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I wrapped my arm around her shoulder, hoping to provide some comfort and take the edge off of her nerves.
She rubbed her eyes with her fists. “This is so crazy—it feels like a really bad nightmare. Nothing like this ever happens here in Holiday Cove. We are nothing if not sleepy, quiet…and safe.”
I nodded. I hadn’t been a resident all that long, but I knew what she said was true.
“Probably some drunk,” I said, thinking it was the only solution. “And you’re safe now. With me.”
Carly nodded, but something about her drifted away and made her feel farther away—even though she was neatly tucked under my arm. She turned down the next street and I recognized the area, reorienting with the night we’d gone to Harvey’s—and I’d nearly crashed into her sister on my way to drop her back home.
“Hey, can I ask you something?”
She looked up at me and shrugged. “Sure.”
“Where’d you learn to fight like that? I saw you get in some pretty clean shots on that guy,” I smiled softly, hoping that she’d loosen up at the compliment.
Instead, she bunched up her shoulders and under my arm, I could feel her tense up.
“Is that…not okay?”
After another few feet, she sighed and looked back up at me. “It’s okay. It’s just not something I like to talk about.”
“Oh,” I replied.
“Before I moved here, I was in a bad relationship. I went through a few years where I didn’t feel good enough about myself to realize there was something outside the walls of our shitty little trailer.” She hesitated, glancing around as we entered the cul-de-sac where her home was located. “Anyway, he was an asshole to me. Mostly when he’d get drunk off his ass. When I tried to leave, he’d rough me up.”
My heart pounded and a wave of nausea rolled through me.
“I’m so sorry, Carly. That’s—God, that’s awful.” I shook my head, slightly dazed at trying to put together the pieces. How had the strong, independent, confident woman at my side come out of such a dark, abusive past? And how could any man ever treat her that way?
“It was,” she said simply. “It was a long time ago. The point of the story is that when I left and got away from all that shit, I made a vow to never go back to that life again. Part of the new plan for my life involved moving here, thousands of miles away from him, and then, of course, opening The Siren. And, I also got a lot of my confidence back by learning kickboxing and some other forms of defense and combat.”
“Wow. That’s really impressive, Carly. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“It wasn’t easy and, like I said, not something I put on my website bio to blast to the world. Hell, Aaron doesn’t even know all that…” she hesitated and looked up at me. The question was evident in her eyes.
“I would never say anything,” I said, wishing she hadn’t even had that thought that I would betray her confidence. “Does Alesha know?”
“Not all of it. She knows that I moved after a bad breakup, but she doesn’t know the full extent of how and why it was so bad. Sometimes she looks down on me because I get after her about making her own life, her own future, but she thinks I only have the things I have, like The Siren, because our dad lent me the startup money. She wasn’t there to see the blood, sweat, and tears, the long hours, the utter exhaustion and stress that it took to get me here and to open my business.”
“She’s young. Not that it’s an excuse.”
“I guess.” She turned at the last house and started up the front steps. I followed behind and stopped beside her on the porch. With trembling fingers, she struggled to work the right key free from the loop. It took every ounce of my self-control to not reach for the keys and help her. But knowing Carly, she wouldn’t have wanted that.
After a couple of tries, she got it open, and we went inside together.
“Make yourself at home. Do you want anything to drink?”
“Hey, how about you sit and I’ll get you something.”
It wasn’t a question.
Her full lips pursed together, but before she could argue, I grabbed her shoulders, gently spun her around, and led her to the couch in the living room off the small entryway. She laughed as I sat her down and then lifted her legs up onto the coffee table, propping them up with a pillow. “Okay, okay. I’ll sit.”
“Good. Tea?”
“Sure,” she replied, still smiling.
Making tea was a simple enough task, but it took me a minute to orient myself with her kitchen. Thankfully, organization was one of Carly’s better skills—of the ones I knew about—and it didn’t take long before I had two mugs of chamomile tea. I delivered one to her and then took a seat on the couch beside her and sipped at my own. “Oh…ew…” I pulled a face and lowered the mug, looking down at the contents as though they’d personally offended me.
