Page 23 of A Better Place

CHAPTER FIVE

Carly

Men aren’t on my radar. Or, rather, they haven’t been for several years. As hard as I try to escape it, I can’t not see Vince in every man I meet.

My world imploded. I am broken in every possible way. It could have ruined me. I haven’t let it. It’s amazing what I have been able to overcome, and if it weren’t for being a mom, I probably wouldn’t have been successful. It took a lot for me to be able to get past the loss of a future I mapped out in my head.

But despite all that, James somehow broke through the barrier. I’m not blind. I saw the perfectly beautiful man with his tattooed sleeve, short dark hair, and strikingly blue eyes. I noticed how much he cared for his niece. My ovaries aren’t broken — seeing him love and protect a child made them go kaboom. But being a single mom for all these years, becoming a single mom the way I did, well, that made me a little shy of ever allowing my heart to love someone again. Heck, it made me shy of ever considering my heart for another man again.

I never expected James. I never thought that seeing him for such a short amount of time would elicit the feelings in me that he did. My body was alive once again for those few brief moments. When our eyes connected, my heart stuttered, my breath caught in my throat. It felt like all those romance novels I became addicted to, which made me feel a little silly. In the real world, people’s hearts don’t stutter just from someone’s look.

It’s been just a few weeks since I first laid eyes on James. For a tiny brief moment, I allowed myself to imagine my world differently. I allowed myself to think there was a possibility of something different. But that was only setting me up for heartbreak. He doesn’t even live around here, and that’s part of the reason I knew I had to walk away quickly. In fact, I know so little about James Cole that it’s crazy to even have these feelings for him. But the fact that he doesn’t live around here is so minor compared to the real reason I walked away.

But tell that to my body. When I lie in bed at night, I see his easy smile. My mind replays every incredible bit of interaction with Harper when he was at school visiting her. And, from what I heard, the way he reacted and took charge when she broke her arm? Not a woman on this planet would have been immune to that.

It’s the day after Thanksgiving, and while most people are out shopping to find some deals on cheap sheets and TVs that their family can’t live without, Jack and I are at the gym punching stuff, as he calls it.

We rarely miss a day, but lately I’ve been needing it more than typical. And it’s all because of Vince. Because he’s taken one more thing from me.

I have sweat dripping down my temple, and I’m pretty positive I can smell myself, but I feel amazing. Ever since Jack asked me to start boxing, to learn self-defense, I can’t get enough. Every day I walk into the gym, I get stronger, both physically and mentally. Three years later, I still feel my confidence boost just from knowing I can defend myself.

The first few times I came here, I pictured Vince’s face, heard his mocking voice. I hit harder. Kicked higher.

“You’re such a worthless slut.” Right punch.

“Did you even put makeup on today? You really need it.” Knee kick.

“No one else could ever love you.” Right cross.

“The only thing you’re good for is taking care of this house, and look at it. You can’t even do that right.” Jab. Cross. Left uppercut.

“All I do is work. The least you could do is provide a hot meal for me when I get home.” Left punch. Right cross.

“What did I ever see in you? You may want to be careful. There’s other women who know how to please me. You can’t even do that anymore, especially after having Jack.” Knee kick. Left cross. Jab. Right uppercut. Jab.

“Have you ever heard of a gym?”

Screw. Him.

When the memories of his hate-filled words began to fade, the vision of when he turned from simply emotionally abusing me to the first — and last — time he physically abused me, and I gained more strength. Gained more power, force. After I got out of the house with Jack, and we were in a safe place, my mind started to wander through our years together. I started doing some investigating and realized that my suspicions of him for years had been true. I confronted him about cheating on me when I asked for a divorce, and not surprisingly, he made me feel like it was my fault. Made me feel like I drove him to it. Like he had no other choice but to screw another woman. Have a relationship with her and abandon his wife and only child. It took me far too long to realize it wasn’t my fault.

I became used to his words but still never expected his abuse to turn physical. The moment he touched me in a manner that was anything but loving, I knew we would never recover. I knew in that moment that it was either him or me. That I could choose to let him win, let him take over my life even more than he already had. Or I could be fierce. I could be strong. I could show my son what a good man looked like, and that his father wasn’t it. I could show him the way to treat people. I could recover from divorce. What I couldn’t recover from was allowing my son to think it was okay to sling venom-filled words (and fists) at someone… anyone. Male or female. No one deserved that.

A few months after we settled into Liberty, a position came open at one of the elementary schools to substitute for one of the first-grade teachers who had to go on maternity leave. I was able to sub for her, which turned into a full-time position when she decided to stay home with her baby.

I changed my and Jack’s last name to Hanson, my great grandmother’s maiden name, and built a new life for ourselves. We were hidden. Vince knew he had no choice but to give me the divorce and let me walk away with Jack, or he’d be going to jail. The one and only time I met with him after I left with Jack, I showed him pictures that Jack made me take. I showed him the letter that Jack wrote him, detailing out exactly what he saw. I sat in the Starbucks of the town I once considered my home, staring at what I once thought was my forever and felt physically sick.

How I stayed married to that vile human being for as many years as I did is beyond my understanding. At first, he tried to throw a fit. A fit only worthy of Vince Taylor. Who could ever dare leave him? He was God’s gift to women, after all. But when I showed him the pictures I had printed, having copies of them hidden in a safe deposit box, and he read the letter, he knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on. He signed the papers, albeit angrily, but he signed them.

Of course, that didn’t mean he would let me leave without a few lovely parting words.

“I see you really let yourself go.”

I stare blankly at him. I have gained almost fifteen pounds and felt healthier and happier than I had since before I got pregnant with Jack. No more runs, which I always hated. No more denying myself a cookie if I wanted one.

When I don’t reply, he sneers in my direction, “How did I ever let you trap me into marriage?”

“You mean when you got down on one knee and begged me to be your wife?”

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