Page 25 of Clashing

Chapter eighteen

Healing

Scarlett

O ne leg over the shoulder was a good position for me, one I always enjoyed.

Then Ryker lifted my other leg and panic seized my chest. I tried to breathe through it.

He wasn’t Todd. This was Ryker. I trusted him.

He’d never hurt me like that. Still, I opened my eyes to remind myself it was Ryker. Then he spoke.

“Trust me.”

Trust me.

Somehow, I wasn’t with Ryker anymore. Todd loomed over me.

I didn’t remember taking my clothes off, but they were gone, Todd’s sheets cool under my naked body.

The room spun, my drunk mind unable to slow it or make sense of how I’d gotten here.

I slurred a no , rolled off the bed, tried to open the door, but the lock slowed me down and he hefted me to the mattress.

I must’ve wanted to be here. The anxiety clutching my chest wouldn’t let me convince myself it was true, though.

“Trust me.” Todd draped my legs over his shoulders, and I told myself I wanted it.

I told myself I must’ve encouraged him, but the alcohol made me forget.

Then he adjusted to shove into a different hole, and I squirmed, pleading with him not to because I wasn’t ready.

Alcohol made my limbs too heavy to fight him and—

Blood. Blood and pain. Even with my pleas to stop .

“Scarlett!”

That dark night with menacing shadows and a laughing Todd transformed. Ryker’s powerful voice guided me to the present. To his neat room—the opposite of Todd’s.

I gasped, scrambling to cover myself but I’d already been covered. Ryker stood beside the bed, hands up in a show of surrender.

My heart hammered against my chest and even though I wasn’t in that night anymore, panic rose, some deep part of me splintering into shards and spreading the pain.

Though I tried to shove it down, I couldn’t stop the tears.

Couldn’t catch my breath. The strain on my heart tore and ripped me apart inside.

I had my knees to my chest, my arms wrapped around myself. When did this blanket cover me? When did Ryker put boxers on? What the hell had I been doing when that happened?

“Scarlett, baby,” Ryker said softly. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Tears poured down my cheeks. Shaking my head, I hid my face with my hands. I didn’t want him to see me break.

“I’m sorry,” I cried. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.”

I dropped my head, unable to look at him while a sob tore through my chest. What the hell was my problem? It was Ryker . Ryker had never done anything to me I didn’t want. Yet here I was. Unable to stop the tears, the shaking, the images from that night.

God, would it ever stop haunting me?

Ryker brushed a gentle hand over my shoulder. “Scarlett, can I hold you?”

“You don’t have to be nice to me. I freaked out.” I laugh-cried. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. Let me hold you.” He sat on the bed beside me. “Come here.”

Safe, open arms awaited me. Ryker beckoned me forward. I hesitated, but the pressure and comfort of an embrace would help stop my shaking. I tightened the blanket around me, then lunged into his arms. He caught me and pulled me into his lap, hands outside the blanket.

Okay tears, please stop. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop.” He kissed the top of my head and caressed my spine. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

The waterworks upgraded their show but not because of the flashback.

Because of Ryker. Because he was patient and gentle.

I’d never been with anyone so understanding.

At first, I thought I couldn’t stand to be touched but the thing about Ryker was he knew exactly how to embrace me.

He held me tight enough to keep me together but loose enough I could pull away if I needed to.

He stayed quiet while I got a hold of myself.

His embrace remained constant, his heartbeat a steady rhythm mine strived to meet.

It could’ve been hours that I let him hold me.

Not once did he let go or tell me to calm down.

He held space for me while I let it out in a way I hadn’t allowed myself before.

A real, thorough, ugly crying session I’d probably needed for a long time but hadn’t been able to express.

The crying slowly subsided and my eyelids drooped, exhausted and heavy. Ryker smoothed a hand over my hair. “What happened, sugar? Was it the position? Was it something I said?”

I shook my head, and he sighed. “You gotta tell me, baby. I don’t want to trigger you. I need to know so I don’t do it again. You can tell me.” His voice softened to a tender tone. “I’m not going to make you feel bad about it.”

I hated he was right. If I kept having sex with him, I couldn’t keep doing this.

I swallowed and my eyes went downcast. “I think it was . . . both the position and you saying ‘trust me.’ The two together, I guess,” I muttered.

“I won’t do it again.” His arms tightened around me. “You’re safe with me. You know that, don’t you? I won’t hurt you. Any other triggers you know of, tell me so this doesn’t happen again, okay?”

“I don’t know what they are.” I peered up at him, shame warming my face. “I don’t know what they are until they happen.”

“All right. Don’t worry about it.” He brushed a light kiss over my forehead. “You want your clothes? I’ll leave the room so you can put them on.”

“Can I have your shirt?”

“Sure, baby.” He maneuvered me onto the bed and secured the blanket around me before he stood.

Ryker tossed me the shirt he’d been wearing earlier, then closed me in the room alone.

Not wanting to be by myself, I dressed in his shirt and my leggings then rushed out.

The dogs greeted me with licks as soon as I exited, eyes full of concern.

They pawed at me until I crouched to give them love and the licks increased as they sandwiched me between them.

My chest swelled and I hugged them. Clanking glasses led me to the kitchen where Ryker set out two crystal cups.

Whiskey glugged into the glasses, and I perched on one of the stools.

Securing the cork on the bottle, Ryker pushed one of the glasses toward me.

I didn’t take it. Mainly because he leaned forward on his forearms, gaze unrelenting.

I squirmed in my seat, not enjoying the observed-under-a-microscope stare.

He sipped his whiskey. “Take the drink, Scar. You’re going to need it.”

My stomach knotted and I closed my hands around the cool glass.

Ryker tipped his head back, emptying half his glass in one go. “You’re probably going to get pissed at me for this,” he lowered the glass to the counter, “but I’m done dancing around the topic. So, get pissed, but listen. You never talked to anyone about what happened, did you?”

I averted my eyes and took a sip. The alcohol didn’t burn my throat as badly as my mortification.

“Didn’t think so.” He crossed his arms. “Am I the only one who knows? Your mom doesn’t know? No friends?”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Too bad, sugar. We’re talking about it.

Because that,” he gestured to the bedroom, “can’t keep happening.

I can handle anxiety attacks so don’t twist this shit and convince yourself I’m saying something for my benefit.

I’m not. I’m telling you, if you don’t talk to somebody, this will consume you.

Pretending it didn’t happen doesn’t work. It’ll fester and get worse.”

I curled my arms around myself. “I’m handling it.”

“No, you’re not. You’re pretending it didn’t happen.

You’re having nightmares. You’re having this.

” He flung his hand toward the bedroom, but his tone softened.

“You don’t have to live like that. There are people who can help you cope and heal.

You’re not healing because you’re refusing to see it as a problem and that’s going to make it hurt more.

You gotta face it, Scar. No matter how scary it is. ”

“I don’t want to see a therapist.” I hated the tears blurring my vision. “I don’t want to talk to anyone. I want to handle it myself.”

“I know.” He dragged his hand over his face.

“You take care of yourself. I’m aware. But sometimes you need help.

PTSD isn’t a joke. It fucks with you. It’ll affect other parts of your life.

It’s going to be harder to hide the longer you let it go untreated.

Listen, I know personally that pretending it’s fine makes it worse. ”

“I don’t have PTS—”

“Don’t give me that shit.” He stretched his hand toward me. “I know what it looks like. The sooner you admit it to yourself and to someone who can help you, the better.”

I eyed his waiting hand. If I was honest, I knew I might have to do this at some point, but I didn’t want to. I couldn’t. Ryker rounded the counter and turned the stool until my body faced his. He cupped my jaw and made me look up at him.

“I know it’s scary,” he said softly, brows knitting in concern. “It’s not easy. I don’t think it is. It takes a lot of strength and bravery to face something like that and open up to someone about it. But you have to, Scarlett. You have to. You’re strong, baby. Don’t let fear stop you.”

“I wouldn’t know where to look,” I whispered.

“I can help.” He caught my tears with his thumbs.

“If you want to find a therapist, I’ll tell you the best ones closest to us.

If you’re worried about money or you want someone specifically tailored to your needs, there’s a crisis center not ten minutes from the bar.

I’ll take you if you don’t want to go alone. ”

I nodded and tried to turn away, but he held me in place and brought his forehead down to mine. “Look at me.”

I did. I looked into those sapphire eyes and wondered if anything had ever been so beautiful.

“I won’t push it. You gotta go when you’re ready to go.

I know that. So I won’t push, but it needed to be said, okay?

You’re not alone.” He hugged me, his arms a respite from the pain.

“You tell me when you’re ready. Because you haven’t lost all control in your life, Scar.

No one has that power over you. Especially not him.

You call the shots for you. No one else. ”

I nodded and he circled the counter to pour himself another drink. Grayson laid his head in my lap, whining softly. I pet his head, and Demon turned the corner toward Ryker. Ryker’s lips turned up and he gave Demon an affectionate pat.

His dogs were like him. Intimidating to look at but so attuned to people.

If anyone else told me what Ryker just did, I wouldn’t have taken it well.

But he knew what to say. He knew what to do.

He knew I needed to be covered. He seemed to always know what I needed.

Then he looked up at me with a reassuring smile and it hit me harder than it did before.

I was so in love with him, it hurt.