Chapter 2 #3
I try to think of something to say that will ease his mind, gazing around the room, taking in the worn-out, polished hardwood floors, the white-washed timber walls with rough stone accents, the natural stone fireplace, and the wooden vaulted ceilings.
It’s an older cottage-style home, but light and airy, with only one bedroom and an attic upstairs just big enough for a bookshelf.
“My home is like something out of a catalog,” I say.
“You deserve it. I can’t wait to see it, but… well, it might be a while before I can visit,” his regret sounds through the phone.
Jaxson’s military duties keep him busy. I’ve barely seen him since he joined, but he was happy. Considering the shit life we were brought up in, I couldn’t be happier for him. Happiness is damn hard to find.
“I promise I’m fine. You have nothing to worry about.” I pause. “But I’m looking forward to showing you this place someday.”
“Same time next month?”
“Always,” I promise.
“You know I love you, right?”
My heart fills with warmth. “I love you, too, Jax.”
“Do you think this place could be the one?” he asks.
Staying in one place for too long was terrifying, something I haven’t done since the day I ran from Valentine.
Since the day Jaxson helped me escape after discovering I was being abused.
Manipulated into marrying a man who never truly loved me to escape a family that never wanted us.
A family that was “stuck” with us after we lost our mom when I was six.
Back then, Jaxson became more than the older brother. He became a sort of mother and father, looking after me when no one was looking after him. Something I’ll always hate myself for. Probably the reason I hid my abuse from him for so long. Guilt.
It’s taken an entire year to start working through the trauma. To heal the damage my childhood and ex-husband did to my self-esteem. A year to figure out exactly who I am and what I want. Even now, I still have a long way to go on my healing journey, but the last year has been the best so far.
I’m the strongest I’ve ever felt, and I’m ready to start making a life for myself. A permanent life that’s mine.
“I think this place will be good for me.”
“I’m always here,” he promises. I smile because I know those words will always be true. “Let me know if I need to kick Kyle’s ass,” he adds.
Over the past year, I’ve been training to defend myself just in case my ex ever finds me. I’m more than capable of kicking ass now. “I’m more than capable.”
“You always have been, Em.”
The next morning, I stretch out my legs on my front porch, readying myself for a run while Fox eats her breakfast. I peel off a pastel pink sweatshirt, wearing only a light blue sports bra and shorts with a gold horseshoe necklace that I never take off—the last gift I received from my mother.
Normally, I’d never go out in public so underdressed with my hair up. Too afraid someone would see the scars on my back and ask questions. But out here in the middle of nowhere, I feel safe, and the cold air is refreshing against my heated skin.
After my muscles are good and ready, I dash down the steps and turn the corner.
Running straight into none other than Kit Harlow’s solid abs. My reflexive action is to jab him in the ribs, which I do without even thinking about it.
And I hit him hard.
“Goddamn, Sadie!” He wheezes, bending at the waist as he winces in pain.
“Shit, I’m so sorry, Kit.” I inhale cold air, letting out water vapor. The whiff of fresh pine fills my nostrils. “What the hell are you doing on my property?” Not to mention it’s four in the morning. Was he looking through my windows?
I thought Kit was harmless, but I’ve been wrong before.
“I was—” he takes a jagged breath, squeezing his side where I jabbed him. “Running.”
I glance down at his sport pants, tennis shoes, and minimalist grey shirt, soaked to his muscular body. “Oh,” blush creeps into my cheeks.
He rubs at his ribs. “There’s a trail just there,” he points, clenching his teeth. “Behind your house.”
I reach for him, wanting to do something but not quite knowing what, feeling guilty that I just assaulted my neighbor, who was only trying to exercise. “Do you need—”
“I’m just fine.” He waves me off, gently pushing past me. Calloused hands brushing against the curve of my hip.
He staggers to his house and up his front porch.
“Thanks for the trail suggestion, Cowboy,” I shout, hearing him mutter under his breath as he closes the door.
Probably insulting me.
Oh well.
I take off towards the trail between two pines, trying to forget that whole awkward incident.
Trying to forget how solid Kit felt when I collided with his body, covered in sweat.
How his strong hands felt as they gripped my waist, gently steadying me out of his path.
How I flinched at his initial touch, worrying that he was going to hurt me.
Punch me back for jabbing him in the gut.
But his touch was softer than I imagined, so I settled into it. Warm, firm, calloused hands that are now branded on my mind. How can one man be so damn grumpy and strong, yet… gentle?
I run faster, pushing through the burn in my lungs as I lose myself in the wild. Running away from my dirty thoughts of my hotter-than-hell, yet grumpy-ass neighbor.