Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
A part of me hoped it never would, that I would always appreciate such a little thing because it made it all the more enjoyable to me.
Navesink Bank had, slowly but surely, become home. It had opened its arms wide and pulled me in, asking me where the hell I had been, begging me never to leave.
I had the distinct feeling that I never would.
I mean, maybe for little vacations here and there.
But always to come back.
To get embraced by this crazy, wild, vast, yet close-knit place.
“Get the fuck out of my face,” Voss growled as soon as I walked in the front doors of the clubhouse.
“Not my fault you’re in my way, fucker,” Dezi said back with a lot less heat.
Just another day in the clubhouse.
The two of them, I concluded, were like brothers who could never get along, but knew they could count on each other if they needed help.
“Boys,” I scolded, letting Kent off his leash to barrel into the room, making a bee-line for Lola in her little baby pink circle bed, getting so excited that he slid in to her side, then immediately rolled onto his back, showing her his belly while she stared at him with dead eyes like she was wholly unimpressed by his display. “Be nice,” I added, smiling when Voss scoffed and immediately walked out of the room. “Kent wanted to come see the ice queen,” I told Dezi.
“She’s keeping her options open,” Dezi declared. “Kent doesn’t even have a job. And he’s afraid of birds. He’s not quite the alpha she sees herself with in the future.”
You had to love Dezi.
“He will win her over eventually,” I told him as Kent snuck a little lick in.
“So did you sign up for all your classes?” Dezi asked, dropping down onto one of the bar stools.
“I did,” I agreed, smiling.
It was terrifying. Especially for someone who hadn’t even attended a typical public school growing up.
College was different, I assured myself.
It was more casual.
Still, I had to admit, I was a mix of excited and absolutely terrified. Maybe especially so since I was going to go so much older than the typical student.
And I had so far to go.
But I had more than half my life ahead of me.
“You going to try to head-shrink me now?” Dezi asked, smirking at me.
“Oh, Dezi, I don’t think I will ever be skilled enough to untangle that web you have going on up there,” I said, patting the top of his head.
“At least you recognize that about yourself,” he said, shooting me a wink.
Yes, I’d decided to go to school to become a therapist.
I had Lo and her daughter Chris to thank for that. They were the ones who had first brought me with them to drop off supplies at the women’s shelter.
I’d spent the entire day there, getting to know some of the women and children, learning their stories, seeing so much of myself in their trauma.
It was then that I decided to start seeking therapy myself. Sure, I had to leave out key details, but I was able to start talking about it enough to begin the work of healing.
It was my therapist who had first encouraged me to pursue my degree if I felt so “pulled” to do so, to try to help other women who had been through something similar.
I hadn’t said anything for weeks.
Until it became the dominant thought in my head when I woke up, and what I was thinking about before I went to sleep.
That was when I floated the idea to Cary who couldn’t have been more encouraging.
Because, well, that was just how Cary was.
He’d been very clear from the beginning that I didn’t need to work. That if I wanted to be a stay-at-home dog mom, then he was perfectly happy with that situation. But that if I found something that lit a fire under me, that I was passionate about, then that was what I should pursue. Not for the money, but for the fulfillment.
That was what I truly believed working with survivors of domestic violence would be for me.
Fulfilling.
So I was charging forward. With all my fear and all my doubts, but a lot of hope as well.
Maybe one day, I could help other women like the women in the “girls club” had helped me, several of whom had come from terrible situations as well.
Because while a lot of people could empathize with what you’ve been through—and that was lovely—it was something very different to have someone who relates to what you endured, who had struggled to find themselves and their way up after getting free.
I wanted to be that person for other women. But also with an education toolbox to whip out when the situation called for it, full of insights and the right things to say.