“I know, but you should have some friends who are girls.” His words tumble out in a rush.
“Are you afraid I’m going to talk aboutgirly thingsagain?” I use air quotes, curious if he’ll remember his words.
He may think I didn’t notice his discomfort in middle school when I told him about my first period, but I did. What can I say? I was cramping and moody, and wanted someone else to be uncomfortable, too. Not my finest moment.
But I will say he made a stellar attempt to hide his unease. Kind of like he’s doing right now…
He rubs a hand over his mouth, making a scratching sound that makes me curious what his short beard would feel like against my face…or my neck.
“No, not at all. You know you can talk to me about anything.” The subtle raise of his brows implies the question he’s trying not to ask.
Am I ready to discuss Chase? Ready to lay out the whole twisted story and risk Wade’s reaction to it? To me?
Telling Sophie, Lily, and Mia about it helped more than I realized it would. Kind of ripped the Band-Aid off a healing wound in need of air. But this is Wade we’re talking about, and I’m almost certain his dislike for Chase will turn into pure hatred when he hears the full story.
I do want to tell him, but there’s still this small part of me that’s afraid of what he’ll think of me. The girls’ reactions were so affirming and a relief to hear it wasn’t all in my head, that I hadn’t made the situation into more than it was.
My doubts about misreading Chase are gone. I know he manipulated and gaslighted me every step of the way.
But I still fell for it. Believed him. Doubted myself.
Since I arrived in Sarabella, I’ve felt a glimmer of my old self return. It’s like I’m rediscovering who I am—as if I can breathe again and not live with giant question marks from my past hovering over my every move in the present.
Now, when I think about how I lost sight of myself, I get angry at myself and at Chase. Mad at myself for allowing him to manipulate me and at him for using me in that way. Again, which I allowed.
Talk about a vicious circle, and this one’s eating me up like piranhas. But avoiding the topic will only prolong my misery. Might as well get this over with.
Despite the trembling in my body, I take a deep breath and square my shoulders.
Wade tilts his head, still waiting for me to say something.
So…here goes nothing. Or everything.
I point to the couch. “You should sit down for this.”
I’ve lost count of how many times Wade either rubbed the back of his neck or scrubbed his hand over his mouth, most likely to prevent himself from swearing up a storm to match the one raging outside.
Right after I began filling him in on the Chase Files, a flash of lightning lit up the living room, followed by a rumble of thunder that shook the walls. It wasn’t long before the sound of torrential rain beating on the roof complemented my dialogue.
Or diatribe. Once I started, my anger spilled out. More like spewed, to be honest, so I can only imagine what Wade’s thinking as I finish my woeful tale. At this point, I’m not concerned about his opinion of Chase. I want to know how he feels about me.
Wade rises without saying a word, then paces behind the couch like a panther on the prowl. My insides quiver at the thought, marginally terrified that I could wind up his prey. Or worse. What if he goes to Texas and confronts Chase?
“Wade, please say something.”
He stops, threads his fingers through his hair, then leans his hands on the back of the sofa. “I want to kill him.” His dark expression matches his words.
Should I question my ethical moorings over the fact that I’m more relieved for myself than concerned over what he intends to do to Chase?
Actually, I’m terrified he’ll do something foolish, jeopardizing his career. “Good thing he’s not here, then.”
He shoots me a scathing look.
Guess I’m not totally in the clear. To my surprise, I relayed a rough draft of the last year of my life without crying once, but now, I’m feeling the burn behind my eyes. Plus, I think my stomach just made a pit stop somewhere between my knees and the floor.
“I’m sorry, Wade.” I swipe away a rogue tear.
His expression softens somewhat. “Why are you apologizing?”
