Page 23 of Love Harvested on Thanksgiving
“He would what, Alex?” He says, his voice low, lethal.
I swallow hard. “Sometimes he would even… hit me.” I force myself to take a breath. “It got really bad. And I found out I was pregnant.”
The words feel heavy on my tongue. I can't bring myself to look at him. My chest burns with shame, even though I know I shouldn’t. I hesitate, debating if I should continue. And then I feel his hand brush against mine. I almost fall from my chair in shock.
“Hey,” he says softly. “It’s okay.”
Tears sting my eyes. “I lost it. The baby,” I whisper. “And left while he was at work. I blocked him, moved my things from his dorm, went completely no contact.”
I take a moment to steady my breathing. “I didn’t tell him because I knew he would blame me for the miscarriage.”
My voice cracks. “But someone I trusted told him what happened. My dorm-mate, Jessica, at the university. She was my best friend.”
My breath comes out shaky. “And now he won’t leave me alone. He confronted me at the event about ‘killing’ his baby.”
“He texts me from all these texting apps, saying horrible things, calling me awful names. It’s like he wants to destroy me for something I had no control over. He wants to ruin me for saving myself. This morning, he sent a package to the market… it had a onesie in it, and it was covered in fake blood.”
By the time I finish, the tears are falling down my face. I can’t look at him.
I notice the table trembling beneath my hands and I slowly lift my eyes.
Finley’s knuckles are bone white. He’s gripping the table so tightly I think it may break. He’s looking down, his jaw so tight his teeth may crack.
He doesn’t say anything, just sits there, body rigid. He’s so tense it’s as if he’s trying to grasp on to every bit of control he can.
He takes a slow, shuddering breath as he slowly releases the table from his deadly grip. His hands are still trembling, and his jaw still looks like it may crack.
“I—I shouldn’t have asked.” He says, shaking his head. “I… could never imagine how someone would want to—” his voice is low, rough, tight, “—hurt you.”
I want to say something, to reassure him. To tell him it’s alright. But it really isn’t, is it? It’s not alright. I’m not okay and that’s okay. What I went through isn’t fine.
Finally, he speaks again, “what’s his last name?”
I hesitate, my stomach twisting.What does that matter?I tell him anyway, “Collins… why?”
He nods once. “I know someone in law enforcement.”
My eyes go wide, “Finley, that will only piss him off even more!”
He snaps his head up, his eyes meeting mine, his expression so serious it makes my breath catch. Slowly,confidently, he speaks, “he willnevercome near you again, Alex.”
I’m not sure why, but I believe him. I feel my shoulders drop, the tension I didn’t realize I had been holding, finally leaving. Tears of relief stream down my face.
He speaks again, his voice quieter this time, almost a whisper. “Have you… been keeping this to yourself? This whole time?”
I nod, still sobbing, my chest heaving.
Without another word, he stands and moves toward me. My heart races.What is he doing?
Then he’s gently wrapping me in his arms, pulling me close to his chest. My tears soak his shirt, but he doesn’t pull away. He smells like hay and warm spices; he smells like fall, like comfort.
I cling to him, letting it all spill out. His hand strokes my back, slow and steady. For the first time since the event—when Chase approached me—I feel safe.
I finally pull away, catching my breath, I crane my neck to look up at him. His hand moves from my back to my face.
“None of that was your fault, Alex, and you did the right thing. I hope you know that.”
I nod, the tears finally slowing and my stomach growls so loudly that we both hear it. We laugh together before sitting down at the table.
