Choking me.
Drowning me.
They felt strange. Hot. Ticklish. Shameful.
Hateful.
“I’m right here, Cherie,” he murmured, one arm holding me tight, the other hand stroking my hair. “Not goin’ anywhere. I’m right here. Talk to me. Where’d that shit come from? What’s goin’ on, honey?”
I tried to suck in breath.
Through the sobs, I barely got any in.
I burrowed closer like he could give me oxygen.
“Okay, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Just hold on and get it out.”
I did as told.
I held on and let it go.
He held on too. He stroked me.
And he absorbed it.
This went on for what felt like years before I started to quiet.
He said nothing. He didn’t push. He didn’t ask.
He just kept holding me, stroking me, and letting me let go.
Just like Merry.
Perfect.
“I should have known,” I whispered into his skin.
“Shoulda known what, brown eyes?” Merry whispered back.
“He did me on my stomach. Hands and knees. Only those. He never let me look at him. I thought it was his kink, but I should have known that wasn’t kink. It was sick. I didn’t know that if he let me look at him, he would have seen me. Me. And he wouldn’t have been fucking Feb.”
I wheezed as Merry quit stroking and both his arms tightened so hard, I couldn’t breathe.
Just as quickly as he did it, his arms loosened.
But not by much.
“I triggered a memory,” he muttered.
He did.
“Yeah,” I whispered.
“Fuck.”
I pushed even closer. “Not your fault.”
He was silent a second before he urged gently, “Give it to me.”
I took my moment of silence before I said softly, “In the beginning, before I learned, learned what he didn’t like, he held me down and would say it. ‘Stay down.’”
“Fuck,” he repeated.
“Not your fault, Merry.”
“We’ll avoid me fuckin’ you on your belly in the future. And definitely those words.”
I closed my eyes tight. “No.”
“Cher—”
It took a lot to pull my shit together and give him my puffy eyes, my red face, any ability to look at me at all after that scene.
But I did it and I did it because he was Garrett Merrick.
I looked at him.
He wasn’t freaked. He wasn’t disgusted. He wasn’t angry.
He looked troubled.
And he looked upset.
For me.
Yes, that’s why I could look the way I looked after what had just given me that look and give the evidence of it all to Garrett Merrick.
“He doesn’t get that,” I told him.
Merry put a hand to my face, rubbing his thumb through the wet on my cheek. “Whatever you want.”
“All that was going down, us getting together, my neighbor, your ex, Trent and Peggy, I didn’t…” I trailed off but finished, “You were my first…after him. I should have guessed I’d need to keep a handle on it. I didn’t guess.”
Merry didn’t reply. He just watched his thumb slide across my cheek.
“You think I’m a girl,” I muttered.
His thumb stilled and his eyes cut to mine. “What?”
“Freaking out. Falling apart. Sobbing in your arms,” I explained.
His face froze and his body under mine got tight.
And his voice sounded weird when he noted, “Honey, you are a girl.”
“Yes, but—”
“And I’m pretty fuckin’ glad you’re a girl.”
He would be.
“Of course, but—”
“And seriously, you havin’ it totally together with this relationship thing was fuckin’ with my man mojo. Takin’ on my shit. Balancing me and your kid. Building two relationships at the same time—the one we got, the one you gave me with Ethan. Weathering every storm like it’s nothin’ but sprinkles. Not a big fan of you losin’ your mind in my bedroom after I fuck you. But there are far worse things than bein’ there for my girl while she cries in my arms and lets go of some serious shit that’s burning a hole in her soul. It means something to me that you trusted me with that. It means something that you trusted me to be strong enough to handle it.”
I stared at him.
“Though, don’t make it a habit. My brown-eyed girl is a girl, but she’s also a tough chick,” he went on.
That was a tease. He didn’t mean it.
I could cry in his arms every day of my life and he wouldn’t give a shit.
(Though, I’d never do that.)
I kept staring at him, doing it for the first time since it all went down with Dennis Lowe, feeling safe, being safe, totally safe to let it go.
But as I did it, my eyes filled with tears again.
I felt one break free and slide down my cheek.
Merry watched it go.
I started talking.
“I was so stupid.”
Merry looked back at me.
“So stupid,” I repeated. “He didn’t want to meet my mom. He never asked us to his place. I never met any of his friends. His bullshit in bed was fucked up. Even if it was kink, I should have had more self-respect than to let him do that to me. And it wasn’t that I didn’t see it, Merry. It wasn’t that I didn’t put it together. It was all textbook at the very least for him being married but also him bein’ possibly fucked in the head. So it wasn’t that I couldn’t put it together. It was that I refused to see it, because after my dad, after a bunch of shit guys treated me like crap, after Trent, I needed so badly to believe. To believe I could find some happy. So I refused to see. And that’s bad enough just for me. But I exposed Ethan to that. I exposed my baby boy to that kind of crazy just because I wanted us to have a little bit of happy.”