Page 77 of Until You

“Crew.” I sigh softly, figuring it’s better to face this than hide from it. At least that way, I can control the narrative as best as I can. “Just come out and ask what you want to ask.”

He nods, but the silence that follows is slightly unnerving. Does he know who I am? Has he connected dots I didn’t even know were sitting there? Did he use his police intel to somehow beat the system?

Each second that passes feels like an hour while I have to act like I’m taking a stroll with my lover, and I’m not internally rioting with anxiety.

“I’m a cop, Tenny. I notice things others don’t,” he finally says softly.

“Like?”

“Like the security door on the cottage you had installed on your own. Like your avoidance of being in the picture today. Don’t think I didn’t notice you slip away before it was even taken. Like your evasiveness any time we talk about you. It’s not lost on me that you have a way of turning the topic back to me. And yes, I get you have truths you don’t want to say yet, but we’re also a little further into this thing now. You’re owning my thoughts more than not. You’re around my girls constantly. You’ve become a part of our lives. Don’t you think maybe I deserve a bit more than you’ve given?”

Fear, panic, dread—all three lodge in my throat and have me struggling to answer. A simple, “You’re right,” falls from my lips. “You do deserve more, but . . .”

“Tell me about him.” He squeezes my hand again and tugs me to sit down beside him, the pond in front of us, the sun’s rays dancing off its ripples.

“About who?”

Crew studies me for a beat and then simply nods without saying anything more. I know who he means, and he knows it. The man who terrifies me even in his absence.

He may not know the why or the who, but clearly, I suck at hiding it from his well-trained eyes.

“I went on many calls, Tenny. I’ve seen a lot of things.” He puts an arm around me and pulls me closer so that my head rests on his shoulder.

“Then you’ll understand that sometimes things get to be too . . . much, and you need a fresh start. A place where there are no demons to chase you. A place where no one knows the old you.”

“Whoever he is, he’s not going to find you,” he murmurs into the crown of my head.

I swallow forcibly to hide my surprise. “Who said I ran away?”

“No one. And for the record, leaving isn’t running away. It’s called saving yourself.” He presses a kiss to my temple with an ease and an honesty that frankly I don’t deserve.

“I couldn’t live the life we had anymore. Not without compromising who I was and everything I thought I was. Strong. Independent. Honest. Safe.” I run a hand up and down my thigh, needing something, anything, to do with my hands so that I can ease the discord I have over saying anything at all. But he deserves this much. Hell, truth be told, he deserves so much more.

Because he’s right. I’m living under his roof. I’m currently part of his girls’ lives when they are his everything. If I were in his shoes, I’d be asking a hell of a lot more questions than he is.

And I’d be demanding answers.

“I’ve spent many nights rolling up to a scene to find the woman terrified of her husband or boyfriend. Women who knew it didn’t matter how far they ran, he would do everything in his power to ensure his terror would follow her. You have the same look in your eyes sometimes. The same skittishness about things. I hope that I’m wrong, but if I’m not, just know that it’s okay. I’m not like that. I’m not like him. And you’re safe.”

Tears spring to my eyes, and I do my best to blink them away.

And you’re safe.

How long has it been since I’ve really felt that way? Twenty-six months, ten days, and eight hours to be exact. Forty months, ten days, and thirteen hours since I walked without looking over my shoulder or fearing what might be hiding in the shadows.

An even crazier question is why does Crew’s presence make me feel like this can be a reality? That I can be safe? That I can walk and live and laugh without always worrying about what if?

And you’re safe.

Those words. This man. He might be wrong about the context of everything, but the lasting, scarring effects are basically the same.

I am running from a man whose identity terrorized me. A man I thought was my future but found out I didn’t really know at all.

“Thank you,” I whisper. They’re the only words I can manage to say that keep my voice, and the dam holding back the tears, from breaking.

We fall quiet as we sit there with the sun slowly setting and the tall grass rippling like a moving tide around us. I appreciate that he is giving me a moment or two to digest this conversation. It’s a door I didn’t want to open but am grateful I was able to at least stick my toes in it so he feels like I’m opening up.

“I blamed myself when Brittney up and left after thirteen years of marriage. No warning. No nothing. I was blindsided and dumbfounded.” He chuckles. “I know most guys are dense and don’t pick up on shit, but I do. Well, I try to at least, but her affair, her desire to move across the Atlantic with a man ten years younger than me was a shock, not to mention a major blow to my ego. But truth be told, I didn’t have time or a chance to even process that, because I was so busy trying to minimize the damage to the girls.”