Chapter 34
THIRTY-FOUR
brIAR
“Meow. Meow. Meow-meow-meow!” My lips twitch as I glance down at Tulip. She lifts up on her back legs, rubs her face against my leg.
“I’ll scratch you in a minute,” I murmur. “Right now my hands are dirty.”
I’m making bread.
Yup.
Bread.
It’s been two weeks since that night at the winery and I haven’t left this freaking apartment.
Because Pascal says it’s not safe yet.
I’ve met with a therapist three times. The first was because Rory showed up with a laptop and logged me on to the virtual visit before leaving the apartment.
The next two were because I found it to be helpful.
Look, I’m not a stunted adult trapped in my childhood.
It was shit. It was abusive. It was wrong. I had plenty of time on my own to understand that much.
Does it make sense to me?
No.
Do I understand why my parents, why my grandfather couldn’t love me?
No.
What did I do wrong? Why wasn’t I enough?
Lots of big feelings and old hurts and things I wish I could pretend didn’t still bother me.
The only piece that makes sense, the doesn’t hurt like it once did, is…Brooks. I understand why he did what he did. It makes sense. I would have done the same thing to protect him.
All that matters is that he’s back now and I’ve decided to stay and, aside from the fact that we haven’t kissed since that night a few weeks ago, I have my best friend back.
“Meow!”
“Almost ready, Tulip,” I say as River bustles into the room.
“How’s it coming, sweetheart?” she asks.
And maybe this woman—along with the rest of the family that Brooks has built over the last five years—is part of why I feel okay, even though I spent ninety minutes this morning unpacking emotional baggage with my therapist.
Because River has been here every day.
At first I thought it was because that was her job, to be here every day. It felt like overkill—even with the kittens, Brooks and I didn’t make that much of a mess, and it’s not like there isn’t plenty of food in the house. Then I realized she only appeared when Brooks had to go into the office.
And I knew it was a silent message from Brooks to me.
He’s not leaving me alone, not ever again.
Hot cocoa and movie nights. Popcorn and The Princess Bride. Dinners and breakfast together and…Brooks carrying me to bed every single night.
Us.
Albeit without kisses or other reminders that “our time hasn’t passed.”
Nothing except time together.
Which is a good thing. It’s allowing us time to rebuild the trust between us, to learn each other as we are now.
Even if my body is—
“You okay, honey?”
I jump as a hand settles on my back and the bowl teeters on the edge of the counter. “Shoot,” I hiss, reaching for it.
But River is reaching too and we bump into each other, both of us missing the catch.
The bowl crashes to the ground, sending dough in every direction.
Unbidden, my eyes well with tears. “Dammit,” I whisper.
“Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”
I shake my head. “It’s my fault. When someone touches me when I don’t expect it—” My throat goes tight and I crouch down to start cleaning up the mess.
“It’s been getting better”—especially with Chrissy and Rory and the others around as often as they’ve been—“but I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry I ruined the bread.”
“Tsk. It’s not ruined. This recipe only takes a second to throw together.” She rights the bowl, scoops the remnants inside, and puts it back onto the counter. Then sits down beside me.
I sigh, scrub at my eyes.
She lifts a hand, slowly, making sure I see it, and my heart kicks hard even as shame ripples through me. She’s so damned nice and I’m so fucked up. Her fingers brush mine and then she guides me down so we’re both sitting on the floor, our backs against the cabinet.
This close, I can see the gold specks in her rich chocolate eyes.
Her skin is…perfection. A few faint lines around her eyes and mouth, across her forehead, making it clear to the world that she smiles regularly, and she positively glows with vigor, her complexion all peaches and cream, the deep brown of her hair the perfect complement—even with the few strands of gray in the mix.
“You’re beautiful,” I blurt and her cheeks go pink.
She waves a hand. “Oh, honey. Those years are far behind me.”
“What are you? Thirty-five?”
A chuckle. “Now you’re just pulling my leg. I’m a decade older than that, love. But thank you for being so sweet.”
I’m not being sweet.
It’s the truth.
But it’s also me going for a distraction so I don’t have to delve into all of the ways I’m so fucked up.
“We should remake—”
Her fingers squeeze mine. “Wait just a second, sweetheart.”
And, dammit, there my eyes go again.
She sees them, reaching into her pocket and passing me a packet of tissues.
“Thanks,” I whisper, dabbing at the corners of my eyes. “And again I’m sorry.”
“No more apologies.” She sighs and leans back against the cabinets. “It gets better, you know.”
I still. “What gets better?”
“Being scared all the time. Jumping when someone surprises you.” A beat. “Thinking that touch can only be laced with pain.”
“River,” I begin.
“I thought I had to be perfect, thought if I just did things exactly the way he preferred then he’d keep his fists to himself.
” She looks away and this time, I find that I’m the one who’s reaching across the space between us to offer comfort.
“But it didn’t matter how hard I worked or how perfect I was, the abuse didn’t stop. ”
I suck in a breath and nod.
“I got out.” An exhale. “And he dragged me back. Then I got out again and again and again, and every single time I ended up right back in that house.”
“Oh, River.”
“All that matters is that I’m not there any longer.” She squeezes my hand and pulls back. “And I know it’s not what you went through. I’m only telling you so that you know I understand, at least a little bit.”
“I think you understand exactly what I’m feeling.”
“Maybe,” she murmurs.
“Definitely.”
“Okay then.” A breath. “So you need to know it gets better. Trust that there are good people in this world.” She touches my cheek. “And trust that you’ll be able to find them.”
“I know that’s true.”
“Yeah?” Hope blazes in her gorgeous eyes.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “Because you’re in my life now.”
Her eyes fill with tears but her smile is as beautiful as she is. “Just try and get rid of me.”
“Never.” I climb to my feet, extend a hand to help her to hers. “Now should we attempt Bread 2.0?”
“I think—” But she freezes, as though something catches her focus.
I follow her gaze and warmth floods me as I see Brooks standing just a few feet away, his expression unfathomable.
Before I can process that, I realize there’s someone behind him.
Thorn.
And the rage in his expression is unending.