Dirty Toe Drag (Nashville Assassins Next Generation 6)

“You are,” she insists, and I want to feel the way she does. I think I do, though. Like, I feel it deep inside. I know it’s there, but above it is all the shit I’ve been through. I’ve done really well breaking down the layers of my abuse. And telling Aiden like I did was huge. I never thought I could tell my best friend. I really thought I’d tell Stella before him. The proof is in the pudding. I’m taking all the right steps, and I just have to tell her.

I run my hands down my face, exhaling heavily as her hands stay on my thigh. “You don’t have to tell me, Wes. You don’t owe me anything.”

“But I do,” I say sternly. “If I want us to work, you have to know what triggers me. How and why I sometimes shut down. And why, sometimes, I don’t know how to come out of it.”

I can do this.

As if she is reading my mind, she says, “You can do this. I’ve got you, baby. I’m here.”

I open my eyes, meeting her gaze, and her eyes are so fucking kind. So supportive. I feel like she’s looking at the real me.

“Your past doesn’t need you. Your present needs you, Wes. Let me in so I can understand, and I can be in the present with you and know your past. So we can move forward…if that makes sense.”

“It does,” I say, but I’m still struggling. Her words mean so much to me, but my past is so fucking heavy.

When she reaches for me, I’m confused, until she pulls me in and hugs me tightly. I love her hugs. I nuzzle my nose in her neck, kissing her tenderly. She kisses the side of my cheek, holding me tight. We stay like that for a long time. I don’t know how many minutes pass, but I realize very quickly that I’ve needed a hug all day. I don’t want to be corny and say her arms give me strength, but they urge me on. It’s actually the belief she has in me that has me sighing deeply.

Still in her arms, I start talking. “My stepmom started molesting me when I was thirteen.”

I swear I feel her heart stop. She nuzzles her cheek closer to mine, kissing my cheek. “Oh my. Wes, I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, and then I blow out a breath. “She came into my life when I was eleven, a couple years after I lost my mom. My dad dated her for about three months before he married her. No one agreed with it because it all seemed so fast. So not only did I lose my mom, but I lost my dad’s extended family. My mom didn’t have any family, so I was pretty much alone once she, Sandi, came into the house.”

Stella doesn’t say anything, and I’m unsure if she’s even breathing. She gives me the time I need. Just holding me and brushing her fingers along the back of my biceps.

“At first, she was overly nice, super attentive, and always doing things for me. She would tell me how she always wanted a son and how I was the most perfect version of my father. Even though, my whole life, I was told I was the spitting image of my mom. I was very hesitant about her because I didn’t like her vibe and she wasn’t my mom. I wanted my mom, not this woman who my dad was convinced would be a great replacement. My dad worked a lot. He was a truck driver and only home for like forty-eight hours on the weekend. I would be up his ass once he would come home because I just needed to get away from Sandi, but then she would fight me for his attention too. That’s when she started to verbally abuse me.”

“Did you tell your dad?”

“I did. I told him that she was so mean to me and always calling me names. Saying that she hated me and that he hated me. He told me to stop making things up and to stop trying to break up our family. It was awful. I couldn’t reach out to anyone because my dad told them to stay away, and he even went as far as to change our number. My grandparents didn’t have cell phones, and I hadn’t memorized their home number, so I was kind of fucked.”

“Completely isolated.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” I say, shaking my head. “I was homeschooled because my travel team was so demanding. I would skate once in the morning and then have practice at night, and we’d do school at the rink. It was awesome because I wasn’t home. But when I was, and Sandi was screaming at me, she’d tell me that if I talked back or called my dad, she wouldn’t take me to the next practice. She’d tell me my dad hated me and that he was going to stop paying for my hockey since I was so awful to her. She always made it about her. She was the victim. Crazy bitch.”