Page 10 of Flashback for the Forward

Then there was me. I left college in the middle of my sophomore year when Bennett died, undecided on whether I would return. But with both my parents essentially abandoning the child they didn’t lose, there was nowhere else for me to go, so I went back, obtaining my degree in early education.

I’d been teaching first grade for a year when I met Aiden. The San Diego Police Department ran a stranger-awareness campaign in schools, and he was the officer assigned to my classroom. Charming both the kids and me alike, he taught them how to stay safe in a fun and engaging way.

On his way out the door, he slipped me his number and said he’d like to take me out sometime. I sat on it for a week, not wanting to appear too eager, before I called him.

Our relationship progressed quickly. After having all the people who were supposed to love me leave, it was so damn nice to find myself as the object of Aiden’s affection that I ignored the red flags. Like how he would get so upset when I made plans with colleagues that I’d end up canceling, letting him monopolize all of my time. Or how, within a couple of weeks of dating, he was asking how long was acceptable before he could propose.

It wasn’t until after he’d gotten me to quit my job and move in that I realized how badly I’d fucked up.

The first time I went to the ATM, my PIN didn’t work to withdraw money from our “joint” account—something Aiden had insisted on since we were living together. Chalking it up to a fluke, I went inside the branch to speak to a human, only to be told my name was no longer on the account. The very same one I’d funneled my savings into only days before. When I confronted Aiden about it, he said I shouldn’t concern myself with our finances, claiming that the bills would all get paid and he would ensure I had enough cash to buy groceries each week.

He’d stolen tens of thousands of dollars from me and acted as if it was no big deal. And it wasn’t like I had any recourse to get it back; the account was in his name only. Everything I’d spent years working for now belonged to him, and he expected me to trust him to take care of me as he saw fit.

When I used the money he left out to purchase something other than food, the calm façade fell away, and he revealed his true colors. Aiden was cruel to the core, and the only thing he loved more than controlling me was punishing me.

The very next day, he sold my car, and I was forced to walk three miles each way to the store from then on. When he spied the bruises on my wrists from schlepping a dozen or more heavy grocery bags, he simply said they were nothing more than I deserved for defying him.

Then came the nightly cell phone checks. Aiden would scour my text messages and call records to see who I was communicating with. God forbid there was a number he didn’t recognize—usually a telemarketer—because then he would call me all kinds of nasty names while spitting accusations that I was cheating on him. That would lead to him confiscating my phone, unplugging the landline, and checking the doorbell camera to ensure that I didn’t leave the house or entertain any visitors.

I was completely isolated, solely reliant on Aiden, which had been exactly his goal.

The only way to escape this hellish existence would be in death.

And there were far too many days when I longed for it to hurry the hell up.

Chapter 3

Cole

Kennedy: Can you float me thirty grand? Please?

I’d been fielding texts like this from my ex-wife for the past six months. And like the sucker I was, I sent money every time she asked. But at some point, I had to put my foot down and say no.

If the upkeep on the house is draining your bank account, maybe it’s time you consider selling it. I know a good realtor and can give you her number.

A huge chunk of her settlement in the divorce had been forfeited because she’d decided to keep the house we’d bought together. Essentially, she’d been forced to “buy me out.” And real estate in Southern California was not cheap, so the decision cost her millions. It wasn’t any wonder she’d run short on cash only a year and a half after our union had ended, not when the HOA fees, property taxes, utilities, and general maintenance totaled five figures monthly.

Kennedy: This is our home, Cole.

It’s your home now, Kennedy.

Kennedy: I’m not selling. Not when there’s even the slightest chance that you might come back.

I didn’t have the energy to tell her that there was zero chance of that ever happening.

I’ll wire the money today, but this is the last time. If you’re strapped for cash, get a job.

Kennedy: Doing what? I’m not qualified for anything that will pay enough to cover the bills. You know, since I dropped out of college when we got married?

It took all the strength I possessed not to repeat that selling the house would solve her money issues. Because clearly, her mind was made up to keep it.

No one forced you to quit college, least of all me. You could have transferred your credits to a school in San Diego and finished your degree.

I willingly sacrificed my future career to support yours.

Despite what Crew thought of her, Kennedy wasn’t a bad person. She just needed more than I could give her. And I hadn’t realized that until after we rushed into a marriage that never would have happened if I hadn’t met her on the worst day of my life.

Russ was gone. Really gone.