Page 15

Marty

I’ve been a light sleeper since the kids were born, so I come awake to the sound of crying and I mentally groan. Where’s my mother?

I’m so fucking tired.

Except, I’m not at home.

My eyes pop open and I look around. It’s bright outside, but with the shades down it’s dark in Stevie’s bedroom, and her sobs wrench at my heart. She cries out, flailing, turning her head from side to side.

“No, Damien! Stop!”

A nightmare.

She’s not crying—she’s having a nightmare.

“Stevie… sweetheart, wake up, it’s a bad dream but you’re okay.” I turn onto my side and reach for her, putting a hand on her arm and stroking lightly. “It’s okay. Wake up, honey.”

“No! Don’t touch me!” She strikes out, swinging wildly and just missing my eye.

“Stevie.” I shake her just a little harder. “Wake up, honey.”

She sits straight up in bed, her eyes wide. “What…”

“You’re okay,” I repeat gently. “It was just a bad dream.”

“Oh.” She shivers. “I’m sorry… if I woke you.”

“It’s okay. You all right?”

“I haven’t had one in a while.”

“Was it my presence?” I ask. “Having a man in your bed?”

“Oh.” She looks startled but then shakes her head. “No. I started having them after I got out of the hospital. At first it was every night, then every couple of nights, and then every couple of weeks. I haven’t had one in about a month, so I guess I was due.” She rubs her eyes. “God, I thought they were gone. Dammit.” She looks like she’s going to cry, and I hold out my hand, waiting for her to take it since I don’t want to touch her without an invitation.

She looks at my hand blankly for a beat and then puts her hand in mine. I thread our fingers together and tug her down.

“Tell me about it,” I suggest. “I know it’s not the same, but sometimes when my kids have bad dreams, I ask them to tell me exactly what happened. And then I explain why it either can’t happen or won’t happen, depending on the details. Like if it’s a blue monster with pink eyes under the bed—it’s not real. But if it’s of a bad guy breaking into the house, I remind them of the security system, stuff like that.”

“It’s always the same,” she whispers, settling back against the pillows. “It’s what happened the night of the…incident.”

“Can you tell me?”

“I don’t know.” She looks at me. “I can try.”

“Maybe it’ll help to get it out. I know you talk to your therapist but it’s different. She’s trying to help you get past it—I’m trying to be your friend and help you learn to live with the remnants of the trauma.”

She pulls in a shaky breath and closes her eyes. “Would you…hold me? Maybe I’ll be less scared if you’re holding me.”

“Come here, baby.” I tug her against my chest, and she practically melts into me. That’s the only way to describe the way she fits her body to mine and doesn’t leave so much as a fraction of an inch of space between us. The side of her face is pressed into my chest, her body flush with my torso, legs wound with mine, one arm draped over my waist.

Since we’re on our sides, I use my free hand to gently begin stroking her back.

She’s quiet for so long I’m almost afraid she’s asleep.

Then she starts to talk.

“He’d always been abusive. Verbally and emotionally. But not physically. And he was one of those good-looking, charming men who could make you believe he was sorry. He’d show up with flowers, jewelry, caviar—all kinds of goodies, every time we had a fight. When he proposed I was so excited about the wedding. The plans. The dress. The fact that it was going to be in Paris… and from that point on, things escalated.

“He stopped apologizing and would just tell me to get over myself. The first time things got physical was because I had my period and didn’t want to have sex. He raised his hand like he was going to backhand me but then he stopped and asked me to show him.”

“Show him?” I ask in confusion. “Show him…what?”

She shudders a little. “He wanted proof that I was on my period. He made me…pull out my tampon.”

“Is this fucker in prison?” I growl. “Because if not, I’m going to find him and kick the shit out of him.”

“I don’t know if he’s in prison or out on bail,” she whispers.

“I’m so sorry, baby.”

She doesn’t react, merely sits there for a few minutes.

Then she continues.

“I knew I had to get out, but I was a mess. I was so excited about the wedding—like I was somehow able to separate the event from the man—and part of me was in denial. Like he’d miraculously change or something after we were married. I know it’s ridiculous, but that’s the only way to describe how I felt. Chey was frustrated with me, my agent was pissed because I kept missing jobs, and then… I found out I was pregnant.”

Crap.

I hadn’t known she’d been pregnant until my mom told me, and I’d put it out of my mind.

I don’t want to react, though, or do anything to upset her because she’s still talking.

“…kind of when I knew I couldn’t stay with him. I could live in denial when it was just me, but with an innocent baby? To have a father like Damien? So I called Chey in a panic. I needed help and I wasn’t…I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t strong enough to do it on my own. I was terrified. I had to have an abortion—and believe me, I know how that sounds. I wanted kids. Lots of them. My plan was to get married, work as much as possible for another year or so, and then get pregnant. The last thing I ever wanted was to terminate. But he was scary and abusive, and by this time, he was hitting me. Not enough to break bones or draw blood, but slaps to the face, shoving me, stuff like that. And there was no way I would bring a child into the world if there was any chance of him having custody...”

“No judgment here,” I say quietly. “You were in survival mode.”

“Chey and I came up with a plan. She was in Buffalo with Ivan, his mom was sick, but she got on a plane to come to the city. Damien had an important meeting so he would be gone for a couple of hours in the morning. She got to New York the night before and would hop in a cab first thing. I’d already been packing, things he wouldn’t notice were missing, and the minute he left I just threw everything I could into two suitcases. Chey got there and then…” Her voice catches, and she burrows deeper into my chest.

“You’re okay, Stevie,” I whisper against her hair. “He can’t hurt you. I’m right here.”

“It’s like he knew something was up,” she says in a stony voice. “Chey and I were just about to go downstairs with my suitcases when he came home early. He recognized her driver outside and sent him away—told him he was taking us to the airport so we didn’t need him. Then he came in through the kitchen and lost his mind. He was calling me names, screaming that I couldn’t take his child from him… to this day, I don’t know how he found out.”

“Maybe he noticed your periods had stopped?”

“I don’t know.” She hiccups, her body covered in goosebumps.

“You cold, babe?” I pull the blanket over us as best I can since we’re lying on top of it. “That better?”

She nods.

“You don’t have to tell me the rest.”

“I do.” Her voice is sad, almost resigned. As if I’m going to think less of her or something.

“Hey.” I pull away just enough to lift her chin with my fingers. “No matter what you tell me, I won’t judge. And it stays between us.”

She blinks back tears. “O-okay.”

She nestles back into my chest, and I wiggle my arm out from under me so I can wrap both around her and hold her tightly.

“He was dragging me by the ponytail, trying to get me into the bedroom, but Chey was fighting him. Then Ivan showed up, and everything was just a blur. Damien was in a rage at that point, and when he saw Ivan, he picked me up and—” She stops abruptly. Then, “—threw me over the railing from the second floor.”

“Oh, baby.” I’m torn between wanting to comfort her and going to find this guy and show him what a real man can do to him.

“I had some internal injuries and some broken ribs but…I started to hemorrhage. I was having a miscarriage, they couldn’t stop the bleeding.” Her voice is almost monotone now. “They had to do an emergency hysterectomy to save my life.”

A hysterectomy .

Oh Jesus.

She’s only twenty-seven.

And she doesn’t have kids.

“Stevie…” I whisper her name and press a soft kiss on her temple. “I’m so sorry, baby. So, so sorry.”

I feel her tears dripping onto my chest and my heart breaks for her.

And my rage for Damien continues to build.

I’d like five minutes alone with that asshole. That’s all I’d need to show him what it’s like to be powerless.

“Now you know.” Her voice is flat. Sad. Resigned—even more so than before.

“You know he can’t hurt you anymore, right?” I ask gently. “Because I’m right here, and I won’t even let him get to you in your dreams.”

She sniffs against my chest. “In the beginning I couldn’t sleep because I was so afraid of the nightmares. Eventually, I had to, but Chey had to be with me for weeks. For a few nights I slept with both her and Ivan, until I could function again. And even though I’ve come a long way in the last nine months, I still have the nightmares, still see his face sometimes in random places...”

She’s shivering, and all I want to do is comfort her.

“But he’s not here,” I say. “Not in this house. Definitely not when you’re with me. Because even if he did show up… I will slay all your dragons, Stevie—even the ones in your nightmares.”