Chapter 32
Rory
Of course my mother wants me to come by for dinner on a day that should be filled with joy. I’m finally free from Nathan and now I have to deal with her snide ass. Maybe it won’t be so bad. I’ll go in, drop off Claire, make some excuses and we’ll go home. No big deal. Wait, did I just reference Wes and Kyle’s place as home?
You sure did, girl, lock that shit down .
I bat away my inner thoughts and decide now is not the time to examine that level of commitment. I’m not unwilling, just not ready right now. Kyle smoothly pulls into the driveway and I see an unfamiliar car in the driveway. Frowning, I turn to Claire.
“Did she mention company?”
Claire shakes her head. “No, but maybe it’s one of her friends dropping off some fabric or yarn or something.”
“Maybe.”
We walk as a group to the door, Wes and Kyle walking slightly behind us, Wes’ hand on the small of my back as we go. Claire opens the door to go in first, and we follow her through the living room, not seeing my mom at first. We find her in the dining room and she’s definitely not alone. My body stops and freezes, causing Wes to bump into me, and Claire even stops moving. I’m sure the four of us look ridiculous as we stand in the wide opening to the dining room, but my legs refuse to move.
“Oh good, you brought Rory with you. Claire, go upstairs and wash your hands before dinner.”
Claire looks at me, uncertainty in her eyes. I can tell she doesn’t want to go, but she also wants the hell out of this room.
“I’ll be okay, go on.”
She shoots me a shaky smile before walking swiftly back the way we came so she can head up the stairs. Once the sound of her feet climbing stairs reaches us, my mother looks at me, completely ignoring the men on either side of me.
“Would you care to explain why in the world you took out this ridiculous restraining order on Nathan?”
She pats his hand as she talks, and looks at him with sympathy in her eyes, like I’m in the wrong for doing this. Nathan sits calmly, the papers stacked in front of him, and while he gives my mom an appreciative smile, he looks at me like he’s going to kill me the first chance he gets.
“Wes, go call 911,” I hear Kyle mutter behind me.
“Excuse me,” Wes says, not waiting for a response as he backs out of the room.
“Well, that’s rude,” my mom comments, watching Wes leave with no explanation.
“Mom, what the fuck is going on here?”
“Don’t swear, it’s not becoming on you. Nathan called me today, absolutely distraught about this turn of events. He was so sure you’d get back together, and to have someone serve him papers? Well, it’s certainly not what either of us expected. You know how I wanted you two to get back together. He’s so good for you.”
Nathan’s eyes sharpen as he hears my mom’s words, absolutely reveling in her high opinion of him. My arms cross in front of me as she talks, and I ball my fists, digging my nails into my palms to keep from screaming.
“Mom, did you even read those?”
“What? Of course not. Why would I? Any reason you have to get a restraining order is clearly not true. I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”
Kyle snorts behind me, and my mom turns her sharp glare on him.
“And you , you should be ashamed of yourself. Seducing my daughter into the situation she’s in. No doubt telling her made up stories about how Nathan never really loved her.”
“The only people here making up stories are the two sitting at the table,” Kyle calmly replies.
He moves his arm so that his hand is resting on my far shoulder. I take comfort from the touch and draw myself up a little straighter. My mother is gaping at him, clearly shocked that someone other than me would dare speak back to her.
“Do you see why I’m concerned now? She’s clearly under some bad influence,” Nathan said, his sad tone a mockery of actual emotion.
“Clearly. This is unacceptable, Aurora, and I expect you to apologize right now and cut this behavior out.”
“Stop. Just stop.”
“You may not talk to me like that, young lady. I am your mother—”
“STOP!” I all but scream.
Wes comes silently back to my side as I begin talking.
“Mom, Nathan was abusive to me during our entire relationship. I know you won’t believe me; you never have. I don’t know what I did to deserve your judgmental attitude, but you have always taken other people’s sides, not mine. I don’t even care. I truly don’t. You want to judge my choices? Fine. I do care that you are actively trying to push me back to a man who has abused me in almost every way possible.
“He made me feel small, Mom. He tried to make me feel smaller than he already made me. He tried to force me to stop working. He tried to make me completely reliant on him, so I’d have nowhere to go. He insulted me at every turn, made everything my fault. He threatened Claire once! A child! The moment he threw me down is when I left. Did he tell you he did that? Apparently, I stepped on his shoe and bent it out of shape. He threw me down over a shoe, Mom! Then he beat the shit out of me after work the other night. Did he tell you that too?! Did he explain the concussion that put me in the hospital overnight?! I’m guessing he didn’t.”
I’m almost screaming at this point, every emotion pouring out of me from the year of being stuck under Nathan’s thumb. Tears are streaming down my face, my arms no longer crossed in front of me, but pointing at the man who made my life a living nightmare without me even realizing it. Rage, sorrow, regret, and relief war within me and are released with my words, cleansing me in a way I didn’t know I need.
My mom huffs and rolls her eyes, “Always so dramatic. Just cheer up a little and you’ll see you’re exaggerating everything.”
“Depression doesn’t work like that, MOM! It’s a serious problem and I’ve always had it. It doesn’t make what Nathan did any less horrible! It’s not even part of the equation here!”
I can feel pressure building within me, a truth begging to come out that I don’t want to admit to myself. A truth I don’t want anyone else to know. I want to shove it down, keep it in the dark. Nobody needs to hear about it, I just need to deal. Then my mom rolls her eyes at me, and it pushes to the front of my mind. It makes me feel shameful and weak, but it’s bursting forth and I don’t think I can stop it.
“He forced me, Mom! Multiple times! I didn’t want to have sex and he wouldn’t stop until I just let him! I didn’t want to!”
My words dissolve into sobs as the weight of what I just said sits in the room, Nathan’s face a display of rage, my mom horrified, and I refuse to look back at my guys. I don’t want to see the disgust on their faces when they realize what I let happen. I’m praying to anyone who will listen that Claire didn’t hear that, but my prayers apparently have fallen on deaf ears.
“Grandma? There’s someone at the door,” she says quietly, having snuck into the room from a different entrance.
My eyes close in shame, and I turn to leave the room. I brush past Kyle and Wes, refusing to look at their faces, and open the door to see a police officer standing there. He takes in my appearance and a mixture of concern and alarm appears on his face. I can only imagine what I look like right now, tears streaming down my face, my skin blotchy and my posture defeated.
“Ma’am, I’m Officer O’Neil. I received a call about a violated PPO at this residence? Are you alright?”
I nod. “I’m the one who filed it. The violator is in the dining room. I’m leaving, but go on in.”
He watches me as I go, and I realize I don’t have my car to drive. I stop at the end of the driveway and turn, staring down the length of the street, trying to figure out how to get back to my apartment. How stupid of me to not insist on staying at my apartment. There’s some innate sense that’s been built within me over the last few weeks that alerts me to the guys walking up to me from behind.
“I’m not broken,” I tell them.
“We never said you were,” Kyle says softly.
“You are brave, you are wonderful, and I wish I could replay how fierce you were all the time. I am in awe of you,” Wes adds.
“I never told anyone.”
“Never?” Wes asks.
“Never.”
They both hug me and I wrap my arms around Wes, who is in front of me, and take comfort from Kyle who shelters me from behind. My rocks, my men who want nothing more than to see me happy and breathing easy. They let me be who I need to be, and I do the same for them. Here in their arms, I’m reminded of that, and I internally scold myself for thinking that their response would be anything other than what it is.