Chapter 45 Grayce

Somehow, within the next hour, we ended up in my bedroom huddled under the covers, entwined in each other’s arms, exhausted but energized and buzzing at the same time.
Jaxon’s body was beautiful, just as an athletic guy should be, and I couldn’t stop running my hands up and down his abdomen, wondering if we could get away with staying in bed forever. While his skin was flawless in my eyes, he still had scars. Battle wounds, if you will, from years of football and child’s play. The scar from surgery, a long, angry pink one that started at the midpoint in his back and traveled down his spine, was healing nicely. I settled into him, wishing this moment would never end. Maybe we could lock the door, close out the world, and never face reality again.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Jaxon said as he caressed my thigh. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to clear my head briefly from the fuzzy moment of ecstasy. As I thought about what I had to say, Jaxon’s fingers moved up from my thigh and over my waist, his fingers finding and tracing the tiny tattoo I had etched on my hip.
“I didn’t take you for a tattoo kind of girl,” Jaxon said, admiring the work. “I’m impressed.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” I said. Jaxon tore his gaze away from the tattoo and looked me in the face.
“Your tattoo is unique. What does it mean?”
I looked down at the symbol on my hip and traced the design with my finger. “It’s a mark that means survivor,” I said. “My mother has an identical one on her shoulder.”
“What kind of survivor?” Jaxon asked. I took another breath, debating whether this was a conversation we should get into now. But I guess it was a little late to be bashful. There was nothing more to be done; it was time for the secrets to come out.
“My dad isn’t a good man. He never was.” I focused my gaze and attention on a pattern embedded in the quilt, unable to look Jaxon in the face. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at me, waiting for me to go on. “He used to hurt my mother,” I said. “He was mean to her. He’d hit her, kick her when she was down. He was also controlling and very demanding. He was a jerk.”
“Was he like that to you?” Jaxon asked after a moment of silence.
“He only ever hit me once,” I said. “But he hurt me every day, emotionally at least. He would tell us both how worthless we were and how we’d never add up to anything.” Jaxon reached over and took my hand, a silent gesture of support.
“Your mom is a cool lady,” he said. “And she has an even more amazing daughter, so it sounds like this prick didn’t beat you down the way he hoped to.”
“Maybe,” I said and cracked a tiny smile for his sake. Deep down, I was hurting. Just talking about my father and thinking about him stirred up so many shitty memories that I had locked away in the deepest part of my soul for a very long time. It wasn’t something I let myself think about often. In fact, it would be too soon if I never saw my father again or even thought about him like I was doing tonight. I knew my dad was the reason for my insecurities. He was probably the reason I’d never had a committed relationship.
When my mother met my father, he was a good guy,” I said. “All throughout dating, and even after marriage, he was normal. He hid it well, I guess. He was the love of her life. She trusted him. It wasn’t until her pregnancy that he changed. Something inside of him snapped, and suddenly he wasn’t him anymore. It’s as if he’d been putting on a façade their entire relationship, and it finally reared its ugly head when she got knocked up with me.”
“Don’t tell me you blame yourself,” Jaxon said. I turned away from him, feeling the tears pool in my eyes. I nibbled on my lip to keep from crying and shrugged.
“He beat her senseless one day, in her second trimester. He almost killed me. I think that was his intention.”
Jaxon’s hand tightened around mine automatically, and when I trusted myself to look over at him, he had his eyes closed.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I had no idea about any of it.”
“I know,” I said. “That was my intention. I don’t think it’s necessarily anyone’s business.” I pulled my hand away from his and sat up, drawing the comforter up around my naked body. Jaxon sat up, too, looking perplexed.
“Grayce?” he said and reached for me. I pulled away and looked at the wall.
“I think you should go,” I said, and my voice cracked just a little bit.
“What?”
“You need to leave.”
“Grayce …”
“Now.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Jaxon stood up from my bed. I didn’t look at him as he pulled on his pants and shirt. He had his eyes on me the whole time, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I felt sick suddenly, as though I was lying on an operating table with my guts splayed out for all the world to see.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” Jaxon said, resting his hand on the doorknob. I shook my head, still unable to meet his gaze.
“Go,” I said. A single tear rolled down my cheek, and I tried to brush it away before Jaxon saw it. “Just go.”
“Actually, no.” Jaxon stopped where he was, dropping his hand from the door handle to turn back around and face me. “I’m not going to go. I’m going to stay here. And I don’t care if you hate me for it, but I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.”