Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
“I need to talk to you.” Waylon’s beady eyes roamed over me and my improper attire for the subzero winds, not bothering to offer his jacket. He wasn’t that type of guy. He’d berate me for dressing improperly or being “fucking stupid” and decide that I’d need to learn my lesson. He didn’t think that his discomfort was worth warming me up.
I hadn’t, apparently. Learned my lesson. Not when it came to men who were cruel to me. But seeing Waylon, all of our past bubbling up to the surface, I knew that Beau was absolutely nothing like Waylon. Beau would’ve given me his jacket in a heartbeat.
The arctic air caused my exposed skin to shrink. I was dressed for a cozy house that smelled of rosemary and that I’d tricked myself into thinking was my home.
My homes had always smelled like Marlboro Reds, Jack Daniels, and cheap soap.
Like poverty, alcoholism, abuse, and insults.
Like Waylon.
“You don’t need to talk to me,” I argued, rubbing my arms in a fruitless effort to stave off the cold. “You need to sign the papers. Then you need to leave me alone. And don’t ever come to my employer’s home again.”
I was proud of myself. For being strong. Assertive. For standing my ground. I wanted to show him I had a voice now. I was no longer a wayward teenager desperate for love. No longer someone he could manipulate. Grind down.
“Your employer?” Waylon chuckled, looking me up and down again. “Dressed like that, like a slut? You whoring yourself out now? Shouldn’t surprise me.”
I was not dressed like a slut. I was wearing light-pink sweats and a tee. Both hugged my body in a way I knew looked good since Beau had stared at me for a full five seconds when I’d first walked out, swallowed visibly, cleared his throat, then turned his back, clattering in the kitchen.
“Yeah, that’s my cue to leave,” I scoffed, refusing to take the bait. I knew what Waylon was doing. Trying to make me feel small, dirty.
I’d grown. He hadn’t. He never would. I was at peace with that now. “Come back again, and I’ll get a restraining order.”
I turned my back, or at least tried to.
Waylon grabbed my arm. Hard. Rough. Enough to hurt.
Another one of his go-tos. It was something that I hadn’t categorized as physical abuse, because I thought that was being hit, kicked. Waylon was careful to dance over lines like that. He’d never once struck me. But on many occasions, I had bruises as a result of his touch. He’d tell me he was passionate, that he was allowed to touch his wife, that I was being dramatic.
And I’d believed him.
I’d tolerated it.
For a while, at least.
I tilted my head upward, looked him square in the eye, prepared to tell him to get his fucking hand off me.
Warm air rushed at my back as the front door opened, an even warmer presence behind me as I inhaled Beau’s scent.
“You’re gonna wanna get your hand off her right now.” Though he didn’t raise his voice, he spoke with a cold fury that made my skin prickle more than the icy wind.
Waylon’s eyes widened as he took in Beau. Beau was much bigger than him. He should’ve been afraid. But Waylon never did have the best instincts. He let out a laugh as he tightened his grip. “I can do whatever I want to my wife.”
I squeezed my eyes shut at the word. At the title I had once thought would keep me safe, sacred, loved, taken care of. Instead, it had caged me, broken me down, and controlled me.
And now Beau knew. I’d been lying to him. Beau was big about honor. It was one of the things I liked most about him. Loved about him.
He’d take that knowledge as a final, concrete reason to push me away. Because I was a liar. Because I was connected to this … person who didn’t even deserve to be standing on Beau’s stoop, let alone breathing his air.
I should’ve spoken up then. Should’ve said I was an estranged wife. A reluctant wife. One who desperately wanted to be an ex-wife. But I felt small, cold, and my arm was starting to throb. I already knew it would bruise. I made a promise to myself in that moment that it would be the last bruise Waylon would ever give me.
“No, you cannot do whatever you’d like to a woman, whether she’s your wife or not.” Beau’s voice was shaking with a rage I’d never heard in my life. “And if you don’t get your hand off her and your ass off my porch in the next five seconds, I’ll be exercising the rights I have as a homeowner against a trespasser on my property.”
Beau’s voice raised the hairs on the back of my neck. I’d never heard him speak like that before. Had never seen him look like that. So menacing. Dangerous. His words were not a threat. They were a promise of violence, seconds away.