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I try not to think about that night two years ago, when Thad showed up at the hotel door, demanding I come back home with him.
At the time, I was still conflicted. He cried and begged, told me he would change, and that he loved me. I think there was still some part of me that wanted to please my parents, so I went back.
He was better, for about three weeks. Then the abuse started right back up. I tried to turn to my mother for comfort, but that was a mistake. She told me sometimes passionate men took their passions out on their women.
I don't really give a fuck what happens to them now. They turned their backs on me. My mom left me to fend for myself against the wolves. Well, here I am. Twenty-five years old and starting over. Thank fuck for grandmas.
I pull a massive hoodie over my head, tug the strings tight to hide from the cameras, and rush out the door. I wave goodbye to the servants who always showed me kindness and hop in the cab. I don't waste even a second looking around, but I do toss my phone out the window. I also remove every piece of jewelry I have on, and I'm wearing clothes I bought with my own money and hid in the deepest parts of my closet. Shoes that I had just purchased a couple of days ago.
Apparently, the necklace he had given me for our anniversary wasn't just a necklace. It was a tracking device. He literally tracked me to that hotel room. There's no other way he would have found me, it's not as if my stepbrother or any of his friends would have told my fiancé where I was. My parents didn't know. So that was the only explanation. When I confronted him about it, he just told me it was because he loved me.
But you don't hurt the people you love. Not intentionally. Not that badly.
I'm starting over in this cabin–cottage. Whatever. And I'm never speaking to another person in that family ever again.
Maybe one day my stepbrother will find it in his heart to forgive me, but seeing as I was supposed to meet him at his place, and never did, I don't think he's in a very forgiving mood. Don't even get me started on the twins and Isaiah.
I feel guilty for all of it.
I pay the nice cabby with cash and explain that some people will come looking for me.
“They’ll see you’re the last number I called. They’ll ask where you took me, and if you know where I’m headed. They will most likely offer you money for information. I won’t blame you for taking the money, I just beg you, please, lie. Say you took me to the airport. To the bus station, anywhere other than here,” I plead with the older man as I clutch my hoodie closed.
“You’re not the first woman I’ve driven to a train station. Who’s to say I even remember which woman you were on a busy day like this? I’m old, I forget things easily, like where I’ve been and who I’ve driven and when.” The man reaches out and pats my hand, and I drop my gaze to his wrinkled hands. I couldn’t stand the look in his eyes any longer. “You tossed your phone out the window, along with some jewelry. In my experience, a young woman doesn’t do so for fun.” I nibble my lip, as he releases my hand. “Good luck, young lady. The airport is busy this time of day. I’ve got to go,” he says, winking at me when I look up.
“Thank you,” I whisper, not trusting my voice not to shake. A tear slips down my cheek as I take a sharp breath. I hand the old guy a handful of bills as a thank you and then run inside.
I have an appointment to meet with the lawyer, who contacted me via the barista at my local coffee shop, which I found to be extremely creepy. He had strict instructions not to call me or show up at my house. So, a woman I’ve known for ten years handed me a coffee with a little message on it yesterday. The guy waved me over and told me Grandma’s plans. Handed me a stack of money, and told me where to meet him in the small town I’ll soon be calling home.
It felt like a scene out of a spy movie or something.
This time tomorrow, I’ll have a home of my own. One that Thad and my stepfather can never take away from me. It’s under the name of a trust and not my legal name. So unless they know Sunflower Furnishings, they’ll never find me.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
2 weeks later
“Oh, fuck!” I hiss, as another broken shingle falls off the roof. The cabin-cottage, whatever, that my step-grandma left me isn't exactly in mint condition, but honestly, I wouldn't care if it were the tiniest shack on the most run-down mountain on the planet, it's mine. It’s not tiny, though. Just a bit of a wreck.
I don't know if my stepfather's family has any idea where I fled to, but so far, I haven't heard anything from them. I haven't gotten myself a new phone yet either, though, so that could be the reason no one's been able to get a hold of me. Not that I really care.
As I lift a log off the pile outside for the fireplace, it slips from my grip, and a rogue branch slices my palm open.
“Balls!” I grunt, clutching my palm to my chest as it gushes blood.
I run inside, grab a clean rag, and wrap it up the best I can. I don’t have a car, because you can’t buy one with a fake name, so I travel by bike everywhere. It’s a nice bike. It’s got baskets galore, and I even rigged it to carry a wagon behind me for when I need groceries…
It’s not exactly great for emergencies. I’ll buy a prepaid phone tomorrow that I can use for calling 911, just in case I ever break my damn ankle…but for now, my only option is the bike.
I climb on the bike and peddle my little heart out for what feels like two years, but is probably only an hour until I see the small family clinic. I live up a dirt road, covered in trees. It’s a long trek, so I’m exhausted.
And by small, I mean it looks like a Hallmark movie level tiny. Small-town doctor falls for the new-to-town city girl. Ha, no. Not today, Satan. Not that this doctor would want me. I just meant… You know what? It doesn’t matter. Moving on!
As I step through the door, it jingles, and I cringe. All eyes turn to me in a second.
“Oh, dear!” The older woman behind the desk jumps to her feet and rushes me. “That’s a lot of blood,” she yelps, looking pale. She works in a doctor’s office, and is pale at the sight of blood? “Isaiah!” she shouts, and my heart nearly escapes through my throat at the familiar name, but I relax when I remind myself that Isaiah is a lawyer. Or, he was in law school, anyway, last I heard.
“I sliced it on a branch. Damn log was heavier than I expected,” I tell her, and she takes me to a room, sitting me down in a chair, before turning and shouting out the door.
