Fractured

“Yes,” she interrupts me suddenly, the one word a salve to my aching soul. “I’ll go with you.” A small smile dances on her lips, and this time, she’s the one who leans up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to the side of my mouth. As much as I’d like to deepen the connection, I don’t. She needs to be in control, and I’ll allow her that.

For now.

Because I want her.

And I will make her mine.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Autumn

Since JD asked me to move with him, he’s been around every day, taking me out, walking through the park. But most of all, he’s been patient with me.

I know he would never hurt me, and being home again keeps me calm, but there are times I’m still haunted by what happened. We’ve taken it each day at a time, and now that I’ve packed and we’re about to head to the airport, I know it’s the right decision for me.

When I spoke to Momma and told her, she gave us her blessing. JD offered for her to come along, but her life is here. The man, Christopher Marlin, has a court hearing in a couple of weeks, and even though he’s locked up, along with JD’s mother, I still have this innate fear that one day I’ll come face-to-face with them again.

Jackson told us that there would be no way they’ll get out on bail with the evidence stacked against them. And that puts me at ease, just a bit.

I have a feeling JD is hurt that I haven’t allowed him close to me. But I know that once we’re settled in our new home, I’ll be able to put this behind me in a way that allows me to let him in. I want that more than anything because I yearn for his closeness.

I think a fresh start is what we both need to attempt to move on. Our relationship is still new, and we’ve overcome challenges that most couples don’t have in the early days of confessing their love, but I believe we’re strong.

At times, I feel like JD still blames himself for what happened. And as much as I want to tell him it’s not his fault, he’s stubborn. Hopefully, with New York in our rearview mirror, we’ll be able to do that.

I don’t blame him.

I never did.

My bedroom door slides open, and my mother enters holding my favorite mug. When she sets it down on the nightstand, I notice the marshmallows floating on top.

“How are you feeling?”

“I miss being me.” My answer is honest. Raw. The pain in my throat that’s nearly healed is a reminder of what I experienced, and I just want it all to go away. Pain makes us stronger, and after my ordeal, I should feel like superwoman.

“I have to be honest with you, sweet girl. You’re more than what you experienced. I know it takes time to heal, to overcome, but I know you will. I’m happy for you and JD. I think a new city and a new adventure is what you both need.” My mother’s words are a salve to my wounds, those internal scars that seem to haunt me.

“I just don’t know how to let him back in,” I tell her honestly. “I want us to go back to the time before he left, before I was . . .”

“Listen to me.” Momma looks at me with the stern expression she keeps hidden and only allows out when she needs to get my attention. “A long time ago, your father and I broke up. We were apart for six months. In those months, I was dating someone else. A guy I thought would love me. He certainly showed it.”

I’m shocked, but when Momma looks at me, she offers me a sad smile. I didn’t know my parents were ever apart. When Dad was alive, he always looked like he doted on my momma. I knew she was his first love, and I honestly thought my dad was the only one for Momma.

“I was frivolous in my choices, and I ran off with a musician who offered me the world.” The break in my mother’s voice slams into my chest. I know something bad is coming, it’s clear, but I don’t interrupt her. I want to hold her, to tell her it’s okay, but I need to hear what she’s telling me.

She sighs, and I can tell there’s disappointment in her heart. My mother has never looked so torn. I wonder briefly if she’s considering not telling me what happened.

“I thought love was what I was experiencing. I stood by him when he did things I never wanted him to do. He touched me in ways I wasn’t ready for. Your father never did, he respected my wishes, but . . .” She pulls in a deep breath, her eyes closing for a long moment. “When I found my way back to your dad, I was broken,” Momma tells me, meeting my gaze. “I couldn’t stand his fingers on my hand or his lips on my cheek. Everything he did reminded me of the violence that I suffered.”