Page 47 of Just This Once

“What do you mean when you say you don’t care how he treats you or what he says to you?”

She won’t meet my gaze, and already I know whatever she’s about to tell me will make me want to work up my own murder charge.

“It took me a long time to come to terms with the word abuse. You hear it and think it’s black eyes and busted lips, but what he did to me was abuse too.”

I’m almost afraid to ask, my stomach in knots, my muscles tense with the need to find this motherfucker. “What did he do?”

She shrugs. “Little things at first. We met in college, and he started suggesting I wear different things. I thought it was nice… He wanted me to wear things he liked, and I wanted to do that too. I wanted to look good for him, make him happy. But then it was comments about my friends and gradual control of my schedule. He never yelled at me or said anything overt enough to catch my attention. It was slow and insidious.”

I drop my chin to my chest and close my eyes, imagining my duchess feeling controlled by anyone other than herself. I don’twantto believe. I don’t ever want to believe she did or does anything that is not wholly her choice.

“My dad was never around, so I thought Craig’s attention was love. I thought it meant hereallyloved me. He was there for me when my mom died, and when he asked me to marry him, I didn’t hesitate. Then he suggested I quit my job andwork for his company, and I did. Then he suggested I stay home when I got pregnant, so I did. Then when I started to sell my pottery, he called it a cute hobby. When I had Maddie, he was barely around. I couldn’t lift her up after my C-section, but I was so ‘capable,’ he told me he didn’t think I needed him. I could handle it all myself—the kids, the house, the cooking, cleaning. I got no help, but he still asked me to work from home for the company part time. And it was only a few hours a week,” she says, finally turning to me, sarcasm arching her eyebrow, though there is nothing except sadness in her dark eyes.

“Only a few hours a week, on top of everything else you were doing,” I fill in, and she nods.

Her voice is low and reedy, long-held pain surfacing. “So when I got mad and upset, he turned it around like it was my fault. He wasn’t asking much of me.”

“Only everything,” I mutter, hating Craig Barrett for a host of new reasons. Not the least of which is making Taryn Stone cry.

She holds up her hand, counting off her supposed sins with her fingers. “I was selfish. I was nagging. I was cold. I was a bitch. But if I ever got angry at him for calling me a bitch, he’d come back with, ‘Well, I nevercalledyou a bitch. I said you’reactinglike one.’”

“Taryn—”

“I know. I know I’m not a bitch. I’d just started standing up for myself, but to him, that’s acting like a bitch. But, you know what? I’d rather be an actual bitch and happy than ever be put in that same position again.”

I don’t know what else to say besides, “I’m so goddamn proud of you.”

At that, her self-defense melts, her eyes lighting up, lips curling into a smile I’ve never seen out of her. This is no hint ofamusement or a fighting tremor. No, this is a full-blown grin that I feel so deep in my body, it lights up my soul.

This is my duchess. Myproudgirl.

Makes me want to jump down from this truck bed right now and kneel in front of her, kiss her feet. Worship her inside and outside, for everything she is and everything she gives to the world.

She deserves nothing less than utter devotion.

I was baptized in the Catholic Church. Received Holy Communion in second grade, Confirmed at fourteen, but this woman—this goddess—is who I pray to now.

“So, what do you need help with?” I ask, happy she doesn’t try to argue or fight with me.

Instead, she tells me, “Craig was supposed to pick up Jake from soccer and Maddie from Girl Scouts. Now he isn’t, but I can’t leave to get them.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure?”

I hop down to the ground. “Yeah, of course. It’s no problem.”

Tension leaves her shoulders, her breath whooshing out in relief. “That’s…amazing. Thank you so much.”

I wave her off. “It’s really not that big of a deal, Tar.”

But I can see it is to her. She nods, gratitude shining in her eyes. “I owe you one.”

I clamp my hands on her hips to help her down from the truck. “I only take my payment in orgasms.”

She snorts, lightly punching my arm, and I offer her a grin. “I’ll get the kids home and fed.”

By the time I’ve cleaned up my tools, Taryn has texted me the addresses of the locations and forwarded Jake’s and Maddie’s cell phone numbers, as well as included me on a text thread with the kids, informing them I’m on pickup duty.

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