I made the decision that day, sitting on my kitchen floor covered in half-eaten vomit, that if something can change me, for better or worse, then something can certainly change me back. This time, though, that change was going to be by my own hand, not at the mercy of someone else’s.
I was going to be in control of whatever new woman I was going to be.
After throwing away the vodka and pizza box, I shredded dear Daddy’s credit cards—then burned them after I’d frantically taped them back together a split-second while sobbing uncontrollably. That was the first time I realized the real power of money. Of greed. The false comfort it provided. But you couldn’t be an independent woman while relying on a man to pay your bills, now could you?
I joined a gym, made an appointment with a therapist, signed up for self-defense classes, signed-up for firearm training, applied for my concealed carry license, and adopted Max from a rescue facility that took in retired police dogs.
It was just me, Athena and Max, rebuilding a new world together, whatever that looked like.
The days slowly morphed into carefully constructed routines and schedules, down to the minute. This type of structure eased my anxiety and helped bring back that control I felt like I’d lost. I also learned that self-defense, guns, dog training, and martial arts came easily to me. I loved all of it.
But losing the weight? That’s another story. It took time, effort, perseverance. Six months that included a detox off gluten, dairy, sugar, and salt.
It was slow going, but eventually, I began to feel better. Physically first, then mentally. And finally, emotionally. I brought back the full-length mirror I’d once removed frommy bedroom, returned the scale to my closet. Flushed the bottles of antidepressants down the toilet and replaced the goblet that I drank my evening martinis in with a much more socially acceptable shorter glass that readLet that Shit Go.Ratted T-shirts and sweatpants were replaced with, well,lessratty T-shirts and sweatpants… turned out the new Sunny had as much interest in fashion as the old one.
Oh well. Can’t win ’em all.
Physically, the old Sunny was back. But in the place of the once naive, rose-colored-glasses girl was an independent, lethally trained, paranoid perfectionist. A deadly combination in any man’s book.
My safe-zone, my comfort zone, was my house, so I started my own business where I could work from home, combining the only two things I trusted—self-defense tactics and dogs. I ate, drank, slept and worked behind the walls I’d built around myself, only leaving when it was absolutely necessary.
I was healthy, happy.
Unstoppable.
It wasn’t long before the looks and attention I’d gotten from men before I let myself go, came back. But instead of smiling and giggling at the attention, this new, improved,smarterSunny decided to use this to my advantage. Unfortunately, I couldn’t avoid civilization all together, so I learned how to get in and out with what I needed, more often than not, at the assistance of man. You see, I might have built myself into Sunny 2.0, but the scars still remained. All men needed to die, in my humble opinion. Men could not be trusted. I did not let men into my space, into my head, into my bed. It had been six years since I’d had sex, and while most might cringe at that thought, I wore the record proudly as some sort of badge of honor provingmy independence. I didn’t need anyone. Celibacy gave me control over every part of my body, and for me, that was an easy adjustment. Well, that and the fact that vibrators had come a long way.
In my book, men were stupid, ignorant, easy to seduce and easier to tame. Men were helpful, then disposable.
Forgettable.
Enter Detective Max Jagger and his two-hundred and fifty pounds of pent up rage tackling me like a gorilla in City Park. The moment he’d appeared at the scene of the “Slaying at the Park,” he’d caught my eye. Controlled my focus. Not because of the gun in his hand, or his six-foot-four beastly frame, or the rugged sexiness that came as effortlessly to him as his disdain for manscaping—or anything that involved self-care, obviously. But because of the authority that oozed from him. The detective owned the room instantly, so to speak. He was the one I needed to keep my eye on.
The brash, unapologetic detective inserted himself into my life despite my every attempt to keep him at arm’s length.
Jagg was everything I didn’t like in a man. A cocky, controlling, bulldozing alpha male. Jacked-up testosterone on the brink of self-destruction.
He was nothing I’d known before… and everything I never knew I needed.
From the moment he’d pinned me to the grass in the park, I’d feltsomething.Drawn to him in a way I didn’t understand. Although his grip around my wrists had loosened and eventually released, it was like the touch never left my skin. The heat and tenacity of the hold tightening every time I saw him. Every time I heard his voice. Every damn time he looked at me in that way.
And then he had to go and be my knight in shining armor.
Forget the attack, forget my keyed truck, Max Jagger was like an EF5 tornado, blowing into my life and turning everything I’d so meticulously placed onto its head.
I was mentally prepared for an attack, prepared for the violation of my privacy. I’d lived through it once, I’d do it again. But Max Jagger? No, I wasn’t prepared for him.
I wasn’t prepared for the way he had me questioning if I could trust a man. Or even let one into my life again.
I wasn’t prepared for the guilt I felt for deceiving a man with as many trust issues as I had. If Detective Max Jagger knew the secrets in my closet, there’d be no going back.
For either of us.
I pushed off the couch and stepped onto the deck, into the cool evening air.
I took a deep breath, then another. While my thoughts were muddled and racing, I knew two things for certain: One, I had a decision to make.
And two, I wasn’t ready.
