.
“That’s why my hand is there.” He glances up. “I figure you don’t hate me enough to crush my fingers.”
I smile and dip my gaze.
I don’t hate him, and I’ve missed his cheekiness. Those blue eyes that have already roamed my pajama-clad body.
“Ma—”
Before I can finish his name, he takes a step forward and wraps his body around mine.
I almost burst into tears.
Immediately I feel the sense of safety I’ve been craving since he walked away last Friday.
I cling to his arms as Marshall carries me a few steps inside and kicks the door closed with his foot. Then he lowers me down and cups my face.
“Tell me you’re okay, little wolf?” he rasps.
“No. But I will be,” I reply honestly.
He throws his head back, blinking away the moisture in his eyes. “Fuck. Goddamn, Trina. I’m so fucking sorry.”
My chest tightens at his emotional reaction. I had no idea he cared this much. That he was so...he’s crying. About me.
I cup his face. “It wasn’t your fault, Marsh.”
“It was. I shouldn’t have left you there with him.” He shakes his head. “I think...I know he did this to hurt me.”
I blanch.
Hearing those words come out of his mouth shocks me. I wasn’t sure what Roger had meant when he was saying all the crude things at the time, but knowing Marshall was aware of it...
And he still didn’t answer my calls that night.
“What?” I step out his arms.
He simply stares at me.
“You knew he might hurt me?”
“No. I don’t know. Fuck. We served together and he was...on my last mission.” Marshall pales. “Trina—”
“Why did you pretend not to know him?” I push at his chest.
“He did it first and I wasn’t sure what your relationship with him was. Plus, our last mission was and still is classified.” He rubs the top of his head, something he does a lot.
I can’t believe this.
“Fuck classified. If you knew there might be a danger to me, you should’ve told me!”
How could I be so dumb? This man doesn’t care for me. If it had been any of the other girls, Josh, Ryder, Aidan—they would never have left the party. Never have left them alone.
When he just stares at me, I snap.
“Get out! Get the fuck out of my house.”