“I know that,” I admit, even if it’s hard to.
Allie clearly senses my discomfort, and her voice softens. “I love my brother. Deeply. But while he’s changed in some ways”—she pauses, choosing her words carefully—“he’s also the same guy who once hurt you so badly. He’s still emotionally absent. That about him hasn’t changed.”
My heart clenches a little. Sometimes the truth cuts. There’s no way to avoid that.
I can’t seem to find words to answer her, so she continues, “I know he’s doing a lot to help you right now. But what he’s giving you now is all he can give you. He will hurt you again, because he can’t be the guy we both know you want.”
“I know that, too,” I also admit, sinking farther down into my chair.
Allie’s brows draw together and she sighs deeply, lowering her paper cup to her lap. “Then what are you doing with him?”
I glance away to the mug in my hands, unable to look at her. “Now, that I don’t know.”
“Do you still love him?”
I look at her, seeing only concern in her expression. “You know that I’ll always love him.”
She gives a gentle nod. “Yes, I do, which is why I’m bringing this up. Can you keep to just a casual relationship? Can you walk away from him? Would it break you if he ended things because he fell in love with someone else?” Her voice, her energy, she always exudes warmth. Her love erases the chill in my soul as she continues, “If he can’t be what you need, will it destroy you like it did before and you’ll move away because everything you see reminds you of him?”
“I don’t know,” is all I can answer.
Her voice gets even softer. “Do you not remember how much he hurt you?”
“I do remember.” I’ve been hurt a lot worse lately, is what I leave off. But then I realize I’m wrong. Hurt is hurt, it’s all damaging, it’s all negative.
“So,” Allie continues, “if you remember the pain you felt, please tell me why you are sleeping with him.”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, suddenly asking myself the same question. Why do I do this, over and over again?
Allie adds, “I can’t watch you go through that pain again. I simply refuse to, and I love you too much to let it happen again. To be with Darius, he needs to be emotionally there for you.” She pauses, her shoulders slump a little. “Please don’t stay with Darius because it’s safe and comfortable. And don’t let him off the hook so easily. He hurt you badly. He needs to answer for that and make good on it.”
Her words flow over me, honest and true, and I’m feeling a slow lump rise in my throat. The other night in bed with Darius, I knew I was doing the same thing that I always do. I’m with Darius because he can protect me, because I do love him, because he makes me feel so good and safe, but he’s still not being my forever guy. He doesn’t come to me out of a desire to spend time with me. He only cleans up my messes, like it’s his responsibility to look after me. And he protects me, like it’s his duty, too.
That’s not the love I want, that’s obligation, and I want more than that for my life. Hell, I deserve more than that. And I’ve always known he can’t give me his heart, because that’s one thing that’s always been untouchable.
As I stare into my best friend’s warm eyes, knowing that she’s only bringing this up out of fear that I might leave her again or that I might be cut so deeply the pain burns for years, I realize one hard truth: I can’t change Darius.
But I can change me. I can change the unhealthy circle I feel trapped in, where somehow I draw negativity to myself. Where I stop making sacrifices to make others happy. I can finally put myself first.
“I know what you’re saying,” I say to her, “but being with him just feels…” Tears well up in my eyes, and my lips shut tight to stop the sadness from growing.
“Oh, God, please don’t cry.” Allie jumps out of her seat, rushing to my side. “This isn’t about making you sad, but I don’t want you to do this only because Darius is a safety net. My brother is who he is, and I love him for what he is, but you’re my best friend. You deserve a guy who puts you above all else in his life. And Darius”—she half shrugs—“he doesn’t know how to do that. Family, love, all that stuff is not a priority in his life.”
I wipe a tear from my cheek, admitting something I hadn’t wanted to admit. “I know he’s closed off. I also know he won’t ever open himself up to me. I know he has commitment issues. And I know that I can never help him.” Because he won’t ever let me.
Allie’s eyes soften, her head cocks. “Then, Taylor, please, please think about this. I can’t lose you again for another five years because Darius breaks you apart. Promise me that you’re thinking clearly about all this.”
It’s as if a cloud suddenly lifts from my brain. And within all the emotion that’s been raging through me lately, logic begins to break through the fog.
Darius is the guy who sends me spiraling into darkness so very easily. He’s always been that guy. He becomes my everything, and that’s just not healthy, because I’m not his everything. “I promise to protect myself,” is all I say.
“Not yourself,” she counters. “Your heart. Protect that. Promise me.”
I nod. “I promise.”
Chapter 17
Taylor
On Haight Street, I stare up at the sign that says RICK’S SPORTS BAR, wondering how I even got here. After work, I planned to go to the San Francisco police department to get a restraining order against Shawn, to put my parents’ worries to bed. Yet here I am, not at the police station.
The Haight has only four sports bars, or so Google told me, and I’d gone to all of them until I reached this last one. Hoping that my instincts are right, I enter the pub, not bothering to look at the wooden tables or the sports games on the large television screens. Instead, I focus on the bar stools. One by one, I scan each person sitting at the bar, until I spot the dark-haired man with the navy blue baseball cap drinking a beer at nine o’clock in the morning.
I snort to myself.
Some people are so predictable, and I hate that. Maybe I was still holding out hope that one day Darius wouldn’t be so predictable and do something entirely shocking and unlike him. Emotionally absent, Allie had said, and she hadn’t been wrong.
As I move farther into the restaurant and reach the greeter, I smile at her. “It’s okay, I’m meeting someone and he’s right there.” I point toward the bar.
“Oh, okay,” she says, waving me into the restaurant.
I brush past her and stop behind the guy’s stool and cross my arms. “Shawn.”
His back stiffens before he turns to face me, giving me a long look. I washed off my makeup before coming here to prove a point, and while some of the bruises healed, the worst ones still lingered. “T-Taylor?” he stammers.
“Surprised to see me?” I ask, dropping down onto the stool next to him.
“Well…” He lowers his beer to the bar, his light blue eyes on me. “Yes.”
“You’re easy to find,” I say with a dry laugh, because I knew exactly where he would be. Once Darius had said he was staying in the Haight, all I needed to do was narrow down all the sports bars. Shawn is a guy of habit, and sports bars are his thing.
The bartender approaches me, wiping down the bar in front of me. “What can I get ya?”
“Just water, please.” I wait for the bartender to move away before turning on my stool, facing Shawn. “What are you doing here?”
He draws in a deep breath, clearly collecting himself after my surprise appearance. “To talk to you,” he eventually says with the soft voice that used to warm my heart. “I mean, what the hell, Taylor? I woke up on the living room floor and you were gone. I had blood on my knuckles, a broken nose”—from which the black bruises under his eyes tell me he isn’t completely healed yet either—“and my balls felt bashed into my throat. You didn’t leave a note or anything. You just up and left.”
“Well, yeah, I just up and left.” I point
to the bruises on my face. “Because you did this.”
His brows shoot up and he shakes his head, adamant. “No, that’s not possible.”
“It is possible, and you did it,” I disagree.
“Really, I hurt you like that?” I nod, and Shawn rips off his baseball cap and thrusts his hand through his hair. “Shit, man. I don’t remember doing that to you.”
“A bottle of whiskey can do that to someone.” The bartender delivers my water to me, and I smile. “Thanks.” I turn to Shawn again and see the guilt rush across his face. I’m not affected as I once was.
We could delve deeply into Shawn’s alcoholism and his abusing me, but I truly don’t want to talk things out with this guy anymore. Shawn did what he did. And what he did didn’t break me, nor would it ever. But I want him out of my life now. “You need help,” I tell him. “Serious help. You need to stop drinking. It turns you into a really nasty person.”
Which is why this is all so fucked up, because everything that’s happened: his affair with a waitress from our local sports bar, his violence against me, isn’t even the real him.
For a long time after I learned he cheated, I thought he simply didn’t care that I knew. That is, until I realized that he didn’t remember sleeping with anyone else or even telling me about it. And that’s why all this is so hard. Shawn is a guy I could see myself being with forever. He’s kind and sweet and generous. Problem is, he’s only that guy 90 percent of the time. And that other 10 percent of the time is scary.
“Christ, Taylor,” he begins, voice shaking, eyes watering. “You know I’m sorry….”
“Here’s the deal,” I tell him sternly, not allowing him to give me the same excuse he always gives. Now his excuses no longer matter. Apologies don’t count either. You don’t hurt the people you love, and I won’t tolerate being hurt by him any longer. “I’m giving you one day to go home and get into a rehab program. Then you need to complete it. I have the resources here to find out if you do. If you don’t, I’ll press charges against you.” I grab my phone, showing the photos I took of my bruised face. “And I have witnesses who will testify against you. That’s the only choice here.”
Shawn doesn’t even hesitate. “All right. Yeah, okay, I’ll go.”
And I knew he would have no objections. Because this Shawn is a good guy. He always rights a wrong. But Shawn has dark demons that win every time. I thought I could fight against those demons. But they won, and now I don’t have the strength or desire to fight for him. “I’m going to call your mother. If you tell her not to talk to me, then this deal is off. If she tells me you’re drinking again, this deal is off.”
Shawn gives me a quick look of surprise. “You’re going to keep checking in on me?”
I nod. “I don’t love people and leave. That’s not me. I’ll keep checking in for as long as I have to to ensure that you’re doing what you need to do to get better and to make sure that you don’t hurt anyone else.” He bows his head, and I add, “I’m sorry for what happened to you.”
And I am.
I’m sorry that his hockey coach sexually assaulted him from the ages of seven to ten, until his mother found out and had the man arrested. I’m sorry for his alcoholism. I’m sorry that alcohol makes him violent. I stayed because I knew his pain had a legitimate source. I stayed with him because daily I saw what that abuse did to him. I stayed because I loved him. I understood him and his pain. That was, until I couldn’t understand anymore because that violence touched me. Until Shawn, for whatever reason, began to spiral out of control. “You deserve to be helped. Find a therapist who can help you deal with what you’re going through. But I can’t stand by you anymore.” My voice shakes, eyes water up, too. “I just…can’t.”
“No, no, I know that,” Shawn whispers, staring at the beer bottle on the bar.
One tear slips out because I hope this is his wake-up call. “Do this for you, Shawn,” I tell him. “Not for me. Not because I’m threatening to have you arrested. Do this because you don’t deserve to drown like this anymore.” He’s still looking at the bottle, and then he gives me a little hope when he pushes it away. My heart clenches, hurts for him so deeply. “This can’t happen again.”
“It won’t.”
“Shawn, look at me,” I say, harsher now. He turns, eyes sad, and I add, “You can’t hurt anyone else.”
He gulps. “This won’t happen again,” he says.
I believe him, and I guess that’s a fault of mine. I’m too trusting. I’m so full of love that I’m more accepting and more forgiving than most people would be. I want to give him another chance. And I can only hope he’ll take that chance and do something with it. But at the same time, I need to protect women from him until he gets better. And sadly, I know the threat of jail time will do it.
I stare into his eyes, which are filled with a dark history that no child should endure. And then, right there, I do what I came to do. “Goodbye, Shawn.” I push off the stool.
“Wait.”
I stop and turn back, seeing the sadness in his eyes. “I won’t see you again?”
“No.”
He visibly swallows. “Are you…are you okay?”
“You know”—I think over all that’s gone on since I came home, and I smile—“I think for the first time, yeah, I’m okay.”
“Do you need anything? Money?”
In that department, things are better. And I did have Darius to thank for that. I still owe him, but not paying interest will help pay it down far faster. I realize I have a lot to be thankful for when it comes to Darius. He’s made things better for me, without ever asking for a single thing. I can’t ever forget that, I tell myself. “I’m fine. Things are good. Promise.”
“Okay, that’s good.” I can see he wants to hug me. It’s written all over his face.
I step in closer and throw my arms around him. “Take care of you.”
He presses his face into my neck. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
I feel his tears and even sense mine welling up too, but I can’t pay attention to them. I can’t get sucked back in. This time is my time. I realize, right here, I kept thinking that I didn’t want to depend on men anymore. But I realize I had been thinking all wrong.
It had nothing to do with men.
I just need to depend on me.
Without saying anything more, I release my arms, taking one last deep inhale of his citrusy cologne, and I walk away. My heart feels lighter with each step I take. Because this time, his darkness didn’t touch me. I still love the same. I can still forgive. But I’m still me coming out of all this. And as I exit the bar and feel the warm sun against my face, I exhale, freeing years of tension.
Darius
Later that night, I’m standing outside Taylor’s front door, torn between wanting to be here and knowing I shouldn’t come anywhere near her. At least, not right now. The fabric of my world is slowly being ripped apart strand by strand. I’m not thinking straight and I don’t know what’s true and what’s not, and I can’t allow—and won’t—allow Taylor to get caught up in the cross fire.
Please come. I need you.
But when her text arrived, my feet moved me here to her, forcing me closer, even if my head isn’t in the right space to be of any comfort to Taylor tonight. She deserves me at my best, and my tight chest and foggy head remind me how far I am from solid tonight.
I knock once and hear her soft, sweet voice call out to me, yanking me forward on instinct alone. I ache to be near her. There’re so many things I want to say. I open the door, finding her sitting on the couch, legs up, arms wrapped around them. I can’t see her face, even though the full moon is beaming through the window and casting a soft glow into the room, lighting up her silhouette.
There’re no sounds.
There’s no movement.
It’s just me, her, and the dark, cold space between us.
I take a step forward, when her shaky voice stops me. “No. Please don’t come any closer.”
I’m frozen at the desolate tenor of her voice, waiting for her to explain. Something is clearly wrong, but right now, I’m not able to help her. Fuck it, I can barely help myself. My head’s not on straight enough to push aside my shit to help her deal with hers.
The longer the silence continues, the more I realize I’m the one who needs to explain. Charlotte told me Taylor had come to my office today looking for me, but I hadn’t been able to see her. I didn’t want her to see me broken, not when she needs me to be her strength. “About today—”
“You shut me out,” she says.
“I did,” I acknowledge, cautious of saying the wrong thing now.
“I texted you an hour ago and said I needed you.”
“And I’m here.”
Not soon enough, echoes in the icy air around me.
She also doesn’t need to tell me that. I can feel her disappointment descending over me like a heavy and thick cloud, stealing the air. But I don’t know how to give her what she’s asking me for. I don’t know how to love her up close, like Allie had suggested. I don’t know how to tell her that today the world as I knew it flipped on its axis, and I’m not sure what’s real and what isn’t. I have no idea how to tell her that I’m spiraling, because that’s weakness. And I’m not weak. I’m never weak.
“You shut me out,” she repeats, as if she needs to be reminded why she’s feeling rejected.
I have no reply. I did that. And I’ve done so much worse to her. She remains in the shadows, and it’s killing me not to see her face. Though I see the way her body stiffens. That’s when I realize my silence is worse than any terrible answer I can give her.
My lips part to say something, which she doesn’t notice and continues, “I don’t know why I always do this. Why it’s so hard for me to break this habit? I lean on men I shouldn’t. I fall back into this same trap that I can’t ever free myself from.”
Tied to His Betrayal Page 19
