Page 17 of Avery's Hero

Finally, she softens. “Thank you. That means a lot to me. I’m…” She glances away. “Having attention on me always ends in bad things.”

Inside of me, there’s a steady tightening as my dislike for her past grows. “Did something bad happen to you in San Diego after you solved the cases?”

Her lips tighten for a second. “It was nothing.”

“I think it was something if it made you feel this way.”

“I just didn’t like it. It reminded me of a life I’d like to forget.”

“This is going to sound like I’m prying, but is there something I need to know about?”

Sighing softly, she says as she looks away, “Just old scars.”

It’s wrong, but I reach for her, brush the back of my knuckles over her forearm. Grazing the soft, pale skin over her delicate bones. The thought of someone being mean to her makes me want to chew glass and break shit.

“I’m sorry. Want me to bash anyone’s kneecaps for you?”

She huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “No, but if you’d have asked me that ten years ago, I’d have sold my soul for that.”

“But not now?”

“My father is dead now.”

The silence that follows is loaded. That tightness in my chest grows to an unbearable level. Inside me, something’s about to snap. “Did he abuse you?”

Her lashes flicker closed for a second before she settles her focus on something in the distance. After gathering herself, she says, “It doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.”

Not only is my chest tight now, my gut is in a vice. “Where was your fucking brother?”

She brushes her hand quickly across her eyes. “He did everything he could. When he was old enough, he moved us out, he even worked two jobs to keep me fed while I finished high school.”

“Fuck, Avery. I’m so damned sorry.”

Breath hitching, she stares out the window. “It’s not important now. Really. I just… you know, I prefer not to be in the spotlight. It makes me uncomfortable. But it doesn’t define me.”

“No, it doesn’t. But this helps me understandwhat’s going on…” I reach down and grip her hand. “I’m sorry that I scared you by coming on too hot.”

She shakes her head. “You didn’t scare me.”

I tug her hand toward me. “Look at me.”

She slowly turns and raises uncertain eyes to me.

“I didn’t scare the Avery that’s up here.” I gently tap her forehead. “I scared the Avery that’s in here.” I touch my finger to her sternum, just above her heart. “Trust and safety live there.”

Blinking, she tucks her lips in tight. We stare at each other for a long time. Finally, she exhales.

I say, “Trust is subconscious. Even if you think you’re safe in the physical sense, there’s a piece in there that doesn’t trust men.”

Her brows knit together. “You think this is about men?”

I nod my head. “It’s common in female abuse survivors.”

Truly puzzled, she asks, “Then why am I in a male dominated profession?”

“Because the logical Avery is trying to overcome the subconscious messages she’s been getting. Sometimes, our brain pushes us to face something and we don’t even realize what it is.”

Her lashes dip closed and she shakes her head once. “Maybe I should talk to you instead of finding a therapist. How did you learn this stuff?”

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