But I can’t, so I don’t. I said I would get her home safe, and that’s what I intend to do.
Once we get to my truck, I slip her into the seat, grab the seatbelt, and reach over her to buckle it.
“You’re too sweet for your own good, Rhys.”
“I promise you, Bristol, I’m only sweet for three things in the world.”
“Yeah? And what’s that.”
“You,” I say, meeting her eyes. “My mom. And Mr. Bun-Buns.” Bristol’s laugh is music to my ears, and it helps ease some of the tension we’re both feeling. I’m sure she’s losing her mind about me whisking her out of there.
“When do I get to meet this elusive pet bunny of yours?”
“How about I bring him in next week? I know he’ll fall in love with you.”
Just like I have.
Chapter Eighteen
BRISTOL
Rhys’ scent engulfs me as I watch him walk around the truck and hop in. I’m stunned, practically silent, struggling to believe that I just walked out of an important event for Blake with Rhys. If Kira could see me now, she’d be screaming my praise, the wicked bitch. Nerves slither down my spine, my heart racing in my chest, and I can’t decide if it’s from the adrenaline and fear of what I just did, or excitement over being with Rhys. I’m not sure which one is worse.
Rhys turns the engine of his big truck over, and it roars to life, but the silence is stifling. Instead of shifting into drive, Rhys turns, draping his arm over the back of the bench seat. His presence is giant, consuming, but not in a suffocating way. In a way that feels like a cocoon—safety and comfort. It’s taking all my restraint not to curl under his arm right now and cry. He just makes me feel seen in a way that I’ve never experienced before. Not even with Kira.
“Are you alright?”
Am I? I just walked out on my fiancé, the man I’ve been with for years of my life, and got into the truck that belongs to another man. Another man I’ve been rapidly falling in love with.
“I don’t know. I think so? Oddly enough.”
“Does he always talk to you like that?”
“Blake?”
“Are there other men who talk down to you, Bristol?” Rhys says the words in a way that is at odds with his typical tone. He’s pissed, barely holding onto his rage. Yet I don’t feel threatened.
“Just him. He’s always been a little too honest, and yeah, he’s said things in the past that hurt me, but lately it feels different. He started working with this new company last year, and he’s gotten meaner with every raise and promotion. I don’t know how to explain it. He treats me like I’m his property, and I’m not; I don’t know how to prove that to him. I think it’s always been mediocre at best between us, and I was just living in a land of delusion. But it’s gotten so much worse lately. I tried to fix it, I tried to work on things, but he doesn’t see me as a person, he just . . . Sorry, I’m venting. You don’t need to hear any of this.”
“Baby, I’m here for you to vent to whenever you need, no matter the topic. You want to talk about him? Talk. You want to discuss food? Your period? The weather, or your darkest secrets, I’m here for you. Anything for you. But I need you to know you don’t deserve to be spoken to like that, no woman should be treated that way, especially not by the person that’s supposed to love them.”
I know he’s not wrong. I’ve faced the reality of my relationship with Blake. There’s no coming back from the hurt, the neglect, the way he makes me feel so inconsequential. I just can’t leave yet, and that’s the hardest part of all of it. I’ve made up my mind to end this and move on, but I just can’t let the shelter stay under his thumb.
I used to imagine us building something together, something warm, something safe. A life where I felt held, understood, respected, cherished, and loved, and by a person I gave those things to in return. But somehow, somewhere along the way, the person I thought Blake was isn’t the person in front of me anymore. Or maybe he was always this person, and I just didn’t want to see it.
All the verbal jabs over my weight, my routine, my career. How he thinks he has this claim over me when that’s not what I agreed to. The neglect, the lack of intimacy in any form, the hurtful words, the hateful way he looks at me like he owns me like a piece of property.
Jesus Christ, when did I start shrinking to fit the version of myself he wants me to be? I made excuses for too long, telling myself things will get better, that maybe it’s stress, maybe I’m being too sensitive, overreacting. But I know deep down those were lies I was telling to convince myself it was all okay. I can’t build a life with someone who makes me feel invisible. The hurt isn’t temporary anymore. And there’s no coming back from the lack of give-a-damn about me.
I deserve to feel seen.
I deserve to feel safe.
I deserve to be loved.
I deserve to feel like I matter.
I matter.
