Memories of my past, remnants from my nightmare, try to interrupt this peaceful moment. I’ve spent so much of my life afraid. I was torn down every single day until I finally realized there wasn’t anything left of me. In that moment, I knew that if I didn’t take my life into my own hands, I wouldn’t survive another day.
Now, I’m grateful for every minute I get to live how I choose. I’m not beholden to anyone but myself. I always dreamed of a future like this, but I never truly believed I’d get to live it.
When I have these nightmares about my past, I have to force myself to remember how hard I fought to get to where I am. I survived by any means necessary, and while I’d have loved to get out before my ex almost killed me, I’m proud that I was able to get away at all. I took the hard steps to see him brought to justice for what he did to me. I got therapy to help me move forward in my life without constantly hearing his voice in the back of my head.
I made it out.
Every breath I take is because I survived, and that is something to be celebrated.
As that reminder settles into my head, I relax back onto my hands, smiling up at the sky with a renewed sense of awe.
When I open my eyes again, a figure on the hill startles me. It only takes a heartbeat to recognize Knox on his horse.
He moves closer, dismounting when his horse is within drinking distance of the pond. We stare at each other, caught in this standoff to see who will speak first. He looks like the epitome of a roughened cowboy—well-worn hat, faded denim shirt, and matching blue jeans.
I wonder how hard he has to work to find shirts that fit his wide-shouldered frame.
He’s a big guy, and I’m only just realizing that he’s never once frightened me with his size. His words could be as sharp as a butcher’s knife, but he’s never physically scared me.
Shock bolts through me when Knox folds himself down next to me. It’s comical to see this man sit beside my small frame as his wide shoulder brushes against mine. The heat from his body is as warm as cuddling with a blanket. It suddenly becomes difficult to keep from leaning further into him to wrap myself in that warmth.
“Did your dad use to work for my dad?” Knox’s question comes out of nowhere. I’m grateful for the distraction from my thoughts, though his line of questioning is odd.
“Yeah, it was one of the first of many farms he worked on as a ranch hand.”
“Did he ever bring you to work with him?”
I stare at Knox. His face is a blank mask as he keeps his gaze across the pond. “Yes. When my grandmother got sick, there were days she couldn’t take care of me, so I’d go with him.”
“You used to have a stutter too, right?”
“What the hell is going on, Knox?” Nobody knows about my stutter. It was a childhood thing I grew out of when I went to kindergarten.
He finally looks at me, his deep brown eyes filled with an emotion I can’t name. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he has a softness to him, but he’s never once looked at me with anything other than neutrality or anger.
“A memory hit me while I was riding toward you just now. I was about sixteen, and I came out of the house to find this scrawny kid standing in my yard. She had the biggest brown eyes I’d ever seen, and I swore a stiff breeze would have knocked her over. She said her name was Farrah and asked if I could give her a snack. She was about the size of my pinky and looked like regular meals weren’t a thing in her house.”
I gasp. “We met when I was a kid?”
“I’m pretty sure. My dad beat the shit out of me that afternoon because I’d taken too long to get back to work. It’s probably why I didn’t remember until now. I try not to think about those days.”
“I can understand that. I don’t remember much about my childhood. My father was a mean drunk, and there were very few days when he was sober.”
Knox grunts in understanding.
“Did you blame me for your getting in trouble?”
He shakes his head. “I’d have gotten a beating for something else that day, no matter what happened.”
I bite my lip, trying to decide if I want to ask the question that’s been plaguing me since we first met or if I’d rather just let it go.
“I can’t give you an exact reason for why I’ve been a shit to you.”
I whip my head toward him. “How did you know I wanted to ask about it?”
He scoffs. “Princess, your every emotion is displayed on your face. It’s like reading a children’s book.”
I stick my tongue out at him, and to my utter shock, he barks out a laugh. It’s a rusty sound, as if his voice box isn’t used to making it.
