Page 22
Emmy
I sat stiffly on the overstuffed couch in Dr. Lorraine Foster’s office, my hands clasped so tightly in my lap that my knuckles turned white. The room was designed to be calming—soft beige walls, a warm glow from a floor lamp in the corner, and a faint scent of lavender lingering in the air. But nothing about this felt calming.
I felt like an imposter sitting here. I was the one who helped people process their trauma, who guided victims toward healing. And yet here I was, completely lost in my own pain.
Dr. Foster sat across from me in a leather chair, her expression kind but neutral. “You’ve been quiet since you walked in, Emmy. We don’t have to rush into anything, but I’d like to help you.”
I swallowed, my throat dry. I had no idea where to begin. How did I put into words everything I was feeling when I couldn’t even make sense of it myself?
“I—” I stopped, staring at a crack in the hardwood floor. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”
“There’s no ‘supposed to’ here. This is your space. You can say whatever you need to.”
I let out a breath. “I feel… wrong.”
Dr. Foster didn’t flinch, didn’t react. She simply waited, giving me room to gather my thoughts.
“I’ve spent years helping victims of abuse and trauma,” I continued. “I know what I should say to myself. I know the steps to take to get better. But I—I can’t do it. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror without feeling sick.”
“Can we explore this more?” Dr. Foster prompted gently.
I hesitated. My palms were damp, my stomach twisting. I forced myself to meet the therapist’s steady gaze.
“I enjoyed it.” The confession came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. “With Javier.”
I clenched my jaw, pushing through the wave of shame. “He made me—he made me touch myself. And I—” My voice cracked, my hands shaking as I rubbed them over my thighs. “I came. How am I supposed to live with that?”
Dr. Foster leaned forward slightly, her demeanor unfailingly calm. “Emmy, what happened to you wasn’t about desire. It was about survival. Your body reacted the way it’s designed to in a moment of powerlessness. That doesn’t make you complicit. It doesn’t mean you wanted it. It means you endured something horrific, and your body found a way to cope. You know the term is non-concordance. The body reacts to unwanted sexual touches, but the brain doesn’t.”
I shook my head, tears burning behind my eyes. “But I killed him. I shot him, and I didn’t feel a goddamn thing. Shouldn’t I have felt something? Guilt? Remorse?”
“Did you feel relief?” Dr. Foster asked.
I exhaled sharply. Pulling that trigger had felt fucking great. “Yes.”
“That’s normal.” Her tone remained steady. “You were taking your power back. After what he did to you, after what he put you through, your reaction wasn’t evil—it was human. Your orgasm was a physical response to stimulation; it had nothing to do with physical desire or emotions. You’re a therapist; you studied this in school. No matter who tickles you, you’re going to laugh. It’s your body’s natural reaction.”
I let out a shuddering breath, gripping the fabric of my jeans. I knew this, but it was hard from the other side of the therapy chair. The darkness inside me was too loud. “And Austin? How do I look him in the eye, knowing I?—”
“You didn’t betray him,” Dr. Foster interrupted. “What Javier did to you was manipulation. A form of brainwashing.”
I closed my eyes. “I don’t know how to get past this.”
“You don’t have to know right now,” Dr. Foster reassured me. “Healing isn’t linear, and it’s not something you have to do alone. Let the people who love you help. Let Austin help.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “I keep pushing him away.”
“And he keeps coming back, doesn’t he?”
That hit me hard. He did keep coming back. No matter how many times I pulled away, shut down—Austin wouldn’t let me drown.
Dr. Foster smiled softly. “You love him?”
I swallowed and nodded. “More than anything.”
“Then let him in.”
The words echoed in my head as I left the office. I wasn’t sure I could, but… I could try.
Austin was in the waiting room, looking much too large for the delicate chair he was sitting in. Dr. Foster wanted to meet with me the first time in her office, and Austin agreed as long as he brought me. I was fine with that.
He took my hand and walked me out the door. “How was your appointment?”
I knew the process. “It was a good start. I think we’re going to work well together.”
“That’s good. I’m here for you, Em. Whatever you need.”
I tried to smile, but my lips just wouldn’t follow through. “Thank you. But this is something I need to do on my own.”
He opened the passenger side door of the truck and helped me in. Once he got in, before he started the truck, he turned to me. “Do you mind if I take you somewhere? It’s private. There will just be you and me. There’s something I want you to see.”
Surprises. I wasn’t sure I liked them anymore, but I nodded my consent.
Thirty minutes later, I stepped out of the truck, drinking in the breathtaking view before me. The house—no, the mansion—was something out of a dream. A wraparound porch framed the grand structure, its white columns standing tall against the afternoon sun. Rolling pastures stretched beyond the back yard where horses ran freely, their dark coats gleaming in the light. A large stable sat in the distance, the wooden structure blending seamlessly into the picturesque landscape.
I turned to Austin, my curiosity piqued. “Why did you bring me here?”
Austin shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced at the house, his jaw tight with an emotion I couldn’t quite identify.
“Because this place means something to me,” he said finally. “It belonged to my grandfather. My mom grew up here, but when she got with my old man, she left. She left this life behind, and my grandfather never approved of my dad. For good reason.” His lips pressed together. “But she used to bring me here when I was a kid. Some of my best memories are in this house.”
I glanced back at the beautiful home, picturing a younger Austin running through the fields, playing in the barn, being happy. It was a rare glimpse into the softer side of him, the boy he used to be before life hardened him into the man he had become.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” I murmured. “Why bring me here?”
Austin’s gaze locked on to mine, unwavering. “Because it’s mine,” he said simply. “And one day, I want to live here with my wife and our children.”
He paused, watching me carefully. “I don’t want to scare you, Em. I know you’re still healing, still figuring things out. But I need you to know what I want. When the time is right, I want you to be my old lady.”
My breath caught in my throat. I wasn’t expecting that. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but the idea that Austin saw a future with me—a real one beyond the MC, beyond the chaos that had surrounded us—was more than I could have hoped for.
He reached for my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. “Come inside.”
I let him lead me up the porch steps and through the heavy wooden door. The interior was just as stunning as the exterior —high ceilings, polished hardwood floors, antique furniture that gave the house an Old-World charm. Austin guided me through each room, showing me the grand living room with a massive stone fireplace, the kitchen that was big enough for a family to gather in, the sunlit breakfast nook with windows that overlooked the stables.
Then he took me upstairs. We stepped into one of the bedrooms, and something inside me shifted. The room was elegant, furnished with delicate French provincial pieces. Soft, gauzy curtains framed the large windows letting in golden light. It was beautiful. And in that moment, I saw our daughter standing in front of the mirror, adjusting her dress for prom, excitement in her eyes as she twirled.
Our son, sliding down the grand staircase’s banister, laughing as I scolded him for nearly giving me a heart attack.
I saw a life. A future. A family.
Tears stung my eyes, and I turned away, swallowing hard. I wanted it—wanted it more than I had words for. But my past still reminded me of the blackness I couldn’t shake.
“Austin,” I said softly, stepping closer.
His hands found my shoulders, warm and comforting. “Talk to me.”
I shook my head. “I want this,” I admitted. “More than anything. But I don’t know how to get there. How to be the person who deserves it.”
Austin turned me to face him, his fingers tilting my chin up until my eyes met his. “You are that person,” he said firmly. “You’ve always been that person. Nothing that happened changes that. Nothing you did, nothing you were forced to do makes you any less deserving of this life. Of love. Of happiness.
“I love you, Emmy,” he murmured. “And I’ll wait. However long it takes. Just don’t shut me out.”
My heart ached at his words. I had spent so much time punishing myself, convincing myself that I wasn’t worthy. But standing in this house, in Austin’s arms, I could almost let myself believe him.
When he leaned down, I didn’t pull away. When his lips met mine, I let myself feel it.
Austin stared at me, his breathing heavy, his dark eyes filled with something raw and fierce. Love. Devotion. A determination that made my chest tighten. His hand cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear I hadn’t even realized had fallen.
“I need you,” I whispered, my voice trembling but certain in its conviction. “Here. Now. In the place that’s going to be our future.”
Austin’s jaw clenched, his thumb tracing the curve of my bottom lip. “Emmy…”
I pressed my fingers over his lips, silencing whatever doubt lingered in his mind. “I want you to erase everything that came before. I want to feel you. Only you.”
A sound left his throat—half growl, half groan—as he cupped the back of my head and pulled me against him. His lips found mine in a kiss full of promise. His hands moved over me slowly, mapping me as if I were something precious, sacred.
My fingers slid beneath his shirt, feeling the hard muscles of his back, the heat of his skin. He shivered under my touch, his control fraying as he lifted me into his arms and carried me to the bed.
Austin laid me down gently, hovering over me, his weight braced on his forearms. His forehead touched mine, his breath mingling with mine in the quiet space between us. “This isn’t about erasing anything, baby. You don’t need to be erased.”
He kissed me again, slower this time, savoring me. “This is about reminding you who you are. And who you’ve always been.”
My chest ached at his words, the sincerity behind them seeping into the cracks I thought would never mend.
His hands slid down my sides, lifting the hem of my shirt. I arched into him, letting him strip it away, leaving me bare beneath him. Austin’s gaze ran over me, his fingers trailing over my skin in a touch so tender, it made me shudder.
He kissed a slow path down my body, his lips worshipping every inch of me as if he were memorizing me anew. His hands traced the scars still fading from my wrists, his lips pressing over them in silent reassurance.
I reached for him, pulling him back up to me, needing to feel the warmth of his body against mine. “Austin…”
“I’ve got you, baby.” His voice was thick with emotion, his lips brushing over mine as he settled between my thighs. “Always.”
Austin didn’t rush me. He never had. His hands moved slowly over me, reminding me that I was his, that I was safe. I trembled beneath his touch, my body tight with the fear I couldn’t voice.
“I love you,” he murmured against my skin. “No matter what happened, no matter what you think you became in that place—you’re still mine.”
My breath hitched, shame curling through me like a fist gripping my heart. “Austin.”
“No,” he cut me off gently, lifting my chin so I had no choice but to look at him. “You don’t get to push me away, Em. Not anymore.”
The dam inside me broke, and I surged forward, pressing my lips to his, desperate to drown in him. I needed this—needed him—to wash away the filth, the doubt, the self-loathing.
Austin groaned into the kiss, deepening it, his arms locking around me as if he could hold me together with his touch alone. And maybe he could. Because as he laid me back and covered me with his body, I felt something change inside me.
For the first time since … everything, I let myself be completely vulnerable, accepting his love fully. His hands traced reverent paths over my skin, an affirmation that I was more than what had been done to me. He moved with a slow, deliberate tenderness, each touch unraveling the pain I had buried so deep.
And when he finally joined with me, our bodies entwined, I felt something I thought I’d lost forever—home.