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Chapter Two
Josephine
Have you ever been angry to the point all you see is red? Yeah, my vision isn’t red—I’ve bypassed red. No, my vision is crystal-fucking-clear, like lethally accurate, assessing all the weak points on all three of the traitors standing in front of me.
My heart has slowed dramatically, and I’m unnaturally quiet. There’s a high pitch buzzing in my ears, and I feel like I’m experiencing the calm before the storm.
Maceo steps around my parents to come and sit next to me on the couch. He reaches for my hand, and I pull it away. I can tell he’s worried by the crease forming between his dark brows. He runs a hand down his face like he always does when he’s overwhelmed.
My anger is not misdirected. If anything, it’s renewed by my parents’ arrival. Maceo may not have invited them here today, but he did go behind my back and invite them to our wedding.
My parents stand side by side, creating a barrier between me and the front door. Clearly, they know me well enough to know when I’m not happy and can’t deal with a situation, I run away from it. Apparently, I’m giving them the vibe that I’ll bounce.
Damn my transparent emotions!I’m angry enough to walk away, but I’m also curious as to how my parents are going to attempt to smooth things over between us.
My mom makes the first move and sits on the other side of the couch next to me.
Nope. Not ready for this kind of closeness.I slide away from my mom only to scoot closer to Maceo. His arms encircle me with a strong sense of sanctuary. As angry as I am with him, I need his support right now while I deal with my parents.
My dad sits in my favorite high-back mid-century modern armchair and waits patiently. He appears to be as uncomfortable as me, and he looks to Maceo for cues on whether it’s okay to talk to me or not.
“Stella,” Maceo begins, “I know you’re anxious to clear the air, but today isn’t the best day to tackle it. I just got home and told Josephine I came to visit you, which is enough for her to process in one sitting without being bombarded with your being here.”
My mom sighs loudly and looks at me with pleading eyes. “We’ve come all this way to see you, Jo. I wish you’d listen to us.”
My bitterness toward my parents and how they broke my heart has me lashing out. “That’s rich. Should I listen to you as well as you listened to me?” I say with a sneer.
Maceo squeezes me—not sure if it’s to comfort or warn me. Doesn’t matter because I’m going to act the way I damn well please.
My dad clears his throat. “There’s no good way to say it, Jo. We were wrong and we’re sorry.”
I fold my arms with a huff. I typically appreciate my dad’s straight-to-the-point demeanor, but his admission of guilt sounds more like a copout.
I’m not a saint—I don’t give grace easily. Is it wrong of me to expect them to grovel after the verbal shaming they inflicted on me during one of the most difficult moments of my life? I don’t believe so.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my mom reach out to me. The move is sudden, and I didn’t expect the violent response I have from her fingers brushing over the fading bruises along my arm, still tender from Jacob’s vicious attack.
I’m instantly thrown back in the past, reliving the most painful and emotionally traumatizing experience of my life.
It’s like I can feel every blow again in vivid detail. The snapping of my fingernails as I clawed at Jacob. The force of his foot when he kicked me in the ribs and the audible cracking noise of them splintering. The pinch of his fingers digging into my flesh as he tried to pull my thighs apart. And the steel grip of Jacob’s hand when he tried to crush my throat.
My mom’s touch has me yelping. Maceo yanks me into his lap and presses my face to his firm chest, where I bury my screams as one of my panic attacks takes hold of me.
Typically, I wake from a night terror hyperventilating, triggering a panic attack. This is only the second time I’ve had one while awake—the first being when Esteban sent me a flower arrangement of orchids. Maceo knew what was happening immediately and went right into protector mode.
My mom shrieks in terror. “What’s happening to her?”
My dad is equally alarmed, and I feel him move closer to me, but unable to see him or my mom with my head buried against Maceo’s chest. “Jo? Sweetheart, are you okay?”
“Back off and give her a moment. She’s having a panic attack. This is how it’s been since Jacob attacked her,” Maceo explains calmly, rubbing my back in comforting circles. I gulp in more air than my body needs.
“Oh, my God!” My mom whimpers helplessly.
I feel another hand rubbing my back and know it’s my mother trying to mimic Maceo’s touch. This time it doesn’t scare me. It’s soothing to feel her after so much time has passed.
Begrudgingly, I realize I’ve missed her, but I’m not emotionally ready to admit it. Maceo keeps on rubbing me, letting me know I’m safe, and he’s got me.
“Does this happen often?” my father croaks.
