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Father made me count out loud as the ruddy-brown belt slashed down on me and painted fiery lines across my skin. Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. He hated emotion. Hated weakness. Crying only made him more furious. Mom slept through the whole thing. Not that it mattered—she wouldn’t have stopped it, anyway. My mother turned her back on me whenever my back was beaten to every shade of blue.
Father didn’t love me; Mom didn’t love me enough. I guess that was why I loved too much. I had a lot of loveless holes to fill.
Life is like photography. You need the negatives to develop. —Ziad K. Abdelnour
I didn’t take Reed with his messy hair, casual clothes, and pretty, probably-green eyes to have such a respectable occupation in both the medical field and martial arts.
“Life is living. If you’re not living exactly the way you want to live, then what’s the fucking point?”
Everything was hollow. Everything except for my heart. And having an abundant heart in a hollow world was an affliction I was helpless to overcome.
“Relationships are overrated. Love is nothing but a building block for collapse. A stepping stone for tripping and stumbling into a black hole you can’t climb out of it.”
But being jaded doesn’t come with age; it comes with hardship. And hardship can blow through like a stormfront, destroying everything in a blink. Five years old, fifteen, fifty. Doesn’t matter. Once you’re caught in the funnel, you never stop spinning out.”
I stood rooted in place, even though every part of me wanted to run after him, apologize, and beg him to wait for me. After all… I would only be getting older.
I was confident he hated me, and he had every right to. I’d tricked him. I’d been so desperate for comfort, for connection, for more of his tender looks and touches, that I hadn’t cared about the consequences. Not even a little. I was selfish, and now he was wholeheartedly aware of that.
We had a few good years together before Mom took my father back and chose him over me. Chose booze over me. Chose everything over me.
“Confidence is like a muscle,” I told him. “It needs consistent exercise. The more you practice, the stronger it becomes. It’s not about eliminating self-doubt entirely—it’s about pushing through it.”
Whit had told me about the neighbor girl they’d taken in—Tara’s new best friend, one year older than her—who had come from an abusive home with two parasites for parents. The notion warmed me. For as different as my ex and I were, we both shared a soft heart.
Nothing could have prepared me for when the girl I’d met in the Gin Blossoms T-shirt and bright-berry lipstick spun around, her honeyed hair tossing over her shoulder as she looked right at me. Our eyes locked together.
Halley’s name hadn’t come up, or, if it had, I hadn’t noticed. Nothing could have ever led me to believe that she was the girl Whit had taken in. What were the goddamn odds?
I’d never been cradled so tenderly by the two strong arms of a man before; no father figure, no doting boyfriends. Just Reed. His arms were not meant to hold me, and yet they were the safest sanctuary in the midst of my crumbling mind.
“My father broke me,” I said, my voice fraying on the words. “He shattered my spirit, my strength, my whole damn heart. I don’t even know who I am anymore. All I know is who I want to be…and it’s not this girl. It’s not this shadow, this terrified little lamb constantly looking over her shoulder for the big bad wolf to attack. To take another bite out of me. I refuse to live my life in fear, and I never again want to be saved.”
“My father always used to tell me that I wasn’t good at doing hard things.” Her voice cracked as she chomped down on her bottom lip. “Every time I fail at something, it feels like a testament to that. Like he was right all along.
I was proud of her. Not everyone could scoop up their trauma in two shaking hands and mold it into something worth holding. Her pain was clay, taking on a new form, a new shape. One day, it could become her greatest masterpiece.
I wanted his hands all over me, awakening my deadened pieces. He told me there was a fire inside me and that all I needed was a spark. Reed was my spark.
“I would have taken you back to my apartment,” I said darkly, teeth gritted, my fist still tangled in her hair. “And we wouldn’t have made it to the bedroom before I knew what your pussy tasted like.”
Nineteen. Tara’s best friend. Half my age. My ex’s makeshift foster kid. A. Fucking. Teenager.
As we sat there, Reed lifted his hand from his lap and carried it over to mine. He took it inside his big, calloused palm, then intertwined our fingers together, squeezing gently, and I swore, I knew—this was the moment I fell in love with him.
“No one’s ever stood up for you like that before, have they? No one’s ever fought. And that’s bullshit. You deserve to have someone in your corner, fighting like hell for you. For your honor, your worth. I want to be that person.”
“Older doesn’t translate to wiser, and age doesn’t guarantee answers.” He cradled my cheek in his palm as I nuzzled into his touch. “With age, comes certainty. You grow to know exactly what you want. But that doesn’t always mean it’s wise or right, and then that certainty becomes a curse.”
hope you find someone who complements you in every way, who gives you strength and courage, who fights for you tooth and nail, no matter the consequences, and who loves every single piece of you. Even the sad pieces. Even the ugly pieces you try to keep buried.”
“Every moment with you fucking hurts.” His voice was pure grit, words cracking and breaking. “Every moment without you…hurts so much more.”
“Falling for you has been the easiest thing I’ve ever done,” I confessed through the anguish. “Everything else? Painful. Torturous. Difficult beyond belief. But loving you…” The anger died out, flatlining to a dead pulse. “Effortless.”
“Love is weak. Love is selfish. It’s not this fairy-tale illusion of candy hearts and paper flowers. It’s messy and painful. But it’s always worth it.”
“So, yes…I love you. I love you fiercely, wholly, selfishly and unselfishly, more than I ever fucking should. I love everything about you, from your smile, to your perfect heart, to the way your hair always slips from your ponytail when you’re running or sparring and hides those eyes I’ve been enamored with since the moment I first saw you. I love how you take every picture like it’s the only one you’ll ever take, how you love like it’s simply a way of life, and how you cook from your soul because it makes everyone around you so goddamn happy. I love the strength you pulled from nothing, from
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Not all mothers were meant to be caretakers. Not all monsters were meant to be rehabilitated. And not all love stories were meant to last.
You changed me, Halley, in all the best ways. Let this be your second chance at life. Take risks. Take opportunities. Take pictures that hang in galleries one day, so everyone can see your talent, your beauty, your immeasurable worth. Fight. Fight for you, for your future. Not with fists and kicks, but with what you’ve always fought best with: love.
It was fascinating how beautiful things could look so frightening when you were up close. But then, the very things that frightened you could be beautiful, too. If you looked a little closer.
“I love Halley because it’s impossible not to. It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t even wanted. It just happened. And I’m sorry this affected you so profoundly; I’m so damn sorry for that.
“I always knew we had that kind of love,” he told me, sighing with an air of solace. “What kind of love?” I was putty in his arms, a sagging, boneless heap. Reed swayed me gently, side to side. “The growing old together kind.”
But the journey to the other side of this life with someone who held your heart, who shared your dreams and fears, who knew you in the deepest corners of your soul, was a privilege beyond measure. It was a promise of companionship through every storm.
