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“Thank Christ,” I laugh, “I’ll end up in prison, otherwise.” I kiss her forehead and hold her tight to me.
“Delete it if you want, baby,” I tell her. I don’t want her to worry about this video existing, and she has every reason not to trust me.
“Nope,” she kisses my throat, “I want you to keep it and watch it when I’m not here. That’s your early Christmas present,” she smiles.
Well, ho ho ho. Maybe there’s something to celebrating the holidays, after all.
Eighteen
Emily
“Of all the things, I’ve missed this the most.” My fingers brush through Cole’s hair, his head resting in my lap. His long legs hang off the end of his sofa, and we’ve been lounging around all day, cocooned in blankets and each other.
We haven’t turned the television on, listened to the stereo, or ventured out of his apartment, other than the trip to the grocery store I requested, in three days.
It’s just been Cole and me, talking, laughing, cuddling, and christening every piece of furniture and room in this apartment.
The only entertainment we’ve dabbled in is reading each other smutty books that I send to his Kindle now, continuing our inside joke.
It’s like I always imagined life with him might be, if those six years weren’t stolen from me.
But they were, and I can’t deny they’ve had an impact.
As much as I want to live in the moment, be the bigger person, and not dredge up the past, I don’t want these lingering fears forever. I don’t want them cropping up when I least expect it, invading my mind like a virus. I don’t want to be insecure forever, waiting for the other shoe to drop. We’re dancing around the topic—me more so than Cole—because sometimes it’s easier not to shine a light in dark corners.
I don’t want to lose him again.
But, if he leaves me again, it’ll be even worse this time, and that’s a darkness I can’t walk into willingly. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…
Lazy blue eyes peer up at me. He looks so boyish and innocent with his head resting on my thighs. Every once in a while, his lips turn up in a contented grin. I don’t need to ask him why, I understand how he feels. It’s the warmth and comfort and contentedness of just being together, being whole again, being complete.
A part of me has been missing for years, and it’s come home.
I trace my thumb over the scar above his right eyebrow, a tiny imperfection on his gorgeous face.
“Tell me about this,” I slowly swipe my thumb across it again as his eyes close.
“Stan, you know that.”
“I know, but you never told me how it happened.” I’ve known about Stan being physically and emotionally abusive, of course, but Cole never wanted to get into specifics. I understood why, no one would want to relive those memories.
He lets out a sigh, “It’s not a fun story, Em.”
“I want to know everything about you, scars and all.”
He shifts on the couch, and I feel his neck tense up underneath me as he stays quiet.
I keep running my hand through his hair, and, after a moment, his shoulders relax again, and he opens his eyes back up, looking at the ceiling.
“I don’t remember how old I was, little. My mom was still around, so I couldn’t have been more than six or seven. He was pissed at something I’d done at the kart track and was fighting with my mom. They were downstairs; I remember being in my room, and she started screaming for me.”
“To leave?”
He huffs, his eyes swipe to mine for a split second, then go back to the ceiling. “No, not to leave. She’d call me to help her every time Stan would hit her.”
My hands still in his hair, and I watch his jaw tense. “Help her? You said you were only six or seven.”
Cole’s shoulders shrug. “Ran down to help her. Stan had her on the ground, and she had blood on her face. Tried to pull him off her, screamed at him to stop. He turned on me, instead.”
