“Of course you are,” she said with a smile as they both sat on the sofa. “I’ve never known you to be anything else.” She lowered her voice as she added, “I’m ashamed to say that, in your position, I probably would have backed down and changed my statement.”
“You’re not weak, Jules.” Fragile in some ways and a little dependent, but not weak.
Julie shook her head. “Well, I’m not strong. Not like you. We had similar childhoods, but you let it make you stronger.”
Gwen’s gut burned at just the mere mention of her childhood. Flashes of memory flickered through her mind, despite fighting them. Her stepfather beating her mother, Hanna, with the satellite dish. Her mother cowering in the corner as he whacked her over the head with their anemic Christmas tree. Her stepfather shoving her out of the trailer so hard that Gwen banged her head on the cement block, just so he could “nail” her mom in peace. Bleeding, head throbbing, Gwen had sat outside among the broken bikes, empty cans, wrecked furniture, old tires, and foul-smelling trash . . . and it hadn’t even occurred to her to ask for help, because no one would have given it.
Gwen pushed the memories away. “We both left our personal hellholes long ago. None of it matters now.”
“It’ll always matter,” she said softly. “That kind of thing stays with you. Our moms were abused, but we were victims in our own way. How many times did you clean your mom up? How many times did you pick up glass and food from the floor because your stepfather had thrown stuff around? How many times did you help your mother dress because she could barely move she was in so much pain? She wouldn’t even let you get her help. I was too scared and embarrassed to share my family secret.”
It hadn’t been embarrassment that kept Gwen quiet. Her mother had firmly stated that she’d lie and cover for the bastard if Gwen told her teachers. The main reason Gwen had kept her mouth shut was that she’d known her stepfather would take it out on her mother. She’d kept quiet to protect Hanna, but it hadn’t felt like she was protecting her. It had felt like she was ignoring Hanna’s pain and need for help . . . just like the neighbors who never called the police, no matter how loud the yelling or screaming got. Not that Hanna was entirely innocent. No, she was just as volatile and mercurial as the bastard, but she never raised a hand to anyone.
“Like I said, none of it matters now.”
“Of course it does,” Julie insisted. “Witnessing domestic violence is a type of abuse all on its own. Watching our moms be hurt and terrorized was something that hurt and terrorized us. It’s a frightening and distressing experience, and it impacts every part of a person’s—”
“That’s your therapist talking.”
Julie clasped her hand. “Speaking of Aidan, he wants to see you. He wants to help you through this. It’s going to be a trying time for you. A little support, a friendly ear, would be good for you.”
Gwen gritted her teeth. “I don’t want or need anything from him.”
She’d attended therapy years ago after Julie stated that she wouldn’t go unless Gwen did. Gwen had never liked it or the therapist. Never liked his probing gaze or his insistence that she “needed” his help to heal. It had creeped her out, but not nearly as much as when he admitted that he’d “developed feelings” for her. He’d seemed completely shocked that she didn’t feel the same way, and he hadn’t been at all happy that she told him to stay away from her.
Gwen had never told Julie because Aidan seemed to be truly helping her, and God knew that Julie needed that. “I’m glad you feel he helps you. Therapy is a good thing, I know that. But it’s not for everyone.”
Julie held up her hands. “Okay. I’m just the messenger.”
“Yeah, I know. You sounded exactly like him.” It almost made her shudder.
“He was very specific about what he wanted me to say.”
“Who?” asked Marlon as he entered the room.
“Aidan,” replied Julie.
Marlon’s mouth flattened. “Is that so?”
Julie tilted her head. “Why don’t you like him?”
Marlon sank onto the sofa opposite them. “I have my reasons.” One of which was that Gwen had told him about Aidan’s creepy and wildly unprofessional declaration of love. Her foster brother was the only person who knew.
Shrugging the matter off, Julie turned to Gwen. “Anyway, I came here because . . . It should be easy to do the right thing, but we all know it doesn’t always work that way, and I wanted you to know that I’m behind you on this.”
Gwen patted her hand. “Thanks, Jules.”
Julie went to speak, but then two large figures entered the room, their footsteps eerily silent. Julie tensed under Zander and Bracken’s scrutiny—she wasn’t comfortable around men, particularly ones so powerfully built.
Placing a reassuring hand on Julie’s arm, Gwen spoke, “Mr. Devlin—”
“Zander,” he reminded her, his gaze intense as it fixed on Gwen.
“Right. Zander. Do you need something?”
“Yeah.” But he didn’t elaborate.
“Can it wait? I’m sort of busy right now.” And Gwen would rather not talk to him if he would insist on revisiting their earlier topic of conversation.
Julie leaned into Gwen and asked quietly, “Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” Gwen assured her. “Julie, this is Zander and Bracken. They’re guests here. Zander, Bracken, this is my big sister, Julie.”
Julie forced a shaky smile. “It’s nice to meet you both.”
“Likewise,” said Bracken.
Zander just nodded before sliding his gaze back to Gwen, and that puzzled her. Julie was exceptionally beautiful, and guys ogled her all the time. Bracken’s eyes held a flicker of appreciation, but Zander didn’t seem at all affected. Maybe he was gay. Yep, that must be it. Ah, how disappointing for females everywhere.
Julie stood and straightened her sweater. “I should be going.”
Gwen grabbed her hand. “You can’t leave without seeing Yvonne.”
“She’s cleaning the rooms on the third floor,” said Marlon, rising. “I’ll come up with you.”
As her foster siblings headed up the stairs, Gwen arched a brow at Zander. “What can I help you with?”