Page 38 of A Furever Home (Gaynor Beach Animal Rescue #8)

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“She’s settled?” Arthur offered me a small smile. He looked damn good in my bed.

After what happened tonight, we weren’t sleeping apart.

That said, I’d offered to stay with Cheyenne. Camping on her floor like we had when she was three and got sick.

She’d rolled her eyes. With way more bravado than she felt, though.

I’d seen the worry behind the cool front.

But she’d pointed to my room and made it clear she expected me to hunker down with my man .

After we’d tucked Sadie and Chili into crates side by side, Twain and Eb had happily settled in Cheyenne’s room. With the dogs, her new cell phone by her bed, and all the house alarms set, she swore she felt safe.

I’d keep my door cracked just in case.

No hanky panky tonight. And, judging by the pain etched on Arthur’s face, he wasn’t up for anything either.

“She’s down and soon to be out. She’s exhausted, Arthur. As are you.” I grabbed my sleep pants and an old T-shirt as I headed into my bathroom. I would’ve loved to give my boyfriend a striptease, but now wasn’t the time.

No. Not the time.

I had the quickest shower on record—to wash away the gross, stinky sweat of the night—dried myself off fast, donned my sleep clothes, and headed into the bedroom.

Part of me hoped Arthur might already be asleep. I’d read the questions in his eyes earlier, as I tried to keep my cool in the aftermath of Harvey. He knew. He knew I hadn’t told him everything before and he was curious. I didn’t read hurt…just curious.

He was propped against the headboard in his sleep clothes. He’d turned down the bed, and he patted the space next to him.

I stalled. “How’s the leg? Do you need another ice pack?”

He shook his head.

“Heat, maybe? Oh, I should’ve brought the heating pad in here. I can go?—”

“Brooklyn.” Quiet and sure.

I ran a hand through my hair. “Yeah?”

“I’m okay. Well, this evening’s chaos aside, I’m okay.”

“You don’t look okay.” I felt bad saying it, but I needed to be honest with him. “Have you taken your painkillers?”

“Yes. I had some with milk and a couple of cookies while you were taking care of Cheyenne.”

I cocked my head. “You ate my cookies?” I tried for mock outrage. “The ones Cheyenne baked just for me ?”

As I hoped, he smiled. “I happen to know she made them for both of us. Well, peanut butter for you and chocolate chip for me. You’ll be relieved to know I didn’t venture into your container. I won’t say I wasn’t tempted. They looked delicious.”

“They are.” Slowly, I eased onto the bed. “And you can have as many as you want.”

He took my hand. “I know.”

Our gazes met.

He smiled. Then he squeezed my hand. “We need to talk.”

We don’t need to talk. We can just kiss and cuddle and fall asleep and pretend the past four hours didn’t happen. Why can’t we do that?

Because I was a fucking adult and acting like a five-year-old wasn’t the way to impress my adult boyfriend.

Right?

Worth a shot…?

Nope. I’d be an adult. I blew out a breath. “Harvey.”

“Yeah, Harvey.” He waited.

“I said we were in the same class at school.”

“I remember.”

“Well—” I scratched my chin. “Cheyenne didn’t know about the bullying.

The unrelenting and unceasing bullying. No, that’s wrong.

” I closed my eyes, not wanting to be back in that schoolyard in New York, but finding myself there anyway.

“He taunted and tormented me and was horrible. Then, other times, he’d act all friendly and make me think things would be okay.

Then, for no reason, he’d come at me again. ”

“Cycles of abuse.” Said quietly.

“Yeah. I later came to understand the psychological torture he was inflicting on me. Like some spouses of abusers experience. When they think they can’t take anymore and are about to run, the abuser seems to change their ways and gaslight them.

He’d tell me I’d earned the right to hang out with him, and I’d question whether my memories exaggerated how bad his violence had been.

” Even now, I teetered on the edge of memory and illusion—trying to piece together what had been real and what had only been alluded to, threats of worse whispered in my ears.

“Violence?”

“He hit me a lot. God, I sound…” I bit my lower lip.

“Mostly where people couldn’t see. Not teachers or parents.

My mom saw the marks a couple of times, but I told her I fell out of trees, or some shit like that.

Either she was clueless, or maybe she suspected and didn’t care, or she figured my father’d beat me and I’d deserved it. ”

“Oh.” Arthur continued to hold my hand. “I’m so sorry, that’s wrong.”

“Yep.” I pursed my lips. “But my dad could lay into me something fierce as well. And some of the teachers used corporal punishment. Spare the rod and all that bullshit. Child Protective Services were never called. The outside world’s rules didn’t apply.

Hell, I didn’t even know such rules existed until I got out. ”

A silence descended.

Much as I wanted to sink into it, I couldn’t.

Now I’d started, I needed to get it all out.

“I put up with the bullying. Had no choice. Harvey was taller for most of our lives, beefier, and stronger always. I fought when ordered to by a coach, but that was it. I don’t think anyone was surprised when I came out as bisexual.

All queers are sissies. ” I gazed at Arthur. “Now we both know that’s not true.”

He offered a small smile back.

“I came out at eighteen. Normally men in our community wait until they’re a bit older to marry—so they can provide properly for their families.

I thought—” I swallowed. “I figured I had time. For what, I have no idea. Time to figure shit out? I was just out of high school and at the same time arrogant and na?ve. I knew the lay of the land where I lived. The outside world…I didn’t understand it.

We’d been made to fear it. So I figured I was better staying put. ”

I pulled my hand from Arthur’s and wiped it on the sheet.

He kept his hand steady.

After a long moment, I put mine back in his.

“Then one day Daddy came home and said I was marrying Rachel Monroe. Just like that. Rachel was fifteen, for God’s sake.

But her parents were willing to sign the papers, and my uncle the judge was going to sign off on it, which made it legal back then.

She must’ve been willing. In retrospect, I wonder if she wasn’t hoping to get away from something worse.

Worse—” I cleared my throat. “—there was always worse.”

“Yeah.” Again, quietly.

I kept going. “I think something was going on with Rachel. Maybe that she was pregnant? Our daddies decided they could fix their two problem children at the same time. I tried to explain that I was too young and I was queer. Bisexual.” I huffed out a humorless laugh.

“Dad said bisexual meant I could marry a girl and that, for God’s sake, I was going to.

That I either did what was good for the community or that I could leave.

I’d hoped if I said I was bi, then they’d back off. ” I rubbed my forehead.

“I’m guessing not.” Quiet. Encouraging.

“Nope. The minister was called and, in a family conference, I was ordered to do my duty with Rachel or to leave town and be disowned.” Dread welled within me—much as it had that day.

“I knew marrying her would be the biggest mistake of our lives. That I would be condemning us both to misery. And, frankly, I was terrified of Dad and of the trap I’d be walking into. ”

“What happened?” He asked the question gently—like he was coaxing Sadie to come for a treat.

“I packed a bag. The minister drove me to the bus station in Syracuse. He bought me a ticket to the City of Sinners and Globalists . Known as New York City to the rest of the world. Truthfully, I’m surprised Mom took Cheyenne there.

Well, except that she needed that fragile part for something or other of Dad’s. ”

Arthur cocked his head.

“The UN, the symbol of all they hate, is in Manhattan. Communism had fallen, so they had a new enemy. The New World Order, the secret cabal working to replace American independence with international oppression.” I rolled my eyes.

“Washington would’ve been just as disdained, if not more so.

Embassies, democratic power. Obama, no less.

Man, that didn’t go over well with my family. ”

“Right. I hadn’t put that logic together.”

“There is no logic.” I repeated the words. “There is no logic.” I sighed. “But I was an eighteen-year-old kid in the Port Authority bus terminal in New York City with a bag and fifteen dollars in his wallet.”

“That’s…rough.”

“Right?” I sighed. “And this guy walked over to me and asked if I was okay. I mean, I must’ve looked really fucked up for someone to notice.

” I rubbed my forehead again. “That was Tom. He’d just dropped his buddy Lance at the bus station and he was about to head home when he saw me.

He later said he recognized pain. I…” I blew out a breath.

“Only later did I realize how lucky I was. He took me home. He fed me and he coaxed the story out of me. I’ll be honest—he recognized the danger of what I’d left behind far more than I had, with the secrecy and the guns and all.

He convinced me to not tell anyone about where I came from, just be glad I was out and move on.

Then he got me a job cleaning fry machines at a local burger joint.

Not glamorous, but I was able to pay him rent and, for the first time in my life, see what the outside world was all about. ”

“Sounds like he saved you.”