Page 13 of Four Simple Rules
Go inside. Make nice.
Blake
*Middle finger emoji*
Without further ado, I gather my wits and settle my emotions. It's now or never. I can't stall this any longer, even though I'd rather be a bottle of wine deep at home with a good book and watering my plants, I need to go inside and greet my new stepmother. I shiver. It's strange to think that Jesse's mom is now my stepmom.
Sadness sweeps through me. Memories of Jesse's bloodied face from his father's abuse come to mind. If he went through that, what did Grace endure as his wife? It’s one of those situations I hate to think about, but I know it’s a reality for many women. Heck, even some men. They live in places that have no authority to be called a home—the fear they must go through day in and day out, living beside their abuser.
I was only an observer, helping Jesse fight through the pain of what his father had inflicted. But what about Grace? She never escaped. Until now, I guess.
That thought, alone, relieves some of the pressure resting on my shoulders. If Grace managed to break free, then hopefully Jesse did, too. I may loathe him with every fiber of my being, but I’d never wish his situation upon anyone.
"You're bleeding," I gasp, holding a hand over my heart as Jesse falls through my window. He cries out, landing on his back. Staring at the ceiling, he lets out a pained groan. "Jesse," I say with urgency, falling to his side. "What happened?"
He lets out a humorless laugh, wincing when my fingers probe at his ribs. Without thinking, I rip his shirt up and swallow hard.
"You've got bruises…" Jesse captures my wrist in a tight hold.
"Tulip, you can't," he gasps, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Jesse," I whisper, holding back my tears. "Tell me what happened."
His face hardens as he sucks in a breath. "Got between my mom and dad. Dad won. Mom got away. I saved the day."
"He…"
"Beats me? Smacks her around?" he asks incredulously. "Yeah. Surprise, Tulip. The fucking surgeon next door can't keep his hands to himself or off the bottle. I'm his favorite punching bag." He slumps in my arms when I hug him to my chest.
Licking my lips, I lightly knock on the door, shaking off the terrible memory of my past. My heart thrums in my ears double time when the door swings open, revealing the most beautiful sight before my eyes.
"Blake," Grace breathes, brushing her long blonde hair over her shoulders. "You came." Tears form in her eyes as she checks me over from head to toe.
Yeah. Drunk me said she'd come, so here I am. It's what I want to say because curse alcohol-fueled me, her big mouth, and her inability to say no.
"I did," I say softly, offering her a tight smile. "I couldn't miss this opportunity to celebrate your happiness." I offer her my best smile when she launches herself at me and engulfs me in an embrace.
“You have no idea how happy I am to see you here. Your father has been beating himself up every day…” she sniffles, trailing off, still embracing me. “He’s missed you so much, Blake. Every day he tells me how he wants to call you but doesn’t. He’s afraid he’s broken something between you.”
Every word she says spears through my heart, splintering it into little pieces. Has he regretted his actions? I hope so. I’ve lived with this inadequate feeling for years, making me believe I wasn’t good enough for his affection. Not once did he beg me to stay when I fled from Jesse’s cruel words and actions.
"I, um," I say, swallowing hard and squeezing my eyes shut.
Frick. This place holds so many memories, and I can’t contain them any longer.
"You look so good," I whisper to Grace when she pulls back. Her bright eyes examine my features, and a motherly grin lights up her face.
"Thank you," she whispers, squeezing my shoulder. "I know Jesse told you…" A redness flashes over her cheeks. "You two were so close, and I'm so ashamed of what happened. I was in a terrible place. I'm just thankful Jess had you to turn to. I think you did more than you thought."
I raise my brows when she pulls away and discreetly wipes her tears. So many thoughts run through my head, but my mouth doesn't know how to respond to her statements. Of course, she couldn’t get away, but that wasn’t her fault. Most men in positions over their wives like that make it impossible for them to escape. Grace had no choice. No place to run.
But Jesse…
My room was always his sanctuary. The place he came to when he needed to get away. He rarely went into detail about what his father did. But he didn't need to. The bruises and bloody noses were enough proof for me. Besides, I stopped asking and just helped. That was the only thing I could do for him, and I was happy too.
"Your room is ready for you," Grace says, ushering me into the familiar living space.
My eyes wander the freshly painted walls, fit with homey decorations. For once, warmth fills the air, embracing me like a hug. Not like it did before when my father walked through these halls and looked right through me. Back then, it was cold and uninviting. Now? It feels like a home should.
