Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Her lashes flutter on a breathy exhale.
Watching Dove Rath melt for me? Another favorite.
Carl and Jasper stack the last of the boxes by the couch, nod their goodbyes, and head out.
My family drifts into the living room, making themselves comfortable. Frankie curls up on the couch between Monty and Leo. Kody takes one of the armchairs.
I follow Dove into the kitchen, keeping my back to them as I drag on the jeans she brought for me.
“I thought you might want these, too.” She holds out the journals, her eyes gentle and perceptive in a way I’ve needed my entire life.
“Thank you.” I rest my brow against hers, breathing her in.
“I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier,” she whispers.
“What’s that?” I lower my voice, matching hers.
“You were legendary.” She gestures at the table, the wall, then the floor where we finished, keeping her words low enough for my ears only. “Makes me question your honesty about this inexperience you claimed to have. I mean, up until an hour ago, I thought great sex was a myth. Now I know the real myth is you.”
“Careful.” My lips twitch. “You might want the myth forever.”
“I do.” Her eyes widen with a flash of worry before she blinks it away and smiles. “Go. Talk to your family.”
With the blanket still draped over my shoulders, I hold the edges together against my chest and walk into the living room where all the people I love most in this world are waiting.
Everyone watches me approach in that Strakh way, attentive and over-protective, waiting for the next emotional grenade to go off.
I pause in front of Frankie and hold out the journals. “Thank you for writing all of that and letting me read it.”
“Sorry I was so pushy about it.” She accepts the books.
“Don’t be. You gave me the guts to write my story.” I gesture at the journal on top. “And to share it with you. All of you.”
Her eyes shine instantly.
“No tears.” I shake a finger at her. “I’m shirtless, and if you cry on me, you’ll be tempted to cop a feel, and your husbands will make it weird.”
Leo throws a pillow at my head.
I dodge it.
Frankie ignores him, her hands trembling around the books. “You’re sure you want us to read it?”
I never told anyone the details of my ten months in Rhett Howell’s cage. Not until Dove.
“Yeah.” I nod at the journal. “It’s all there. The dark stuff, the deranged conversations with myself, and all the brilliant verbal smackdowns I gave the doctor. Whatever you think happened, it’s worse. And it’s better. And it’s over. Read it.” I yawn. “Or use it as a coaster. Prop up a wobbly table. Pee on it. Just don’t let Leo pee on it.”
Before I lose my nerve, I let out a slow breath and shrug off the blanket.
It falls to the floor without a sound.
The room goes dead still as all eyes fixate on my bare torso.
I’m sure they stole glimpses when I had my meltdown in the shower. But this is the first real show-and-tell.
The scars across my chest and arms announce every nightmare I survived. The arrow wound, the river impact, the surgical slices, and the mismatched, patchwork of crooked seams where skin was forced shut without mercy. None of it blends, some spots still pink, some thick, some translucently thin, all of it monstrous like Frankenstein’s creature.
What can I say? I was taken apart and put back together wrong.
I force myself to stand there, to let them look, because hiding the damage hasn’t made anything easier.
Frankie swallows. Kody’s face turns to stone. Leo’s eyes darken with grief so sharp it cuts. And Monty…
The air thickens, squeezing around my ribs as he rises to his feet. Then his arms are there, banded around me, quivering with all the un-Monty-like emotion he keeps tucked away.
My throat clicks. My hands shake, too. My body wants to flinch, but it doesn’t because this is my dad. My biggest supporter.
He carries so much guilt for rejecting Gretchen when she got pregnant with me. He blames himself for my childhood trauma, my captivity, and every terrible thing I endured. But I don’t. I don’t blame him for a damn thing. He didn’t abuse me or hold me captive in the Arctic. He showed up in my life when I needed him the most, and he stayed. Every day, every hour, he’s been here.
Voicing this stuff isn’t really my style. But I wrote it. Every bit of my gratitude and love for him is in the journal.
“I want you to read it, Dad.” I step back and grip his shoulders. “Will you?”
His lips press together, trapping the emotion he can’t hide in his stormy eyes. Then he nods.
“Cool.” I turn to the others, my gaze latching onto Frankie’s wet cheeks.