Page 194 of The Professor's Wife

“He is a very bad man,” I explained. “He will find us if we stay here.”

Tristan frowned. “Let him. I’ll take care of him for you.”

My lips spread into a sad smile. “Tristan, roughening him up won’t stop him. When I say he is dangerous, I mean he willkillyou.”

Tristan’s stare darkened. He didn’t speak for some time, and then he whispered, “Daze, you’ve seen the bush here. It would be so easy to bury him where no one would ever find him.”

Oliver being dead was a nice thought, but I couldn’t actually do it. I’d been tormented all these weeks thinking I had. I wasn’t a murderer, though sometimes I wondered how far I’d need to be pushed to become one. I sighed and shut my eyes. “We need to go. We’ve been spotted, and I know him. He’ll be coming here.”

That was assuming he wasn’t here already. My eyes shot open and panic set in. It would be so easy to find us in these rural towns. The blue camper wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. I quickly sat up. “Tristan, please. We have to go.”

“Running isn’t the answer,” he said, sitting up now too. “Daze, you gotta fight back.”

I gave him an incredulous look. “This isn’t a storybook, Tristan. Fighting back just gets you killed and me locked back in his fucking room of horrors.”

His stare chilled me now. “What did he do to you?”

I scrambled out of bed and threw my clothes back on. “You don’t want to know.”

“Daze.”

I looked over at him, my face tight. “He broke me, Tristan, over and over again. He did it to watch what I would do. He liked to put me back together only to smash me wide open all over again.”

“What does that mean?”

“He hurt me.”

“Physically?”

I didn’t answer. Tristan’s hand wrapped around mine. He tugged me back to the bed. I fell into his lap and buried my face in his chest to hide from his stare. I was panting, my fear and pain impossible to bury.

“What did he do, Daze?” Tristan asked again, attempting to be gentle, but I heard the tremor of rage in there. “Tell me.”

Where would I even start? There was over a decade of deceit, turmoil and violence. Oliver had flayed me to the bone, and all the while under the guise of a knight in shining armor.

“Daisy,” Tristan prodded. “I need to know.”

I caught my breath, and squeezed my eyes shut. Licking my lips, I asked, “If I tell you everything, do you promise we get to leave?”

“We’ll leave regardless,” he assured me. “I just need to know. I need to understand so I can help you.”

I pulled away to look at him. Defeated, I pressed a soft kiss to his mouth that he deepened immediately. When we finally pulled back, I nodded once at him. I couldn’t look at him. The words caught in my throat, but I swallowed down the lump and breathed. He needed to understand; I needed this burden off me. I needed to reclaim my voice—the one that Oliver stole.

Terrified, I grabbed for Tristan. Dug my nails into his chest, trying to use him as an anchor as I whispered, “Okay. Okay. I’ll tell you everything.”

And, letting out a shaky exhale, I finally did.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

TRISTAN

The road stretched through dark forest into the rising dawn. The van rumbled beneath my hands, tires humming against the asphalt as morning reached the Rockies. I kept my eyes forward, but my mind kept circling back.

Daisy was asleep next to me, tucked into the passenger seat with a blanket pulled up around her shoulders. Her head leaned against the window, hair tangled, cheek pressed to the glass. She looked peaceful. Looking at her, no one would have known what she had survived to end up beside me.

And still, it wasn’t far enough.

My fingers tightened around the steering wheel. I should’ve felt relief. We were moving. No headlights in the mirror, no phones pinging, no shadows at the door, no bangs of a police officer asking for her. But the silence gave my thoughts more room.