And then I kissed him.
I kissed him with every bit of fire and fight still burning in my belly so he’d feel just how much he meant to me. It was the kind of kiss that showed him I forgave him and let him know that his face was the one I wanted to see every day—for coffee, for romantic dates, for everything.
“Oi! Lovebirds!” The bunny ears of Yolanda’s slippers flapped as she sped past. For a frail old lady, she was fast on her feet. “Plenty of time for smooching outside.”
She dug her phone out of the deep pocket of her dressing gown, mashed at the screen, and pressed it to her ear.
“Calling the cops?” Aiden asked.
“The cops?” She scoffed over her shoulder. “It’s Tuesday. I’m calling the pharmacist.”
Aiden shook his head with a laugh. “I’ll explain later,” he promised, helping me to my feet.
He dropped a kiss on the top of my head and then anchored his arm around my waist. I was safe. He was with me, patient, never hurrying me to move faster to the door.
Outside, Yolanda barked into her phone. “Carlie, that you? You tell the sergeant to put his pants on and haul his arse to my place… Nah… Notlater.” Yolanda rolled her eyes at us. “Right now… Tell him to send the paramedic as well. The doc’s had a problem with some bastard from the city.”
A problem.
I turned my head, my gaze searching through the broken door, down the dark hallway, and into the kitchen. The shadow of expensive shoes was the only hint of the man who’d tortured me for eight long years. But the nightmare was over. I was finally waking up.
Aiden’s arms wrapped around me, and he hugged me close. “Don’t look back,” he whispered.
Silently, I nodded.
I didn’t let my eyes linger on my past for another second. I wound my arms around Aiden and pressed my face into the warmth of his chest. The rumble of his soft, contented sigh swelled inside my heart. Together, we were a patchwork of just enough broken pieces to make one whole.
Aiden was my future.
31
He Saw the Woman He Loved
Aiden
When all the lightsaround my house were out, and the whole world was asleep except me, I replayed my favourite memories.
Lola. Me. Her cottage. The Storm. Dancing. My confession. Her forgiveness. The perfect moments before the nightmares started again for both of us.
I drifted somewhere between the heaven of remembering Lola’s kiss on my lips and avoiding the hell of my past when a scream ripped through the silence.
Lola’s hoarse, aching cry always tore my chest wide open. It never got easier to hear her pain.
But I didn’t throw my legs over the side of the bed and race to the other room. I reminded myself not to panic. I fixed my gaze on the black lines of nothing out the window and…waited.
Feet pattered across the hardwood floor.
I never had to wait long.
My bedroom door creaked open. Light splintered through a crack just wide enough for Lola’s head to poke inside. Neither of us spoke. We didn’t need to. After three nights of her staying with me, we’d figured out a routine. I peeled back the covers. She scurried across the room, dove into the bed, and wriggled across the white cotton sheets until she was safely tucked in beside me.
Only one of her eyes peeked at me. The puff of the pillow hid the other. And even though icicles with pink toenails sent a shock wave of goosebumps up my legs, I loved how close Lola was when she tangled around me and the tip of her nose tickled mine.
I rested my forehead against hers. “Another bad dream?”
She blinked at me with a wordless nod.
“Oh, love…” I whispered. “You’ve been so brave.”
