His expression softens. “You’ll never be alone again. I promise.”
My once-impenetrable armor crumbles to dust as his solemn vow spears straight through my heart, down to the very core of my being. The past collides with my present, and everything I thought I knew gets flippedon its axis.
I don’t remember a time when promises held any sort of significance beyond their ability to pacify unruly children. Their words were always empty and meaningless. I keep people at arm’s length because that’s all I know—it’s how I survived. The only promise that ever meant anything was the one I made to myself, the one that’s falling apart with each passing moment.
I choke on a sob as the weight of it threatens to suffocate me.
Jaxon scoops me into his arms, and the final thread unravels, setting free a lifetime of anguish. He holds me against his bare chest, one palm skating up and down my spine while the other cradles my cheek. “Let it out. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, and I’m not ever letting you go.”
The combination of his skin on mine and those reverent words whispered with such sincerity unravels me, and I burrow deeper into him. Maybe a part of me needed the permission to break, or maybe it’s the feeling of someone finally touching me.
He’s achingly tender as his hand slides over my scars, and I no longer have it in me to care that he’s touching them. Time ceases to exist, and he holds me together as I fall apart in his arms. At some point, he pulls a soft blanket around us and lies back against the pillows with my whole body draped over him.
When the tears have all but dried, and my breathing evens out, he tilts my chin up and presses his lips to my forehead. “Tell me what happened... back then, I mean.”
“I can’t. You’d hate me if you knew.”
“I couldneverhate you.”
Beyond all reason or rational thought, I believe him. For the first time in my life, I set my burdens at someone else’s feet. I tell Jaxon everything, from all the years of abuse to the biggest confession of them all: “I killed my stepfather.”
It’s the first time I’ve said it aloud. I look up through wateryeyes and hold his gaze. I don't know what I'm searching for—disgust or condemnation, perhaps—but I don't find it. Pity would be worse, somehow, but I don't find that either. Instead, there’s a blazing fire in his emerald irises.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he says gruffly. “None of it was your fault. If I could, I’d go back and kill him myself.”
His fingertips glide through my hair, an innocent gesture, as easy as breathing, but that’snothow my body reacts. Pleasure instantly becomes pain, and all of the air seems to evaporate from my lungs. Unable to catch my breath, I bolt upright and press a hand to my heaving chest.
A strong hand cups my jaw, tentative at first. I lean into his touch, reminding myself that this is Jaxon and he would never hurt me.
His rueful gaze meets mine. “Breathe, baby. Tell me what happened.”
I shake my head as my voice fails me. The first tear escapes over my lashes, and I don’t even try to stop them. Not this time. Whatever strength I thought I had has crumbled to dust with one simple touch.
I hate this. I don’t want to be this weak and fearful person. This isn’t who I am; it’s who I was forced to become.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No. It’s—it’s not you.” There’s an unwelcome tightness in my chest, and my gaze becomes unfocused as my mind travels back in time.
I’m thirteen years old. Rodney has his fist tangled in my long ponytail as he yanks me backward and shoves me to the ground.
“What did you do this time, Calliope?” my mother snarls with a cigarette pinched between her yellowing fingers. There’s a fresh ring of bruises around her feeble wrist as she brings a glass of clear liquid to her lips. Vodka, not water. Never water.
I glance up at her, pleading for her to put a stop to this, but it’s hopeless. She never intervenes.
“I caught this little brat hiding snacks in her bedroom.”
Mom stares at me indignantly. “You asked for it.”
Rodney’s belt swishes ominously through his belt loops, leather scraping against denim, an all-too-familiar sound. I brace myself for the sting.
“Where did you fly off to, Bluebird?” Jaxon’s quiet voice coaxes me out of the horrible memory. His thumbs glide over my cheekbones, capturing my tears. “Come back to me.”
I press my palm against the hand still cradling my cheek, letting his touch ground me in reality.
Deep breath.
I’m not there. I haven’t been trapped there for a long time.
