Those memories send a jolt of ice through my veins, because Parker never loved me. He owned me, and I had been convinced that I enjoyed being property.
Yesterday, during my ultrasound—as much as it meant to have my mom with me—I wished he’d been the one holding myhand. When I came home and took the pills, when I began to bleed, when my body felt like it was being ripped apart from the inside out, I wished he’d been holding me. After all, this was half of him too.
I long for his support, even after everything.
I feel like a disappointment, even after all the love I’ve received from everyone else.
“Willow.” Strong hands grip my wrists, but the force is feather light as he lowers them from my face. My dad must’ve gotten off my bed, because he’s standing in front of me now. “What do you need? How can I help?”
“I... I think I just want to take a shower,” I say shakily.
“Okay, Sugar.”
He places one hand at my back as he helps me sit up and turn, gently swinging my legs over the bed before holding my elbows as I stand. Every movement is like the stab of a thousand knives at once. I hiss at the pain as I put weight on my feet and lift out of bed.
“Do you want me to get Allie or Mom for you?”
I shake my head. “No, I’ll be fine. Let them sleep, but when Allie wakes up, will you tell her to come upstairs? I think I want to be in bed today.”
“Okay. Do you want breakfast?”
“No,” I groan as he helps me into the bathroom, keeping a steady hand at my back.
“All right.” He kisses my head again. “I’ll come check in a little later. I love you.”
“Love you too,” I say. As he walks out of the bathroom and begins to shut the door, I add, “Thank you for taking care of me. For supporting me instead of hating me.”
He pauses, turning back to me. “Taking care of you and your mother is the greatest joy of my life, Willow. Supporting you isthe best job I’ve ever had. And you are impossible for anyone to hate, but least of all me. You are the sum of all our best parts.”
He doesn’t wait for me to respond before he quietly leaves the room.
I spend the next two days primarily in my room with Allie, who took the week off from the bakery to help me recover. We watch every favorite movie from our childhood and bedazzle the covers of our favorite books. We laugh, and I cry. A lot. By Wednesday evening, my appetite returns enough for me to eat the lasagna my grandma, Monica, brings over for book club, and the lemon bars that Dahlia made for me. The house is full and lively, and while the discomfort lingers, it dulls when I’m surrounded by so much light.
It’s all I can do to hope the emotional turmoil will follow a similar path. Scars will stay behind. They'll linger, but the open wound I’m faced with now will clot and scab and eventually heal. Soon enough, I’ll stop seeing it all when I close my eyes.
The dull ache will go away, and I’ll be light again.
CHAPTER 9
WESTON
“Ithink your bottom turn needs work,” Liv says, wringing out her dark, wet curls once we’re back on shore. “That’s the culprit for pacing issues and why you’re about half a second behind the barrels.”
“How can I be behind the barrels when there are no barrels? We’re in a cove. I’d hardly call them waves,” I grumble, unzipping my wetsuit and peeling it off my arms.
“We utilize the cove to build your endurance—to make you faster, swifter. Hyperfocus on your form and the basics. You don’t need a barrel if you’re too slow to reach it.”
When all I respond with is a huff, she laughs.
I understand the vision of using this cove to train amateur surfers before taking them out to the real breaks, but I haven’t considered myself an amateur in a while. I’ve been surfing since I could walk, and I won a fucking World Championship at the age of seventeen. I would’ve been an Olympian by now if not for my involuntary three-year hiatus.
I knew I’d be rusty. I couldn’t even stand up the first time I got back on a board last year after I was released, but I’ve been practicing on my own and with Carter for the past six months.I’m not completely fucking hopeless, and I’d expected to be doing a hell of a lot more when I was offered the opportunity to train with Leo Graham.
Includingactuallybeing mentored by Leo Graham—whom I haven’t seen since Monday morning.
“You’ll find yourself appreciative of the cove as time goes on,” Liv promises. “I thought there was nothing I could be taught when I moved here from Costa Rica. I thought the cove was a waste of my time too.” She shrugs, slipping out of her wetsuit, leaving behind only the skimpy red bikini she’s wearing underneath.
In addition to being a gold medalist, Liv is also a model, and a total heartthrob of a professional athlete. I’m sure there are countless young men and women all over the world with her Sports Illustrated cover taped to their wall.
