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Alex winced and chuckled. Two things she didn’t know she could do at the same time. But there it was. “‘Congratulations’ is fine. You know, the pregnancy thing is still a bit of a shock.” Terror, elation, excitement, and dread all swirled within her. “But thank you. I think I’m okay with it.” Mostly? Maybe?
“That’s completely understandable, Alex. Holy hell. You’ve been through a lot.” Roxie gave her the once-over. “From your teeny-tiny body, you’re pretty early on?”
She nodded. “Barely a month.”
“If there’s anything I can do to help, anything at all, just let me know, okay? I mean it. If you want company at your doctor appointments or need anyone to set them up or someone to go baby clothes shopping with? I’m your girl.”
The hope in her chest began to bloom.
Friends.
A real life.
She wanted to pinch herself.
“Um, I have an appointment to see Dr. Buchanan in a couple days. If you really wouldn’t mind, I mean, I don’t want to impose—”
“Done,” Roxie said without hesitation. Standing, she bent over and gave Alex another hug. “No, don’t get up. Let me know what time you’re seeing Doc, and I’ll pick you up. Are you going to be okay tonight? If you don’t want to be alone, I can crash in one of Joe’s guest rooms or you can slumber party at my place.”
She wanted to accept Roxie’s offer, but she bit her tongue. She needed to practice independence. No more hiding behind other people. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”
“Thank you for trusting me with your story. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”
“Thank you for listening. Really.”
“Any time. And Joe’s right, you know. You’ll be safe here.”
Roxie waved goodbye and headed down the steps. Halfway across the lawn that separated the two houses, she turned back. “Oh, Alex? Come over tomorrow for dinner. I’ve got a new recipe to try out, and I need the opinion of someone whoisn’tmy bottomless pit of a landlord. Night!”
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Two weeks into her time on Hudson Island, Alex had fallen into a routine. She started her days hovering over the toilet, heaving as the room spun around her. An hour later, like clockwork, her stomach would settle, and the nausea would pass. She’d then head over to Roxie’s Comfort Food to get acquainted with how the operation ran. She came away from all her visits a little more excited about her upcoming job. She enjoyed the company at the café. The community.
It didn’t hurt that Roxie’s smoked ham and Gruyère quiche was one of the few things she’d been able to keep down lately. It also didn’t hurt that Quinn joined her each morning. Sitting across from the man when he was freshly shaven and dressed in his perfectly pressed sheriff’s uniform was no hardship at all.
After Comfort Food, she would then go sightseeing for a few hours. It wasn’t a large island by any stretch of the imagination, but there was plenty to do. She wanted to explore Whidbey Island, Hudson’s northeast neighbor, too, just... not quite yet. For now, she was content with her little routine, which ended each day with dinner at Quinn’s house. Roxie had been joyfully testing out delicious new recipes on them.
As she prepared for bed, she studied her face in the bathroom mirror. The swelling was finally gone, and most of the discoloration had vanished, except for a couple of marks along her jaw. But that wouldn’t be a problem at work. She was an expert at concealing bruises with makeup.
She frowned. How sad was that?
A wave of shame surged over her as she scanned the rest of her naked body. Most of the bruises on her torso and abdomen had faded, though, like on her jaw, there were a couple of lingering marks. As for her stitches, Dr. Buchanan had removed the last of them earlier that afternoon. The slashes across her arms and back were now dull-red scars. Scars that mocked her. That made her want to hate herself.
It would be so easy to give in. To let her self-disgust drown her.
But she didn’t.
Her therapist’s soothing words had become her new mantra:You have nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing. It’s time to let go of the guilt and allow yourself to move on.
She took a deep breath in and shoved her negative thoughts away.
“No more, Alex,” she murmured. “No more. Never again.”
She refused to let Preston win.
The sharp ring of the telephone made her jump. With a hand over her racing heart, she slipped on her robe and walked into the bedroom.
“Hello?” She answered the old-fashioned rotary dial phone that sat on her nightstand.
