Page 111 of The Love You Fight For
I settle back into the pillows, and she snuggles up to my chest. I kiss her head once, then open the book to the first page and start to read.
I callout of work for the next two days and stay holed up in my house with Sam.
I cook for her. I read to her. I tell her stories of my summers at the lake.
Eventually, she tells me the whole truth of what happened the other night with Ashton fucking Cartwright, and I determine that he is the worst kind of man. The worst kind of human. She cries, and I cry, and I hold her again. I reassure her that I’m not angry with her. I don’t hate her. It is not her fault.
Even if she’d covered herself in whipped cream and lain down on his kitchen table, that still doesn’t excuse what he did.
Does it make me fucking livid that he touched her? That hehurther? Yes.
Does the idea of her using herself as bait for whatever nefarious scheme she’s carrying out make me sick to my stomach? Yes.
Do I tell her any of that? No.
I don’t tell her because I can tell she already knows. She feels the same and saying it out loud will accomplish nothing good. She needs unconditional support. She needs zero judgment. She needs peace. I give her all of that and more.
Every hour, she starts to look a little better. A little less broken. A little more rested. Every hour, she looks a little more like herself, and I do my best to ignore the fact that it also brings us that much closer to when she might leave again.
In the middle of lunch, Sam’s purse chimes with a notification, and she pulls out a phone I’ve never seen before. She clicks it on and reads a message, and the color drains from her face. Her body goes rigid. Her brows shoot toward her hairline. When she looks at me, there’s an apology in her eyes.
“Don’t go,” I say quickly. I fucking plead. “Don’t go, princess. Stay here with me.”
She closes her eyes and breathes as she straightens. Steels her spine. Pulls her shoulders back. Her face is wiped clean of every emotion except determination. It’s like I’ve witnessed a transformation in her, and it takes my breath away.
When she speaks, I hear the words I’ve been dreading.
“I have to. I have to go back.”
“You don’t have to.” My voice rises despite my attempts to stay calm. Anger and fear spike my heart rate, and my temper rises with it. “You don’t have to go back there, Sam.”
She shakes her head and stands. Starts to clean up her plate. She doesn’t look at me.
“Don’t ignore me.” I stand and move to the kitchen.
Stepping in front of her, I tilt her chin up so she looks at me. I’m met with fierce determination that fills me with as much dread as it does pride.
“Those people, that place, it’s fucking killing you. You’re a shell of yourself when you come back. You look like someone used you as a punching bag, and you want to go back there? To them? Tohim? Nothing is worth that, Sam. You, your safety, it’s all worth more than whatever it is you’re trying to do.”
She grits her teeth, then turns her head so my hand falls from her face.
“It’s not. This is the only thing that matters.”
She goes back to cleaning off her plate, the lunch I made for her now discarded into the trash.
“Goddamn it, Sam. Stop for one second and think about this. Think about?—”
“I have!” She whirls on me. “It’sallI fucking think about. It’s all I’ve thought about foryears, Chris. You think I don’t know what I’m doing? That I don’t know the risks? You think I haven’t agonized over it a hundred times? Because I have. I have, and I’ve made my fucking decision, and I’m doing this, so move out of my way and let me go.”
She brushes past me, and I follow her into the living room.
“You’re going to let this fucking revenge plot or whatever it is ruin you. You’re letting them win?—”
“Don’t,” she shouts. “Don’t say that. They willneverwin. If I have to fucking die trying, they will not win. If I have to burn with them, then so be it.”
“No.” I step in front of her. “How the fuck can you say that?So be it? You’re so driven that you’re fine with ruining everything?—”
“Yes! Yes, I am, and you have to be fine with it too. This is my decision, my life, not yours. I’m not your possession. You can’t just order me around.”
