Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 122514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
God.
I had to take a breath.
My life was a mess. Everything about me was a mess.
Maybe Trent was right. Maybe it was time to start facing life again? I mean, I wasn’t going to sign up for a Janet session. Not about that, but opening up? Telling people? I’d mentioned it to Reese. And Grant actually knew what Damian had. Both times, I hadn’t gotten worse. Both times, I’d panicked, but I couldn’t deny that I felt a tiny bit better afterward.
I took a breath.
I wasn’t… I was.
I pulled out my phone and texted before I could stop myself.
Me: My ex had early-onset dementia. It ran in his family. His father got it super young, and he did too. It’s why we ended things.
Me: And full disclosure, I’m gonna have a panic attack that I told you. I hope it’s not too much for our new friendship. I’m turning off my phone. See you when you get back. You don’t have to mention this if you don’t want to deal with it. Totally okay with me.
There.
I turned my phone off before Reese could text back. Yes. I was being a coward now, but I hadn’t been a moment before. That had to mean something.
I left my phone on his couch, turned off the laptop and his Wi-Fi, and went to the main lodge. The team would be arriving in a little over an hour, so Owen and Hadley would be setting up the food. I’d help.
I needed to stay busy or I was going to collapse.
I felt him before I heard him, when they arrived.
A hush came over the kitchen. Owen and Hadley stopped what they were doing, and Reese asked, “Where is she?”
I’d been in the back, putting away a mixing bowl.
Stepping around the corner, Reese saw me. His face clouded over, and he came into the kitchen.
Only staff was allowed back here, Reese didn’t care. No one said a word as he crossed past Owen and Hadley and took my wrist. He tugged me to Owen’s office and shut the door.
“I have to—”
“Don’t even,” he growled. He leaned back against the door, folding his arms over his chest. “You text me that and then shut off your phone? What are you? Twelve?”
I flushed. It was a bit immature. I picked at my shirt. “Adulting is hard.”
“Tough shit.” He pushed off from the door, stalking toward me.
I edged back, just a foot.
He lifted his hands, pausing mid-air, and I watched as a myriad of expressions flashed over his face. He fisted his hands, then unfisted them, then let out a harsh breath as he settled them on my shoulders.
His tone was gentle when he spoke. “You said he hit you once.”
I was numb.
The feeling was spreading fast, coming up from my feet to my legs, my thighs, my stomach. It flared up my sternum, my chest. Through my shoulders. Down my arms. My fingers. Up to my neck, rising, rising until I looked at him.
I knew a tear fell.
“Once, yes.”
“How bad was it?”
My voice was hoarse. “Does it matter? He wasn’t in his right mind.”
“It matters.” His hands tightened on my shoulders, his fingers curving into my skin. “Please tell me the truth.”
I looked away. I couldn’t see whatever I was going to see in his eyes as I remembered this. I wouldn’t be able to deal with it.
The words spilled, for the first time. “He beat the shit out of me.”
He dragged in his air.
“It was the only time, but I’d started noticing little things. He wasn’t in control of himself anymore.”
“What happened?”
God. Really? My throat wasn’t completely numb. It was hurting, squeezing, tightening.
“When I woke up, he was eating popcorn and laughing at Impractical Jokers. I got up, and he looked surprised. He didn’t remember hurting me.”
“Fucking hell.” Reese hissed as he ripped himself away from me. His hands balled into fists, pressed at his sides, and he turned his back to me. He faced the door, his shoulders tightening.
“He was tore up about it, and he never hit me again, but there were other things. Small things sometimes. Big things toward the end. He stole groceries from a drive-up lane. He thought they were ours, but he’d already put our groceries in the trunk. Another time, he left the oven on during the night.”
Reese’s head raised up. His shoulders bulged.
“His short-term memory was getting bad. He would forget things he’d done the day before. One time he forgot my name. Another time his own. Just for a moment—then he’d be back. He’d be normal again.”
“How long?”
He turned back, a rawness in his eyes.
“How long what?” I could only get a whisper out now.
“How long did you take care of him until you got help?”
That question punched me, right in the diaphragm. He didn’t know how much guilt came with that answer, how much shame, how much pain sliced through me. “He started showing symptoms three years in.”