While she gave him a small smile, his frown had been firmly in place all afternoon.
He lowered to the couch, and she leaned forward and touched his hand. “Jesse. I’m okay. And Luke’s only got a concussion.”
Granted, it was a bad concussion, and he’d need some time off work, but he’d be okay.
“I should have been here,” he said for what had to be the tenth time that afternoon. “I asked Luke to come because I’m a greedy bastard, and I thought I wouldn’t be able to leave you. But if I’d come, Dylan would never have gotten the jump on me. He’d be in a fucking cell right now.”
She tilted her head. “Dylan’s a terrible person, but he’s not an idiot. He knows your background in special operations. He never would have tried on you what he did to Luke. He saw Luke as an opportunity.” She softened her voice. “This is Dylan’s fault…but you know that. Why are you trying to blame yourself?”
“Because I need to blamesomeone.”
“Blame him.”
“He’s not here.” That familiar anger edged his voice.
She lowered her gaze to the steam coming off the cocoa. “Blame me, then. I’m the one who dated the psychopath.”
“I wouldneverblame you.”
“You should.”
“Aspen, it isn’t your fault that your ex is a psychotic asshole.” He said it slowly, like that would somehow convince her.
It didn’t. A part of her would always blame herself for not seeing his true colors earlier…and then for not leaving earlier.
It was time to tell Jesse. Past time.
She took a deep breath before looking up. “It was six months into our relationship when I started to notice something was off. He got really possessive. Started wanting to know where I was going every day and how long I’d be gone. I should have gotten out then, the red flags were there. But I didn’t.”
Jesse didn’t say anything, just watched her, waiting for the rest.
“Two months after that, he hit me.”
The veins in Jesse’s neck popped, rage blazing in his eyes, darkening them to almost black. But still he remained silent, like he knew she needed his silence to continue.
“I remember that first time so well. I wanted to go to the bar with friends, but he wanted me to stay home with him. We fought, and he hit me. You’d think that would be where our story ended…but it’s not.”
Tears burned her eyes at the admission. Tears of regret. Embarrassment. And shame…so much shame.
She looked down, not wanting him to see. “I was too ashamed to go to Callie, so I called my mother, but she was in one of her moods. I never even had a chance to tell her what happened before she started yelling at me. I hung up. Dylan found me in this spot where I used to write, in the park.” She shook her head. “One apology, some flowers, and a promise that it would never happen again…and pathetic, desperate-for-love me took him back. What does that say about me?”
“It says you were confused about what love was because you hadn’t been loved properly by others.”
Her eyes flashed up to see the anger still there. But also something else. Empathy mixed with sadness, maybe.
Then the rage returned. “But don’t ask me what that says abouthim.”
She blinked back the tears.
“What happened next?” he asked.
Her gaze returned to the steam. “Three weeks later, he shoved me against a bookshelf. I can’t even remember what we were arguing about that time. A month after that, we had this huge fight about me not wanting to move in with him. He grabbed my arm so tightly I thought he was going to break something.”
A muscle in Jesse’s jaw clenched.
“He looked like he was going to hit me, but I talked him down, told him I’d move in and he left for work. The second he drove away, I packed my things. But he came back.” Her pulse picked up, and it was only Jesse’s gentle touch on her thigh thatgave her the strength to keep going. “He saw what I was doing and hit me. I fell onto the glass coffee table and it shattered. He lunged for me, but I kicked him and ran.”
The muscles in Jesse’s arms were bunching, small veins popping out.
