Chapter Eighteen
Josie
I liked mornings.
Or at least I liked waking up this morning in Rome’s arms.
I had just turned onto Main Street after having the most amazing night of sex, and I couldn’t stop smiling. Sure, I had to leave him in bed and come to work, he had given me a scorching hot kiss to hold me over until I saw him again.
I fanned my face with my hand and tried to think about anything but Rome naked in bed. “Down, girl,” I whispered to the windshield.
Scoop & Swirl came into view, and my usual rush of pride when seeing the building sank as bright white, spray-painted letters on the front window came into view.
I frowned and slowed my car. At first, I couldn’t figure out what I was seeing, but the words came into focus.
In white spray paint, there were big, messy letters. FAT WHORE
My chest felt like it caved in, and I forgot to breathe.
I just stared as the words blurred, then sharpened and then blurred again.
FAT.
WHORE.
I hadn’t heard those exact words before.
Not together.
But... I’d heard versions.
You’d be prettier if you lost weight.
You have such a pretty face.
You’re lucky I like bigger girls.
You should be grateful.
Bruce.
My mom.
High school.
Random strangers.
A thousand tiny cuts over thirty-six years.
And now they were sprayed across the business I’d fought for.
My eyes burned. “No.” The word came out tiny.
I climbed out of the car and walked closer. Like maybe I was wrong. Maybe somebody was filming a movie. Maybe this wasn’t my shop.
Maybe…
My knees wobbled and I realized it was real.
The white paint dripped down the glass and covered the mint-green trim. Covered the place I’d poured every ounce of myself into.
I wrapped my arms around my stomach.
Suddenly cold.
Suddenly eight years old and overhearing my aunt tell my mom I’d never find a husband looking like this. Suddenly twenty-two and listening to Bruce joke about putting me on a diet.
My phone buzzed in my purse and I jumped.
My hands shook as I dug out my phone. Rome. Morning, babe. Coffee run?
A sob caught in my throat because suddenly I wanted him. Wanted him here. Wanted him to tell me this wasn’t true.
I hit call and he answered immediately. “Morning.”
His voice was rough and sleepy.
I sucked in a shaky breath. “Rome.”
Instantly. “What’s wrong?”
The tears I’d been fighting spilled over.
“I...”
I looked at the windows and couldn’t make myself say it. “I’m at the shop.” My voice cracked. “I need you.”
Silence. Then... “I’m coming.”
Not ‘what’s wrong?’ Not, ‘are you okay?’
Just, I’m coming.
The line disconnected, and I stood there hugging myself, trying not to cry, and failing miserably.
Not even five minutes later, the roar of a motorcycle sounded down the street.
I’d never been so happy to hear it. The engine roared down Main Street and Rome parked crooked right in front of the store.
He looked at me first.
Then at the windows.
The engine shut off, and something changed in his face.
Not explosive anger.
Not shouting.
Just stillness. The scary kind. The kind that meant somebody was about to regret their life choices.
He climbed off the bike slowly and pulled off his helmet.
I watched his eyes move over the windows, read the words, and then read them again. His jaw clenched.
I swallowed. “Rome...”
He looked at me.
And immediately softened. His anger disappeared. Not gone, just put away for me.
He walked straight to me, and pulled me into his chest.
I broke completely. “I think it was Bruce,” I whispered. The words muffled against his shirt.
Rome’s arms tightened. “You think?”
I nodded. “He used to...” I couldn’t finish. Didn’t have to.
Rome understood. I felt it in the way his body went rigid. In the way his hand smoothed over my hair. In the silence. The dangerous silence.
He kissed the top of my head. “We’ll figure it out.”
I cried harder because he said we.
Not you.
Not me.
We.