Then another.
And another.
My eyes flew open, but it took a second to focus in the darkness. I knew I was in my room, the torn corners where posters once lived still taped to the wall. The digital clock on my nightstand glowed red against my cheek and it was that light that revealed the truth of my circumstances. My father’s face, wild and full of anger, stared back at me. Except his anger was empty, like he was just angry and I happened to be in the way.
His hand lifted high above his head, and the belt came down with a snap. Again. And again. And again.
Welts bloomed across my stomach and my chest, my arms and legs too. I tried to curl in on myself, to protect something—anything—but he just kept hitting me. The leather bit my skin, so hard it knocked the breath from my lungs. The room filled with the sound of my anguished cries, screaming for someone to rescue me. To ask for help that I knew would never come.
That was the first night. But it wasn’t the last.
It was the first of hundreds of nights just like it where I woke up screaming in terror. After the fifth night, the only saving grace was that I was never deep asleep after that. I was awake and ready, bracing for the first blow.
Right now I was in the thick of the worst of it, reliving the nights when he was too drunk to find the belt that had been wrapped around his waist and reached for anything within reach. An extension cord. A two-by-four. A wooden spoon that fractured a rib. His fists. His feet.
It was an onslaught of inescapable pain and I did the only thing I could: I screamed.
I screamed so loud and so hard my lungs burned. I fought for air and thrashed in the darkness, begging the monster in my dreams to stop.
Except it wasn’t my bed and I wasn’t alone.
Arms, thick and strong, locked around me. They were strong and solid, but they were terrifying and I screamed even louder. I screamed until I coughed, fighting at the strength I knew I couldn’t defeat but a familiar scent broke through, soap and leather and something unmistakably Drew.
“Fuck, it’s all right, Mace,” he whispered in a deep, gravelly voice right by my ear. “I’m here. You’re safe. Fuck, you are so fucking safe, babe.” He kissed my hair and held me tighter until the trembling slowed and then finally stopped. He didn’t tell me to calm down, he told me I was safe. He didn’t ask questions I wasn’t ready to answer. He just stayed close and held me, a barrier against my demons.
Eventually, the terror loosened its grip on my heart and my breaths came slower, uneven but real. The room crept back into focus, and I focused on those details. The soft glow of moonlight in front of me. The rise and fall of Drew’s broad chest against my back. The heat of him. The safety he provided. “I’m sorry,” I said hoarsely. “I just… fuck, I don’t know where that came from.” Shame burned hot in my chest. “It’s been years.” And things had, for at least the past week, been going so well. Why now?
“Don’t apologize, Macy. Fuck, please don’t ever apologize for how you process horrible shit.”
I smiled at his words, comforting and profane. “I’m always such a mess around you,” I said and reluctantly pulled myself from his hold.
He tightened his grip. “Funny because I don’t see a mess at all. I just see you, the girl who could’ve turned into an asshole but chose not to. My best girl.” He kissed my forehead and then let me go.
“I need a shower,” I blurted out and shoved away from the bed. I needed the scorching hot spray from the shower to wash off the memory because the scars were there to stay. I escaped the bedroom for the bathroom before I crawled back into bed and the safety of Drew’s arms.
This was my problem to deal with on my own. As much as I appreciated Drew—and holy fuck was I grateful he was in my life again—I didn’t want my perpetual dark cloud to infect his life. I cranked the shower as hot as it would go until steam filled the small room, and then I shrugged out of the shorts and tank top I slept in, that was now drenched in sweat. My hands shookbut eventually I was naked and letting the hot water sting my skin.
I welcomed the sting because this time it was my choice.
Yeah right, when had anything ever been my choice?
That was when the dam broke and the tears came, flooding my cheeks. I cried, silently at first, but the pain was visceral and soon, loud, ugly sobs shook my body. I covered my mouth with a fist, hoping the steam would muffle the sound.
Fuck, would I ever be normal?
Even here in Drew’s house where I was safe and loved, with the only person in the world who ever gave a damn about me, I was still broken. Still haunted by the past.This fucking sucks.
The shower curtain slid back and I startled, spinning and ready to fight. But Drew was already there, naked and unashamed, his presence calm instead of intrusive. He didn’t say anything, he just reached for the body wash and worked it into a lather in his hands. “Hey,” he murmured, like he was afraid to spook me.
“Hey,” I stammered, trying like hell to keep my eyes on his face instead of his abs. His thighs. His cock.
“I’m just here to help,” he explained, his voice tight and rough. And then his big, calloused hands were on my skin. He started with my shoulders and worked his way down, strong, capable hands slid over my breasts until my nipples went rock hard. Soapy hands slid down my stomach and over my legs, up the inside of my thighs and around to my ass.
My breath hitched even though I knew this was all platonic. My body didn’t get the message. I was on fire and strung tight and when he washed my pussy, I couldn’t help the groan that escaped. “Sorry,” I muttered.
“Don’t be.” That was what his mouth said but I heard the discomfort in his voice. He washed me gently, methodically, like it was something he’d done a hundred times before. Like this was just another way to take care of me. No hunger. No expectation. Just warm hands and quiet attention.
I damn near had an orgasm when he soaped up my hair and dug his fingers into my scalp, but I hadn’t, and eventually it was all over and Drew stepped away.
