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A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “He even made a special playlist and had the gall to title it ‘Preston loves Natalie.’ It had all the different versions: Elvis, UB40, and all the countless covers. This last year, he always made sure it was playing in the background when he’d wail on me. It would play over and over again. He said it was so I wouldn’t forget how much he loved me, or that the ‘lessons’ he taught me were for my own good. To make me a better wife.”
“Jesus, that’scompletelyfucked up.” He jerked, seemingly surprised he’d spoken out loud. “Sorry, please go on.”
Despite the subject matter, she smiled. Just a little.
“After a minor lesson, where he’d simply slap or punch me or grab me by the hair, he’d usually apologize, maybe cry a little, and I’d forgive him. But after a big lesson, where he’d hit me somewhere he wasn’t supposed to—my face, arms, places that I couldn’t easily cover up—he would always send me a box of four dozen long-stemmed white roses with a note. It was always the same. ‘Please forgive me. I love you.’ Then he’d cook me dinner, draw me a bath, and treat me wonderfully.”
Deep down, she’d always known that Preston didn’t really mean his apologies, that he would only play the good, doting, and caring husband until the bruises faded. But she’d gone along with it all because she’d been desperate for the affection, the attention, the hope that Preston still loved her.
God, what a naïve idiot she’d been.
No.
She had to stop berating herself. She wasn’t an idiot. She was a survivor.
Once her angels had opened her eyes, she’d only gone along with Preston’s sick manipulation because she’d been biding her time until she could escape.
She’d gotten through five years of his abuse; she’d get through this, too.
Straightening her spine, she asked, “I thought Preston was still in jail?”
The calm, neutral expression on Quinn’s face wavered, and he snapped his pencil in two.
“He is.” Tossing his destroyed pencil aside, he grabbed his coffee mug and took a long sip. She fought the urge to hug the man. To give him some of the comfort he’d given her. If he could be professional, so could she. “I spoke with Joe yesterday, but I’ll call him again when we’re finished here.”
“It doesn’t matter, Quinn. Preston knows where I am. And he’s coming.” She placed her hands over her abdomen. Knowing she had to face Preston didn’t make it any less terrifying. “I don’t think there’s anything you or Joe or anyone can do about it.”
“You’re wrong, Alex.” The first hint of anger entered his voice. “I am going to get this asshole, I can guarantee—”
“Quinn,” she interrupted with a shake of her head. The sleepless night and the morning’s drama—hell, the drama of herlife—were catching up. Her determination waned alongside her energy. “I’m so tired. So damn tired of being afraid of him.”
Quinn leaned into his desk, and his eyes filled with fervor. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore, Alex. Iwillprotect you.” She opened her mouth to respond, but he hurried on. “I don’t care if you don’t think you need protecting.Ithink you do.Joethinks you do. I also don’t care if you think that me protecting you won’t do any good. Because Iknowit will. If that makes me some sort of caveman, then so be it. If you’re tired of being afraid of him, then fine, you’ll face him. But Alex, I will be damned if you’re going to face that bastard alone.”
Was he for real?
His blind support overwhelmed her. She didn’t know how to react. How totrust.
“Thanks, Sheriff,” she said, drawing into herself. She’d tried to keep her tone cool, distant, but there’d been a tinge of panic. She hoped he hadn’t heard it.
Quinn slammed the mug onto his desk, and it broke with a loud crack.
“Dammit,” he growled. He mopped up the spilled coffee with tissues, making a bigger mess. Frustration emanated from his pores as he pushed the soggy heap to the side.
“Don’t do that, Alex. Don’t ‘Thanks, Sheriff’me. You know damn well that this has nothing to do with me being the sheriff.”
“Do I?” The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Why was she suddenly hell-bent on pushing him away?
“Yes. You do.” He met her stare. “Regardless of whatever walls you want to build around yourself to keep me out, regardless of whatever crap comes out of Roxie’s damn mouth, yes. You do.”
She crossed her arms over her chest like a sullen child. Her emotions ricocheted around like out-of-control pinballs.
“Alex, if you want to pick a fight with me because you’re mad, that’s fine. If you want to pick a fight because you’re scared, no problem. But if you’re doing it to get a rise out of me—to make me berate you or hit you—then you’re out of luck. Becausethatis never going to happen.”
She wanted to scream. What was wrong with her? Shedidknow he cared about her beyond his civic duties. His actions, his words... that kiss... They were all proof.
Maybe he was right. Maybe part of herwaslooking for a fight. Simply put, the man was too good to be true. And that was petrifying. If he was going to hit her, she’d rather it happened sooner than later. Then she could run away and say she’d been right.
She knew she wasn’t being fair. She knew good men existed. But even if Quinn was one of them—and she believed he was—then she still had to contend with her insecurities. Her doubt that she deserved to be with a man like him.
