Chapter 24

Caleb rubs his hands down his face, then across the scruff covering his chin, trying to process the amount of information I just dumped on him. “Bree, I–” I hold up a hand to stop him.

“There’s still more.”

“*More*?” Caleb repeats, his voice quiet and lethal. “How is this fucker not rotting away in jail? Explain to me how he is here right now.”

“I wanted to press charges. I actually tried to. But a week or so into my hospital stay, Andrew paid me a visit. He let me know that all charges had been dropped thanks to his connections that he had spent years making on the force. He also made it very clear that he expected me to come home once I was healed enough to be discharged, and that I would regret it if I didn’t.”

“I remembered learning in nursing school that the odds of a person being killed by their domestic partner increases something like seven times once they have been strangled by them. I knew I was a statistic waiting to happen, but I didn’t know what else to do. I was terrified. I knew he had the connections to get away with murder, possibly literally. So, once I was discharged, I came home like a good little girlfriend. I kept my head down, played the part of the timid, submissive girlfriend. I opened a secret account and started squirreling money away. When I would buy groceries, I would pull out an extra twenty dollars. I started picking up overtime and set my direct deposit to put a small percentage of each check into the other account, so small he didn’t notice. It took me nearly an entire year to save up enough for a deposit and moving costs.”

“That year was a living hell. The constant sneaking around, and trying to plan my exit without getting caught; knowing that if he did catch me, I was dead, and he would most likely get away with it thanks to his corrupt police buddies. It was awful. Then one day, after applying for literally dozens of open nursing positions around the country, I finally got an offer here. Two days later, when Andrew left for work, I packed up what I could fit in my car, left my phone on the counter, and I just left. You pretty much know the rest after that.”

Caleb is silent as I blow out a long stream of air. I hate having to show him all of the ugliness that made me who I am now, but I also feel lighter in a way, like now that I have shared it all with him, he is carrying a small part of my story and I don’t have to.

I pull free my hand that Caleb is still holding, and use it to finally take another bite of my now-cold dinner, which is somehow still delicious. Caleb follows suit, and we eat in silence for a few minutes. I can’t tell whether the silence is awkward or comfortable– or perhaps some mixture of the two, if that is even possible– and it makes me squirm a bit. We both empty our plates, and without saying a word, Caleb stands and picks them up, bringing them to the sink, where he turns on the faucet, adds some dish soap, and begins to fill the sink with soapy water. I have never been able to sit idly while someone around me is working, so I hop up and round the island counter to help.

I step into his space and bump his arm with mine, trying to gently nudge him out of the space in front of the sink. “Let me help. Please. I can wash the dishes while you tidy up the rest, since I don’t know where anything goes.”

He nods his acceptance, passes me a sponge, and I get to work scrubbing our plates and the other dishes that Caleb adds to the sink as he cleans remnants of his cooking. When he finishes wiping down the counters, he comes to join me beside the sink, and says, “I’ll finish washing, you rinse?”

I am so relieved that he has finally broken his silence that I move over with no complaint. We were in companionable silence for a few moments, when he speaks again.

“Thank you,” he says, “For trusting me enough to share all of that with me. I know that must be a really vulnerable topic for you. I am honored that you shared it with me.”

My heart warms hearing him say that, my eyes tearing up a bit. Here I was, worried that he was judging me for getting into an abusive relationship in the first place, or for staying way too long. Instead, he is thanking me for telling him all of the god awful details. My throat is too tight to speak, so I just give him a little nod.

“And, Bree,” there is a long pause before he continues, “I am so, so sorry for hurting you that day. I felt like absolute shit about it even before I knew your history. You are so goddamn kind, and smart, and gentle. You have already won over all of your coworkers in the few short weeks you have been working here. You just have this beautiful, magnetic energy about you. Obviously, no one deserves to be hurt in that way, but I think you are the least deserving person of being hurt of anyone that I have ever known. I am not asking for your forgiveness, because I don’t deserve it. I hope that you know how fucking sorry I am, though. And, I swear, I will do everything in my power to keep you from being hurt like that again. By this fucking Andrew guy, and anyone else.”

He finishes washing the large silver serving spoon that he was washing, and passes it over to me. I move it under the water, watching the running water remove all of the soap suds from its surface. I consider his words for a moment, and turn and look at him.

His expression is more open than I have ever seen, his eyes wide and vulnerable. He honestly looks nervous about what I am going to say next. When I speak, it is pure truth.

“I forgive you.”

He opens and closes his mouth a few times, gaping like some kind of fish. It would be funny if I wasn’t so surprised that I left him speechless with those three simple words. He finally seems to give up on finding something to say, and reaches up to place his big, warm palm on my cheek. He inhales a shaky breath, and his eyes glance down to my lips as he leans slightly towards me. I can see the question in his eyes, asking me if I want this. Do I want this?

Maybe it is stupid of me, but I really, really do. In answer I lean in closer to him, tilting my chin up slightly.

The movement shifts my hand under the running water, along with the serving spoon I forgot I was holding, bringing it to just the right– or rather, the wrong– angle, and I give a completely not-sexy screech as water sprays *everywhere*. We both are soaked in the two seconds it takes for me to gather my thoughts enough to drop the spoon at the same moment Caleb reaches the faucet to turn it off.

We are both stunned for a beat, and then he bursts out laughing. It isn’t just a little chuckle, but a big, booming belly laugh. It is so wonderful that I can’t help the laughter that bursts from my own lips. We laugh until our eyes are as wet as our clothing. Caleb’s laughter suddenly fades off, and I look at him questioningly, but he isn’t looking at me. Well, not at my face. He is looking at my now-soaked tank top that is showing every detail of my bra-less chest. I want to be self-conscious and embarrassed, but the heat and hunger that spark in his eyes make me feel anything but. Before I even consciously decide to move, I am launching myself at him. He moves, too, and the next thing I know, I am in his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist, and his lips are on mine.