“I know a lot of things about him, but for the most part, he’s an outsider,” I confirm.
“How well do you know him?”
“He keeps a lot of himself private. Like his family, friends… We don’t have friends in common,” I answer without adding, not like I have many myself.
“What can you tell me about him?”
It sounds dumb, but I start with his favorite color, which is blue. Though he swears auburn is his new favorite since it reminds him of me. He loves animals. His father taught him how to ride horses. If possible, he would spend the entire weekend with me in the stables taking care of Poppy.
He loves his work, but sometimes he wishes he could be doing something else with his degree. I know he doesn’t get along with his cousins. They are a bunch of assholes who try to take advantage of everyone. His mother never married. He is an only child. He likes to read thrillers but has read a couple of the women’s fiction novels I read. We share a love for non-fiction books.
“It seems like you know him well,” she claims.
“I’m sure there’s a lot more than knowing his favorite food,” I argue.
“What is it that you want in a relationship? I understand that the ultimate goal is to have a husband, children, and a happy household. You can’t get to your final destination without making a few rest stops.”
I understand what she’s trying to tell me. I do. But a part of me is afraid of giving it a try because I like him too much, and if I can’t make this work, then I’ll lose him. He’s not the kind of guy who promises forever. For now, he’s my steady ground. The place where I can seek shelter when things are hard to handle.
For the first time in forever, I’m with someone who I feel comfortable with. Sure, this will end, I’m just not ready for that to happen. I’m not ready for him to leave.
“People leave,” I tell her.
“Do they?” she asks.
“Well, they don’t stay,” I amend. “Before you tell me that I never give anyone a chance, I can remind you about the twelve years after my parents died.”
“The system failed you,” she says, and I’m not sure if she’s agreeing with me or trying to tell me that my past shouldn’t be the reason why I don’t let many people into my life.
“My grandparents didn’t want me,” I remind her. “Because, and I quote my grandmother, ‘What if she’s like her father and kills us in our sleep?’”
“You have a valid argument,” she says, and I hate when she validates me but then slaps me with some stupid fact that I should be accepting. It feels as if she’s just gaslighting me.
You’re valid, but let me tell you that you’re wrong.
Yet, I’m here on her couch every week because I want to get better, have a family, and stop being afraid of becoming like my mother or father. I want people to accept me.
When the timer rings, I’m relieved that this is over.
“Next week, same time?” she asks, and I just nod.
Maybe I should be hiring someone else. Someone with a different approach to counseling. In the meantime, I’ll have to keep coming to her.
Chapter Seven
Leyla
My biggest fear happens that night, just when I realized that the night terrors weren’t gone. Pierce is out of town, and I stay at my apartment with Buster. He’s the one who wakes me up. I pet him, and he stays with me for the remainder of the night. It happens three nights in a row. On the fourth one, Pierce is the one who wakes me up.
“It’s okay, you’re with me,” I hear.
In my dream, I see him carrying me away from the house. I’m not a kid, but I’m bleeding and hurting like when I was six. He begs the paramedics to save me. He begs me to stay with him. My eyes open, and I’m tangled in his arms.
“Breathe, Ley,” he whispers. “Inhale, one, two, three…then exhale slowly for me.”
He kisses my nose and says, “Bad dream?”
I just rest my head against his chest. The steady sound of his heartbeat calms me. I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m not sure what I hate more, that the night terrors are back or that he knows about them.
“Why are you here and not in my bed?” he whispers, pressing me closer to his body.
“Because you’re not in town?” I mumble, absorbing his masculine scent. How I missed the strong woodsy aroma of his. Little by little I start feeling whole again.
“Was that a nightmare or a night terror?” he asks.
“Isn’t that the same?”
“One of them is the result of PTSD,” he explains, and I sigh, closing my eyes.
“Can you trust me, Ley?”
There’s a knot forming in my throat because this is how it ends. I take a few deep breaths before I step away from his embrace and leave my bed.
“This has been fun,” I begin, smiling at him even though I think I’m dying a little.
“We can still have fun,” he interrupts.
“No. This situation changes everything,” I explain.
“Not from my perspective,” he insists.
“We’re not those kinds of people,” I remind him. “We hookup, have fun, and share a dog. That’s our dynamic. Our arrangement doesn’t go deeper than that. You established it.”
His intense gaze holds mine, and he says, “Our arrangement changes every day, Leyla. You can’t possibly think that this is casual. We’re a lot more than fuck buddies. Just because we don’t say it out loud, it doesn’t mean it’s not happening.”
He chimes a set of keys and continues, “We have each other’s house keys. Most of your clothes are at my place. At this point, I’m not even sure why we don’t officially live together.”
“We barely know each other.”
“You know everything about me,” he claims.
“What about your family?”
He frowns and clears his throat. “You already know what matters. I’m an only child to a single mother. We lived with my grandparents so they could help her raise me. Now, I choose to avoid them because my uncles and cousins are a bunch of assholes. Any other questions?”
“That’s all?”
He nods. “Everything else is unimportant. If I don’t talk about them it is because I’d just be complaining about how useless, incompetent, and stupid they are. Now, can we get back to you, please?”
“I’ll hate it when you look at me with pity. Heads up, this will be over,” I trace the scar on my arm.
“It wasn't an accident,” I confess. “My name is Leyla Faye Gibbs. My father was Justin Gibbs.”
He frowns and snaps his fingers. “Gibbs…where have I heard that word?”
“Gibbs department stores. They also owned a grocery store chain in the New England area,” I answer. “They changed their name fifteen years ago, but they used to be a household name.”
He nods. “I remember receiving presents from there. What happened to you, Leyla Gibbs?”
“We lived in a small town. Bristol, Maine,” I continue. “Dad was a raging alcoholic. I didn’t know that term when I was young. All I knew was that he was scary, and we had to be very quiet around him. Nights were the worst. We’d hear him yell at Mom, and the next morning, if he wasn’t careful enough, we could see where he hit her.”
My heart is hammering hard inside my chest. I want to stop, but I prefer to get it all out so he can leave now before I can’t live without him.
“Why did your mom stay?”
I shrug. “Probably for the same reason every woman who is abused stays. They can’t leave. They are afraid… There are so many factors involved. I’ve read a lot about it, trying to find an answer. What if she had done things differently? But you read stories about women in her position, and not every story is the same.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive,” he says, touching my arm and then my abdomen where the other scar is. “I just…I wish I could protect you from whatever happened to you.”
“You’re the first one,” I state. “Back then, nobody
cared, and I’m sure everyone knew what was happening in our home. We lived in a small town. Everyone knows your business, but no one helps you.”
“Did your dad hurt you before…?” He kisses my arm.
“No. Every night, Mom would put us to bed and lock the door from the outside. She’d hide the key, and we never came out until she opened it for us. Usually, it was early, so Rosco, our dog, could go out too.”
His jaw twitches, and asks, “What happened?”
“It was Mom’s birthday,” I explain, moving away from him. “One of her friends organized a surprise party. Dad wasn’t happy about it. Mia, my sister, and I were allowed to stay up past our bedtime.”
I hug myself as I remember the night. After everyone left, my parents began to fight. Mia was asleep on the couch. I was leaning against Dad’s office’s door frame, watching how he was slapping Mom. I wanted to hide and to protect her, but I couldn’t move.
I can still hear her vivid screams, “Stop! You’re going to hurt the baby!”
I didn’t understand what that meant, but he called her a whore, a slut, the hooker of the town.
“Stop! Leave me alone. I’d rather die than keep living like this, with you,” she begged, and that’s when he pulled out his gun.
“I ran out screaming after he shot her,” I tell him. “I tried to wake up Mia so we could hide together. My arm burned when the bullet hit me. That’s when Rosco ran toward me. Dad shot me again, and the third bullet hit my dog, which ended up on top of me. He killed Mia and then himself.”
“Your dog saved you.”
“The cops thought so too,” I confirm.
“Which is why you spend your time saving animals.”
I shrug. “Everyone died that night.”
“I have to be thankful to Rosco. Because of him, I have you with me,” he states, walking toward me.
“I need to go,” I announce when the tears threaten to roll down my cheeks.
“This is your house,” he reminds me. “Can I hug you?”
I shake my head. “No, I… This is over. We agreed once one of us couldn’t do it, we would stop.”
“Why do we need to stop seeing each other?”
“Because if I get past this, I might fall in love with you,” I confess. “I’m not ready to fall in love with anyone. I’m still broken.”
“But it’d be nice if you caught up with me,” he states.
I freeze and mumble, “What?”
“I’m crazy in love with you, and if you leave… Well, that would be a fucking tragedy.”
“You can't. You just learned my last name,” I argue as my heart hammers fast.
“But I know you have to sleep with a nightlight, the door locked, and under the covers. I know that you like wine but only drink a couple of sips before you switch to water. You love fairy tales, sitcoms, and to run every morning before you start the day. You love the taste of chewing gum, but you hate to chew it. You’re a picky eater who can’t stand the consistency of cheese but loves mac and cheese—”
“Pierce, this is more complicated than that,” I insist.
“But it’s so simple. It’s effortless to be with you. Baby, I don’t want to let you go.”
He clears his throat and says, “It’d kill me if you leave. Please, give us a chance.”
“I’m scared,” I confess.
“But I’m here to protect you, always.”
My instincts urge me to run, but his arms envelop me, and his mouth captures mine. Our souls entwine, and they run into an infinite world where only the two of us exist. I realize that I have been lying to myself.
I don’t know how, but I’ve been in love with him maybe since the beginning of time.
Chapter Eight
Pierce
My mother calls my relationship with Leyla a rebellious phase. An unfortunate situation that hopefully will disappear as soon as I get bored with her. The same way it happened with every sport, instrument, and hobby I took up when I was a kid.
I hate to disappoint her, but she’s wrong.
There isn’t an exact definition of what Leyla means to me. She’s without a doubt more than just a fling or some random woman I’m fucking when I’m bored—as my mother rudely stated.
When I introduced Leyla to my family, I was expecting… I’m not sure why I did it, to be honest. My mistake was inviting Leyla to my grandma’s birthday.
It felt like the timing was right. After the night when she told me about her past, I felt that it was time to accept what I was denying for so long. I am in love with her.
She’s my life.
Now that we live together, I wanted to do more conventional things. Normal couples introduce each other to their families. Unfortunately, my family is atypical. Instead of welcoming her, they behaved like vultures trying to pick the insides of a dying animal in the middle of the desert.
Leyla is feisty, so there was no devouring. They hate her because her hot comebacks made them look like fools.
It shouldn’t surprise me that no one welcomed Leyla. The Bryants are, after all, rich, pompous assholes who think they are above everyone. That’s the way Leyla described them. Unfortunately, she’s not wrong. I’m glad she’ll never meet the Aldridges. They are worse.
Mom…well, I’m disappointed in her. She was just as nasty. So much for trying to show my woman that I’m committed to her. I’m disappointed in Mom. She was rude and offensive. I warned her that the next time she behaved like that with Leyla, we’d have a problem. She suggested not bringing my new toy to any family events if I wanted to avoid another unpleasant situation between them.
Needless to say, I’ve skipped many family gatherings, including my grandparents’ anniversary and my cousin Eddy’s thirty-fifth birthday. Everyone is pissed at me, but I don’t give a shit. It’s not like they miss me. I avoid family reunions most of the time. This new need to have me around is just to push me to break up with Leyla. Good luck with that.
I keep my family and my work separate from my life with Leyla. I love her, but I don’t know how long this is going to last. Is it worth it to try to make my family accept her?
Do I want this to last? Yes, but we Bryants are pretty bad at keeping relationships. Aldridges are even worse. There’s very little hope that this might last long.
Adding the factor that Leyla and I are pretty messed up, our chances to have a stable relationship are slim. My conclusion sounds pitiful. I should try to fix myself instead of gathering excuses to justify my future without her.
Leyla has been going to therapy for years. She practices meditation to help with her anxiety. In other words, she’s trying to put herself together. I admire her determination. If my father had done what her father did, I’d be devastated.
Her fear of being like her parents is familiar, though. I’ve done a lot of things to avoid ending up like my father. I don’t know the first thing about fixing myself. If things continue working well between us, I might try to find a way to be a better person. The past nine months with her have been incredible, but nothing lasts forever. Does it?
At the beginning of May, a big blizzard shuts down the city. Leyla stays at the animal hospital for a couple of days since they can’t close it. She’s the only one who lives relatively close by, and they are an emergency hospital. It’s Saturday morning when my phone rings. I grin when I see her beautiful face on the screen.
I glide my finger along the screen to answer her call. “Ready to come home, babe?”
“Almost,” she confirms. “I heard the transportation department just started cleaning the roads. They are icy and snow packed.”
“I can pick you up,” I offer.
“Actually, I was calling because I have a patient. She’s a puppy only a couple of days old,” she states. “I’m not sure if she’s going to make it.”
“You’ve been working for two straight days. Have you slept at all?” I question.
“A couple of cat naps here and there,” she lies.
“
You need to come home, Ley. I’m sorry about the puppy.” I am also worried because it kills her when she has to put an animal down or when they die on her watch.
“Actually,” her voice drops to a whisper.
“No,” I answer. “You’re not bringing a puppy home.”
“Please, I just want to be with her when she… She just needs a little love,” she insists.
“Oh, hell,” I grunt. “I’m going to regret this. I’ll be there within an hour to pick up you and the pup. Be ready.”
“I love you, big guy.”
“Love you more, Ley.”
It takes me almost an hour to arrive at the hospital. The roads are packed with snow, and there are several cars stranded. The first thing I notice when I see Leyla is her swollen eyes. The second is the boxes around her. The third is the bundle she carries.
“What is all that?” I point at the stuff around her.
“The equipment I need,” she simplifies.
Oh fuck! She’s planning on doing more than just care for the pup until she dies. She’s going to try to save her.
Dan comes out and hands her a credit card. “Here. I can’t believe he didn’t give you the employee discount.”
“It’s fine,” Leyla sniffs.
“Did they fire you?” I ask, picking up two of the boxes and wanting to go inside and yell at the asshole who pretends to run this place.
She’s days away from finishing the internship.
“No,” she answers.
“Then what happened?”
“She lost six puppies and the mom,” Dan answers for her, handing me her backpack. “If I were you, I’d buy her those marshmallows covered with chocolate she loves.”
I don’t tell him that she loves everything covered in chocolate and that I have plenty of that stocked in the fridge and the pantry. Some days her dinner consists of yogurt, fruit, and chocolate.
Defying Our Forever (The Baker’s Creek Billionaire Brothers Book 3) Page 5
