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She thought on the question but shook her head. “I’ll always feel something for him. He’s Tara’s father, and he’s a good man. A great man. But, like I said, that ship has sailed.” She laughed a little, crinkling her nose in a way that made her freckles scatter. “Actually, that ship has sunk. Drowned at the bottom of the ocean. We’re better apart.”

I picked at the worn edges of my sandal, chewing on my tongue while stewing in her words.

“How are you doing, Halley?” she wondered.

As much as I appreciated the subject change, this one wasn’t any better. “I’m doing okay. Physically, I’m stronger than ever. Running has been a great outlet for me.”

“And mentally?”

My chin lifted, and our eyes met. All I could produce was a tiny headshake.

Tears glimmered in her gaze as she pressed a hand to my forearm. “I’m here for you. We all are. Me, Tara, even Reed. We’re your family now. And your father is in jail. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

That much was true.

After months of court hearings, put in motion by Whitney Stephens, my father had been arrested and sentenced to five years in prison for domestic assault. I’d had to testify.

He hadn’t looked me in the eyes. Not once.

And my own mother had been notably absent.

While the verdict had offered a small sense of relief, dark memories still seized my mind. Memories of collapsing in a disgusting alleyway after my date had hummed a haunting nickname in my ear that had taken me right back to that godforsaken house: Lamb.

I wasn’t okay.

My father’s black hold on me strengthened by the day, cackling in my ear that I would never be okay again.

Reed had been there that night, conveniently next door with his brother. I wasn’t sure if that had been a mortifying twist of fate, or exactly what I’d needed at the time. I still thought about the way he’d held me, shushed my tears, stroked my hair back and calmed me down with gentle words. It was impossible not to fall even harder for him. I’d never been cradled so tenderly by the two strong arms of a man before; no father figure, no doting boyfriends. Just Reed. His arms were not meant to hold me, and yet they were the safest sanctuary in the midst of my crumbling mind.

Panic attacks were no joke. It had felt like I was dying, suffocating, drowning.

For a moment, I’d wanted to.

It would have been so easy to slip beneath the surface and float away, to retreat from the confines of my hell and find a softer place to rest my head.

But then my head had rested against his chest, his heartbeats a melodic lullaby, pulling me back to dry land.

My new favorite song.

Human beings were so damn resilient. We saw color through blackened vision, latched onto hope in hopeless places, and loved with every damaged piece of our broken-down hearts. Reed had told me I wouldn’t stay broken. All I’d needed to do was put in the effort to patch my broken bits.

And that was what I planned to do.

Uncurling my legs, I stood from the lawn chair and stretched my arms over my head, reigning in my courage. I glanced at Whitney perched beside me with her feet pulled up. “I’m going to go for a run.”

She bit her lip. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I just need to clear my head.”

“Take the pepper spray with you. Just in case.”

I smiled softly, touched by her concern. My own mother had never questioned my safety, never wondered about my whereabouts. Never bothered to check on me at night. I’d come to terms with it. Some mothers weren’t capable of providing or nurturing, or seeing beyond their own self-preservation. Love came easy for some, and for others, it was a distant illusion, forever out of reach. But, standing here, I felt a glimmer of something I had long believed to be unattainable: maternal love. It was a poignant reminder of the stark contrast between the love I had yearned for and the reality of my own upbringing. I saw a reflection of the mother I’d always wished for—the one who would hold me close, soothe my fears, and fiercely protect me from harm.

“Thank you.” My eyes misted with tears. “For everything.”

She smiled. “Always.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

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