CHAPTER SIXTEEN LILLAH
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LILLAH
Mila set her fork down and stared at me across the table.
"Are you serious? Marshall stood at the bottom of your porch confronting Brett, while he held flowers and you stood on your porch?"
"Yep. The bastard even brought white roses."
"That is psychotic. The roses, and Brett, not Marshall. Marshall sounds like the leading man out of a goddamn romance novel."
Mila and I were having a late lunch at a small bistro near her office. We had both ordered a salad with grilled chicken and balsamic dressing. I sat picking at my food with a fork as I told Mila everything that had happened over the last couple of weeks, including the sex.
"You are right. He is a romance novel. That is what scares me the most." I said, shoving a piece of chicken into my mouth.
"Why does that scare you?"
I thought for a moment.
"Well, because romance novels end. The real ones feel too good to be read, and the others, the ending is always better than the beginning, and the beginning was already perfect.
Plus, when you fall from a higher place, you hit harder.
Then you spend the rest of your life wondering if it was ever real or if it was something you wanted so badly, you made it up. "
Mila pointed her fork at me, a piece of chicken stuck to the tines.
"That right there is your trauma talking, my dear. I say that with love and a psychology degree that I think I will be paying off forever."
I knew she was right. The rational part of my brain knew that Marshall wasn't Brett. I told her everything, all about our first date and the cooking class, the team dinner and the night after Brett showed up, and the I love you's and about us now being an official couple.
“Then there was the incident the other night at the hockey game. Apparently this player on the opposing team knew Brett. He approached Marshall and started saying things about me.”
“What did Marshall do?”
“Well, he nearly lost it. You should have seen it, his teammates had to pull him back to keep him from getting into a fight.”
“Wow. Have you heard anything from Brett since he showed up on your porch?”
“Just a text message, after that game.”
“Did you tell Marshall?”
I shook my head.
“No, his only reason for messaging would be to get a reaction from Marshall. So, I just left it alone.”
"What happened after the game?" She questioned me, looking as if she was totally invested in the situation.
"Well, he put both his hands on my cheeks and told me to forget what happened. That no matter what was said, to him, I was worth everything."
Mila was quiet. She had stopped eating, and she sat there with her hands wrapped around her water glass, her eyes fixed on me when she cleared her throat.
"Lillah, this man is in love with you."
"No," I said, shaking my head, even though I knew he'd already said it.
"Yes, he is genuinely in love with you. The kind where he wants you to be happy even when it is hard or uncomfortable for him."
"I know."
"Do you? Because from the sound of it, the way you are hesitating, the way you keep circling back to the 'but what if', you sound like you are waiting for the other shoe to drop?
I mean, I understand why. After Brett, I would probably be waiting for the entire closet to fall on my head, but Marshall isn't the other shoe.
He is the guy who will catch you when the shoe drops. "
I pushed my salad around my plate as the lunch crowd in the restaurant murmured around us.
"Let me ask you something," Mila said, leaning forward.
"When he held your face in that hallway, when he told you that you were worth everything, how did that feel?
I don't want to know what you thought about it, or what your head said, or what your trauma whispered.
I want to know how it felt in your body. "
The memory was right there, vivid enough that my skin tingled. I could still feel his warm hands on my face, one on each cheek and his thumbs on my cheekbones. I could still see the look in his eyes as he looked at me as if I were the most important thing in the world.
"It felt safe." I whispered. "It felt like the first time in years that I felt safe. My body could relax; my shoulders dropped, and I could unclench my jaw and take a breath. It had been so long that I forgot what that felt like."
Mila softly smiled.
"Then stop running from it." She said, reaching across the table and taking my hands in hers.
"You moved to Boston to start over and you built a business, you got your own place, a dog, clients and your own life.
You did all of that on your own, and it was incredible.
It was the bravest thing I have ever watched someone do, especially coming from a situation like yours. "
She paused and squeezed my hands harder.
"But, alone isn't the goal, Lillah. Alone was never the goal.
It was necessary to rehabilitate and recover.
The goal was to get you strong enough that you could let someone in without losing sight of yourself, and you're there.
You're there and he is standing right in front of you and he sounds like he is good.
He is terrifyingly good, and you are allowed to have that.
You're allowed to be happy without waiting for the punishment. "
I swallowed hard and took a deep breath in, letting it out slowly.
"You're right."
"I'm always right, and it's exhausting." Mila giggled. "It's a burden I carry with extraordinary grace."
I laughed.
"Brett will probably continue to cause problems, at least for a while, because that's what guys like him do. They can't stand to see someone else have what they couldn't keep. He doesn't want you back, but he also doesn't want anyone else to have you either. That's what makes him dangerous."
"I know."
I'd heard that part from my therapist a few days ago.
"Have you thought about a restraining order?"
I had so many times since he'd appeared on my doorstep. In the middle of the night, lying awake in Marshall's arms, I'd flipped the idea over in my head again and again.
"I don't have enough evidence. He showed up once, and he brought flowers. A judge won't see that as a threat."
"Well, a judge hasn't read the backstory."
"I know, but the legal system doesn't work on a backstory. It works on evidence and patterns, and one porch visit with white roses is not a pattern yet." I shrugged.
"Yet." Mila's eyes widened. "You said yet."
"Well, that is only because I know him. He isn't going to stop at one visit, Mila."
We both sat there not saying anything because the thought alone of knowing he'd be back was enough to make me sick.
"Lillah, if there is one thing you need to know, it's that Marshall is a big boy and he can handle Brett. He's already stood between the two of you and never threw a single punch, even though he could have folded that man like a lawn chair. That isn't strength alone. It's character."
"I know."
"More important than any of that, you can handle it too.
You are not the same woman who left Texas.
That version of yourself was in survival mode, this new version of yourself is living.
That version of yourself would never have been able to handle any of this, not the confrontation, or the relationship, the vulnerability.
The version of you who is sitting across from me right now, can. "
"You're right."
We finished lunch and split the check because Mila insisted she pay her half even though I was the one who'd sent the invite.
I gave her a long hug outside the bistro, and when I went to let go, Mila hugged me tighter and a little longer.
Her arms tightened around my shoulders, and she whispered quietly against my ear.
"I am so proud of you. You know that, right?"
"I know." I said, smiling.
"Good. Now go home to your hot as hell hockey player."
I laughed as I walked over to my car and climbed in. I drove home with the windows cracked a little, the cool November air hitting my face. When I pulled into my driveway, Marshall's truck was parked at his house, and I noticed something on my front porch.
I got out of my car and walked up the steps of my porch and saw a brown paper bag from a pet supply store. A yellow ribbon tied the handles together. When I grabbed it, I saw a yellow post-it note stuck to the front. I pulled the note off the bag and read it.
For Cooper, all-natural duck jerky because he deserves it. M.
I opened the bag to see a pile of jerky inside. I smiled as my chest ached in the best way. The man had bought treats for Cooper. It was such a small thing, and it undid me more than any grand gesture could have done. I pulled out my phone and quickly texted him.
Lillah: Thank you. Cooper says you're his favorite human.
Immediately my phone vibrated.
Marshall: Tell Cooper he is my favorite dog. Now, you can come on over; I rented a movie. Bring Cooper.
I went inside and quickly fed Cooper while I changed into leggings and a sweatshirt. Then I clipped Cooper's leash on, and we walked over to Marshall's. I was about to raise my hand to knock when the door opened and Marshall stood there. He'd been watching us as we walked over.
Cooper bounded in through the door, and Marshall let out a whistle, catching his attention. When Cooper turned to look at us, Marshall held up a piece of jerky and threw it to Cooper, who caught it midair.
"Show off." Marshall chuckled.
I laughed as we settled on his couch, Cooper at my feet eating his jerky. I tucked myself against Marshall's side, my head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around me, and pulled me against him, kissing my forehead.
Marshall had chosen an action movie, one with lots of explosions and a plot that I was having a hard time following, partly because I wasn't paying any attention.
Marshall had his hand in my hair, his fingers working through the strands in slow passes, his thumb tracing circles on my scalp while I lay with my head in his lap.
The warmth of his hand moved down my body, heavy and grounding.
Halfway through the movie, I looked up at him. He was watching the screen, his jaw relaxed and his breathing easy. No tension in his shoulders or face. He looked like a man exactly where he wanted to be. On the couch with his girl and her dog.
"Hey." I said, placing my hand on the back of his.
He looked down at me and smiled. "Hey."
"I'm happy." I said as I studied his eyes.
His arm tightened around me, and he leaned down and pressed his lips to my forehead.
"Good. I'm happy too."
When the movie was over, we made our way to the bedroom. Cooper took his spot on the floor beside the bed, where Marshall had placed a large dog bed for him without being asked. He hadn't even told me he'd done it; one night, it appeared.
I crawled under the covers and moved into the center of the bed, Marshall pulling me against him, his arm around my waist with his chest warm against my back. I lay there in the dark, listening to the steady sound of his breathing, and I thought about what Mila had said.
Alone isn't the goal. The goal always was to allow yourself to get strong enough to let someone in without losing yourself.
She was right. I had done the work. I'd rebuilt, gone to therapy, shed so many tears I thought I'd never be able to cry again, and had mornings where getting out of bed was the hardest thing I'd done in my life.
I'd earned this. I'd given myself strength, and it wasn't diminished by allowing someone in. It completed it.
For the first time, I fell asleep with my jaw unclenched, without checking the locks three times. I fell asleep feeling safe and warm in his arms.