Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 99736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Brody’s smile gets wider, and I don’t understand. “Calm the farm a little.” He reaches over the top of the table to hold my hand. “I did quit because of you, but not because you ran away from me or were freaking out or because I thought you needed me to do it to get past our problems. I did it because I couldn’t sit in that conference room another second trying to come up with ways to get a rapist off scot-free. I kept imagining that kid’s victim staring at me the way you stared at my father. I couldn’t do it to that girl, and I couldn’t do it to myself. You were part of the reason I quit, but the biggest reason was because I needed to do what was right for me and my morality.”
I sit back, completely awestruck by the man in front of me.
“Well, that, and he called his client a rapist to his face.” Rachel laughs. “So if he didn’t quit, he was probably gonna be fired.”
“You what?” I exclaim.
Brody shrugs. “My emotions might have been slightly elevated?”
Rachel turns to me. “You have the ability to make my brother emotional. I want to keep you.”
“Not if I keep him first,” Brody taunts. “If that’s all right with you?” He stares at me expectantly, and maybe I should be freaking out, but I’m not.
“It’s more than all right with me.”
Maybe I shouldn’t be thinking long-term promises here—not that making a joke about keeping me is a binding vow or anything—but all that’s inside me right now is something deep and meaningful and promising.
Hope.
30
Anderson
SIX MONTHS LATER
Wynnum Correctional Facility Parole Board.
My hand reaches for the stool underneath the kitchen bench so I can steady myself as I stare at the official emblem on the envelope addressed to me. We’ve been expecting it. Anticipating it. Brody and I have talked about it with Karen and each other. I’ve been preparing for this. Yet, it still doesn’t soften the blow of actually seeing it.
I already know what it’ll say inside.
Kyle Atkins has been released. He’s done his time and has paid his debt to society, even though society isn’t the one he hurt.
It was me.
I land my ass on the stool, my elbows on the counter, and I stare at the offending letter.
Trigger symptoms simmer in my veins, trying to come to a boil, but I don’t let them.
I’ve been learning to control them better, and with the help of new medication, it’s getting easier to do.
I was reluctant to try meds again because of all the other times it fucked me up. Just once I’d love to see “Caution: causes dick growth” on the list of side effects instead of the super fun things like: “Mood swings, suicidal thoughts, insomnia, depression …” The list goes on and on.
But when Karen told me of a new one on the market that is supposed to be really good for anxiety, I decided to try it. If it didn’t work, I’d maybe struggle for a little bit, but the payoff could’ve meant the difference between Brody and I growing more as a couple and getting over our last few hurdles or remaining in our comfort zone.
Things with Brody couldn’t be better in one sense, but if we were to compare it to a “normal” relationship, we’re still behind the eight ball. We try not to measure ourselves against Law and Reed; it’s better for our wellbeing to pretend they’re the abnormal ones by being so damn happy all the time.
Before the new meds, I still couldn’t sleep in Brody’s bed. No matter how comfortable I was, no matter how tired or wiped, I couldn’t make myself do it. And Brody never let me get the chance to get so tired that I’d pass out again like I did that night we fell asleep on the couch.
He’s been patient and loving, and now that I’ve levelled out on the new meds, we’ve actually managed nights where I’d get a full two to three hours of sleeping next to him.
Might sound small, but that’s the thing with us. We’re able to appreciate the things most couples take for granted.
Like the simple act of falling asleep together.
Everything has been going so well, we’ve been reluctant to push too hard.
And with this envelope sitting in front of me, I’m worried this is going to force me to push more than I’m willing. This could turn into a setback, and it’s been so long since I’ve had one of those. Almost six months to be exact. I haven’t been this on edge since I found out who Brody’s dad was.
I’m scared the nightmares will come back, which have been absent for months.
I’m worried the meds will stop working or will be recalled because they’re so new to the market or I’ll need to stop taking them for some reason. It’s the one medication that has worked more than anything else, and if I have to stop taking it, I’ll start having panic attacks again.