Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“I asked him, forced him really, to keep quiet.”
Copper was going to crack a tooth at this rate. She pulled his arm down so she could see his face, and the fury in her eyes had her wishing she hadn’t. “Please be mad at me. Not him. He only agreed to keep my secret because I promised to eventually tell you. I just needed some time.”
“So tell me, Beth. Tell me now and tell me everything.”
Oh, this was going to go over about as well as that time she and her friends decided to try riding his motorcycle when they were fifteen. They tipped it and scratched the hell out of it before they made it out of the driveway. Copper nearly had a massive coronary event, or maybe she’d had the heart attack while waiting for him to wake up and discover what she’d done.
She glanced down at her chewed and ragged nails. They’d taken quite a beating over the past few weeks. “Yes, Jason was abusive. Saint…” She swallowed and blinked away new moisturein her eyes. “Well, there’s a good chance he saved my life. Jason attacked me that night in a way he hadn’t before. H-he had his hand around my throat and was choking me. Saint happened to arrive at that moment and heard a commotion. It was dumb luck. He kicked in my door and pulled Jason off me. I-I thought Saint was going to kill Jason,” she whispered.
“He fucking should have.” The way Copper’s nostrils flared and clenched his fists left no doubt in her mind he’d have done just that. “Why the fuck didn’t he?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t have that on my conscience. He came close. Jason was in bad shape when Saint got through with him, but I… I couldn’t have lived with the guilt of him killing someone because of me.”
“This is one of the main reasons I don’t want you to tangle up with my men. It fucks with their heads.”
“There’s no tangling.” At least at the time, there hadn’t been tangling. “I barely know him. He’s someone I’ve seen a handful of times over the years. And I was supposed to be okay with him killing someone on my behalf? Killing someone for some woman who might as well be a stranger?”
“You’re his fucking president’s daughter, Beth. It’s his job, his club duty to keep you safe.” His thunderous expression matched the rise in volume as he shouted.
“Andhe did,” she yelled right back. “I’m the one who begged him to stop. I’m the one who fucked up,” she said, slapping her own chest. “I stayed with a piece of shit who hurt me. The mistakes weremine. I’m so fucking ashamed of it. How could I live with myself if one of your men had to take a life because of my fuckup?” The sob she’d been trying to suppress burst forward.
Copper’s fury turned to horror one second before he hauled her to him, wrapping his arms around her in a crushing bear hug. “Christ, Beth, you didn’t fuck up. None of this is your fault.”
Everything she’d held in over the past few weeks, hell, the last year, burst from her in a torrent of hot tears that drenched her father’s shirt. In the safety and comfort of his arms, she wept for long minutes until there couldn’t have been a drop of liquid left in her body. All the while, he rocked her back and forth, murmuring about how she hadn’t done anything wrong and had nothing to feel bad about.
Eventually, she calmed. Copper rubbed her back as he rested his furred chin on her head. “Better?”
She let out a weak laugh. “Yeah,” she said as she pulled out of his embrace. “Sorry about that,” she said with a wince as she wiped his tear-soaked shirt as though she could brush away the wetness.
“Not the first time you’ve sobbed all over me.”
“Yeah, guess that’s what you get for being a girl-dad.”
He chuckled, then grew serious. “Listen to me, Beth,” he said, holding her shoulders so she had no choice but to face him. “There is only one person to blame here, and that’s the ball-barnacle who pretends he’s a man.”
Her lips twitched. “Ball-barnacle?”
But Copper wasn’t in the mood to laugh. “Yes. He’s a fucking two-pump tragedy and not worth the paper I wipe my ass with. No one can call themselves a man if they do not treat their woman like a fucking queen.”
“I know.” She lowered her eyes, staring at the tear spot on his olive T-shirt. “I know that. I’ve seen it my whole life. I’ve seen nothing but the best examples of relationships. It’s why I’m so ashamed of staying so long.”
“Beth…” He lifted her chin. “You know our sister chapter runs a women’s shelter down in Florida. Hell, you’ve been there.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think any of those women should be ashamed of the situations they’ve found themselves in? Of how long they stayed with someone who abused them?”
“No, of course not. I’d never think that. There’s so much nuance, manipulation, and fear. The only feeling I have toward them is admiration for leaving, no matter how long it took.”
“So why can’t you show yourself the same grace and understanding?”
Good question. Why couldn’t she?
“Um… I think it’s almost easier to blame myself than feel like a victim. That’s fucked up, right?”
He tilted his head, studying her. “Well, how about you start thinking of yourself as a survivor instead? Surviving isn’t a weakness. It’s proof you’ve been tested, hurt, and still refused to disappear.”
