Page 94 of Shiver

“You guys are really doing this co-parenting thing, huh? I’m proud of you,” he tells me. I hadn’t realized how much my brother’s approval would mean to me, but now that I have it, my heart feels like it’s bursting wide open.

“Yeah.” I smile at him. “I guess we are.”

He gives me a hug, nearly crushing Gia between us as he does, and presses a kiss to her chubby cheek.

“What? No kiss for me?” I joke, but he leans in and makes a big show out of the fat, slobbery kiss he leaves on my forehead.

I wipe it off with the back of my hand, shaking my head as I head out to my car with a wide smile on my face.

Chapter seventy-seven

Samara

I’ve never been to a wedding where I felt so many emotions, and it isn’t even the actual wedding day yet. I think I’ve fallen in love with this entire family, so much more than I’d ever intended to, and I can already feel the crushing weight on my shoulders at the idea of never seeing them again after this.

They’ve made me feel like I was a part of every detail, always remaining considerate of my wants and needs and never compromising them. It’s been an honor to get to know these people.

Arielle’s red hair swishes by as she joins me in the back of the dining hall, her bright-white smile plastered across her face. “Hey, mind if I pull you away for a few minutes? There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, but I have a sneaking suspicion you’ve been avoiding me.” She smirks.

I don’t bother backpedaling; the lie would be evident. “Sure,” I tell her, following after her as she leads us down a paved, tree-lined path.

“Luca told me you found the article,” she says, surprising me because this is not where I’d expected the conversation to go.

“I did.” I tread lightly.

“He also said that he told you it wasn’t his story to tell.”

I nod, agreeing. He definitely had said that.

“That’s because it’s mine,” she says, stopping in the middle of the trail to face me.

What is that supposed to mean?

Before I can even ask her, she starts speaking, and I have a feeling my world is about to be tipped upside down.

“When I was sixteen, I ran away from home,” she says, a pink blotchy flush starting to spread over her chest. “My father was abusive, my mom was nowhere to be found, and I figured I’d be better off on my own. And I was,” she says with total certainty. “Until I met Jackson. He was charming and seemingly sweet, and of course, he let me move in with him. He made sure I had what I needed when I was with him, making it easy to strip me of everything I had for myself so I couldn’t leave him.” Her eyes turn glassy, and my throat feels tight. “Not easily anyway.” She pauses, assessing me before going on. “By the time I was seventeen, he’d let his mask dissolve entirely. He’d beat me and spit in my face. And one night, when I refused him, he beat me until I was nearly unconscious and forced himself on me.” She shakes her head, the memory of that night seeping into the forefront of her mind. I can tell it’s something she doesn’t think about often.

Unease spreads through me, hot tears pooling behind my eyes. An image of Cora flashes in my mind, and my heart wrenches with the thought.

I remain silent, allowing her the space she needs to tell her story or to stop if she no longer feels comfortable.

“He left me like that. Discarded by a dumpster, like trash.” Her voice wobbles, and it sucks the last remnants of air from my lungs. “Dante found me when he was on his way home from a class at the university. He’d taken some late classes so he could be home during the day to help take care of things for Gloria, take her to appointments, and bring Gianni and Charlie to school, after-school clubs, and sports,” she explains, a small, sad smile turning her lips. “When he found me, he tried to call the police, but I lost it on him.” She shakes her head. “I refused to let law enforcement get involved. I was less than two weeks away from turning eighteen, and if the police found out, I’d have been returned to my father. One abuser to the next and back. I wasn’t having it.

“He took me to his apartment, let me get cleaned up, gave me some of his sister’s clothes, and tried like hell to get me to report it, but I wouldn’t.” Her voice is smaller than I’ve ever heard it. I don’t like that this is so painful for her. “My only compromise was that I let him take me to the women’s shelter.”

I reach out for her hand, and she gives it a gentle tug. “You really don’t have to tell me all this. Luca was right; it wasn’t his story to tell, and I don’t need you to relive your trauma to get your point across,” I tell her.

My stomach is churning with bile. This story sounds so familiar.

My heart aches at the thought of Cora. She never got to see what life free of abuse could look like. Not like Arielle has. And this incredible life Arielle has with Dante and their kids—it’s everything I could’ve wanted for Cora.

“I want you to hear this, Samara. I promise,” she says, her voice cracking again. When I don’t try to interrupt her, she continues.

“A few weeks later, things were better. I was able to stay at the shelter, and they helped me figure out a plan for getting my GED and finding a job so I could get out of there. Then my period never came, and I hoped and prayed like hell that it was just the stress.”

“But it wasn’t.” I breathe, already knowing the answer.

She shakes her head, the loose red curls dancing in the setting sun. “It wasn’t,” she confirms. “I took a pregnancy test, and another, and probably five or six more after that. Every one of them told me a truth I had no interest in believing. And when I didn’t know what to do, I tried to find Dante again. He’d made me feel safe.” She averts her gaze for a moment before finding mine again, her wide blue eyes acting like a window to her soul. “Safer than anyone ever had in my life, and he’d only known me for a few short hours. But when I got to his place, it wasn’t him who opened the door.”

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