“Don’t worry,” I say. “It’s a first for me too.”
“Your first picnic date?”
“My first date,” I clarify, and the admission makes my cheeks redden. The urge to shrink into myself is strong, but I keep my head up, refusing to give in to the temptation to shy away from his attention on me.
Jack nods, his brows furrowed before he asks, “You’ve never been on a date?”
“Not a real one.” The words slip out, and I don’t realize how pathetic it sounds until my brain registers what I just said. “I mean, it’s been a while,” I add, but it’s not exactly the truth.
Sure, at first, Trevor took me to nice dinners or to the movies but he was putting on a show. He was biding his time, sinking his hooks into me and gaining my trust. He told me everything I wanted to hear, listened intently to when I talked, and made me feel seen for the first time in my life.
Little did I know, the dates were a performance, one to bring my walls down and give me that dangerous sliver of hope that my life was finally turning around. That the years of abuse at the hands of my father, the abandonment of my mother, the way I learned to trust no one but myself, were worth it because I finally found someone who cared about me.
“You’ve never been on a real date,” Jack repeats, and it almost sounds like a question.
I nod, shifting in my seat on the grass, my fingers twisting in the fabric of my dress.
Jack looks down at Evee as she reaches toward the edge of the blanket to pull at the grass, his hand and the flower he gave her now forgotten.
He seems to be contemplating whatever he wants to say, and I wrack my brain with a way to change the subject, coming up empty aside from everything I don’t want to talk about—everything that will ruin this date, this whole entireday.
Jack’s eyes stay on Evee as he asks, “Her dad never took you on dates?” His voice is hard, like it took effort to push the words out of his mouth, and I fight the urge to apologize for upsetting him, even though I don’t know why he would be so mad about something like that.
I give myself a moment to ponder his question because it does give me room to figure out how much I want Jack to know about Trevor, especially since he seems to want to know the answer but is already anticipating one he isn’t going to like.
“No.” I decide to go with the simple answer, seeing where it will take us. I reach for Evee’s diaper bag, pulling out her new favorite toy—the fire truck from Jack—and a few of the sensory books I brought for her, and some bubbles. Jack leans on his back, reaching for Evee and seamlessly grabbing her, picking her up and holding her up above him, making her giggle. He looks up at her, a grin on his face as he moves her through the air before setting her down by the toys I laid out on the picnic blanket.
“What about before him?” he asks as he settles back on his elbow, his eyes moving to me. The way he gazes up at me is tender, that contrast of his strong features yet soft eyes. Some of the anxiety swirling in my stomach settles, like the green in his eyes is a hidden forest I’ve only dreamed of, warm and welcoming, as if they had been waiting just for me to find them—get lost in them.
I uncap the bottle of bubbles, slowly blowing a few, making Evee look up and giggle. After a moment, opening a door I always thought would be better off closed, I answer, “Trevor was my first and only relationship.”
Mariah has explained in our therapy sessions how it’s important to open up about past domestic abuse, especially if it affects my boundaries, triggers, or trust and how sharing that part of my past can help build understanding and emotional safety in the relationship.
I made a promise to myself—and Evee—that I would never bring anyone into our lives that would hurt her, and Jack has never done anything to make me believe that he would ever jeopardize our safety.
But this is a step I’ve never taken with anyone other than Ava.
I blow a few more bubbles before twisting the cap back on, watching them float away—reminding me of the life I used to picture for myself, and how it floated away from me, slowly at first, before disappearing all together.
“Why did you leave him?” Jack asks, and I can’t fight the intake of breath, like just the thought of that night can send me back to it, trapping me in the place where I risked everything to escape.
I close my eyes, slowly letting out an exhale, reminding myself that I’m not held captive there anymore.
While Trevor never told me I couldn’t leave, I was too isolated to feel I had anywhere to go. I was convinced that no one would understand or believe me, not after years of us together and Trevor never taking off his mask until we were home, alone, behind our locked doors.
He didn’t tie me up or lock me in a bedroom, but it truly was no different. I didn’t feel like there was a way out, and every part of me was convinced that it was what I deserved—it was what my life was meant to be like.
It wasn’t until he almost killed me while I was on the verge of giving birth to our daughter that I finally found the courage to leave.
I look at Evee—my precious, little girl doesn’t even realize how much strength she gave me. How I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her. “Because of her.”
CHAPTER 27
JACK
What the hellhappened to this girl?
I want to ask her flat-out, finally hear the answer to the question that has been on my mind since finding her unconscious on the side of the road, but I don’t know if now is the right time to tell her about when we met last year.
