“And what did he expect you to say? Or me, for that matter?”
His frown deepens. “I imagine he wanted you to tell me what’s going on so I can help you.”
I scoff. “Right. Because it’s that easy. I tell the do-gooder sheriff my tale of woe and he’ll believe me and solve all my problems? Sure. Sounds perfect. Because that’s the way the real world works.”
I’m not proud of the bite to my words, but I can’t reel it back in. I pace away from him, needing space. Needing air. Needing all of this to stop and let me just take a second to breathe.
“Sam.”
I don’t speak, working to gather myself, and he tries again, but he’s closer.
“Sam, let me help.”
His hand settles gently on my upper arm, and I whip around to face him.
“How are you going to help? Erase the last five years—no, let’s make it ten—of my life?” I watch his face, searching for confirmation this was his plan, but he only watches, steady and focused fully on me.
It’s his calm that undoes me, but instead of crumbling, I erupt.
“Do you want me to tell you all the details? Okay, Sheriff, here they are. We started dating while I was his maid. Yep! A real Cinderella story. He pulled me out of my pathetic life and let me sleep in the master’s bed.” I grit my teeth as shame courses through me. “He made me feel like I was special just enough for me to ignore the signs I should’ve seen.”
My spine snaps into place as I try to remind myself I’m not that girl, and I’mhere, standing in front of this infuriatingly pushy man, and not back with my ex. Yet now that I’ve started, it all comes rolling out.
“The first time I remember him hurting my feelings was at a dinner with some of his lawyer friends. He made a comment about how he was such a cliché because he’d started sleeping with the help. Later when I asked him if that’s how he felt, he said it was just a joke, that I needed to lighten up, and that I shouldn’t get upset over things that were true.”
Grant swears under his breath, but he doesn’t say anything else because I’m still talking.
“I don’t remember loving him, but I do remember thinking we could have a decent life together. I felt special that he wanted me, and having someone who did despite my lack of… everything, was enough to make me believe a life with him might be okay. One where I didn’t have to worry about working so hard I couldn’t take a day off to get an eye exam or go to the dentist. One where I knew with confidence I’d be able to pay my bills this weekandnext.”
My laugh is more of a sob, and I wipe the tears on my cheeks away in a rush. I absolutely hate that I’m letting him see all this, but now that I’ve popped the top, there’s no stopping. “By the time we got married, even a bit before, I felt trapped. I felt it in my gut.”
A large, warm hand presses against my upper back and I turn to see an expression that steals my breath. So much compassion and empathy in his achingly handsome face.
“We got married on a Tuesday. My mom was my only guest, which should’ve been sign enough for me. I didn’t want to tell anyone at work. Plus by then, I’d become so isolated, I doubted any of them would’ve come if I’d asked.” I blink away tears and I can feel the anger deflating, the desire to lean into his touch mounting.
I want to bury my face in his chest and hide away in his strong, steady arms. I’ll inhale his clean laundry and pine scent, and I’ll feel all this grief and rage evaporate into the chemistry and pull between us. I’m not proud of it, but I want to get lost in him and him in me and make all of this go away.
But if I let myself give into that, I won’t just crack. Eventually, I would crumble into dust.
“You left him, though. You’re here, not with him anymore. You’re safe.”
He’s trying to soothe me, but he’s missing so much. And my heart is so bruised and sad, I throw it at him. “It’s not that simple.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Grant
She is vibrating with hurt and anger and sadness, and I can’t blame her a bit.
“I divorced him a year ago and ended up nearly bankrupt. What I didn’t realize then was that he still had access to everything of mine and he took it all. I knew long before I left I wouldn’t do that again. I wouldn’t become that woman again.”
My jaw clenches and I want to rage against this as her reality. “Did you leave LA then? Where else have you been?”
Her hand comes to her throat and I feel ill because I have a solid guess where this is going. That’s why there was a police report in her file.
“He had hurt me then, so I had an order of protection. And he abided by it. Everything went through lawyers and Imoved out and I started planning. Because the way he looked at me when he was hurting me…”
Her eyes are red from crying, but the look in them is so hollow, it guts me. I want to gather her to me, hold her close, and promise her nothing is going to harm her ever again.
