Page 22 of Sleeping with the Frenemy

Chase

Iheld my breath until my lungs burned.

Behind me, Victoria was silent.

I braced for the inevitable—for her to recoil in disgust or flee the room. I might not look at my back often, but I knew what she saw. Long, puffy scars started at my shoulders and ran all the way to my hips. A few snaked around my sides, but those were faint.

He had good aim, my father, and he was careful not to mark me where anyone could see.

The skin was a mottled mix of pink and white, and the crisscrossed lines were shiny where the belt had broken the skin and healed over. Most of the marks were laid out with methodical precision—strips that alternated directions, like highways intersecting on a flat stretch of land. But here and there, the pattern was marred by a line out of place.

Those were the thickest scars. Those were the times he lost control.

Silence hung over the room. Any minute, Victoria would voice her revulsion. I’d thought I prepared for it. That I was stronger now. That maybe by reminding her of our connection I could convince her I was a man worthy of her respect.

Such a stupid idea. I had no business forcing myself back into her life. She had enough problems. I was the source of most of them. The best thing I could do was get dressed and get the hell out of Virginville.

Problem was, I didn’t think I was strong enough to walk away from her. I needed her to do it first.

So I held my breath, willing her to do the right thing.

“Your father did this,” she said quietly.

I turned. I didn’t want my back to be the last thing she saw before she left.

Tears streaked her face.

I reached for her, then stopped myself. My throat thickened. “Don’t cry.”

“H-How long?” She swallowed, and more tears spilled down her cheeks. “How long did he do this, Chase? Why did he do this?”

Fuck it. I cupped her face in my hands and brushed the tears away with my thumbs. A big part of me wanted to say it didn’t matter, or that she shouldn’t worry about it. But I’d learned that lies could cause just as much pain as a belt. Tell them often enough, and they scar you on the inside.

“I don’t remember when it started,” I said. “I think I must have been young, because I don’t remember a time when he didn’t hit me.”

Her mouth trembled, her blue eyes sheened with tears.

“Aw, sweetheart, stop this.” I rubbed the moisture away.

She grasped my wrists. “I’m s-sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t want you to.”

“But…why? You could have told me. I could have helped. I could have—”

“I was embarrassed, Victoria.” Old disgust welled up, and I dropped my hands and stepped back. “An eighteen-year-old man getting beaten by his father? You wouldn’t have had anything to do with me.”

“He did this when you were eighteen?” Her eyes widened. “You never swam with us. You never took your shirt off.”

I pushed a hand through my hair and took a deep breath. “He did it until I was twenty-two. The last time it happened was the day I came back to the States. He found out I’d been seeing a therapist, and he lost it.”

Her gaze went to my hands, and I realized I was fingering the wooden beads on my wrist.

Ah, well.Better to put everything out there, now that I was finally spilling my guts.

I lifted my hand. “This is what triggered him that day. It’s a mindfulness bracelet, at least according to the shrink I saw in England. It’s supposed to help you be in the moment instead of worrying about the past or feeling anxious about the future. I’m not really sure why it works, but it does, and that’s good enough for me.”

“What are the silver beads?” she asked, her voice soft.

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