Freed (21 page)

Here I am, a girl who never felt loved—who never felt herself capable of love—loving two men. That’s me—ever the overachiever.

My last fleeting thought, as Ransom’s hand sifts through my hair, is how incredible it finally feels to have someone—not just someone, but
Ransom
—love me for me. My greatest hope is that I can do our love justice.

Chapter Seventeen

Ransom

O
UR WEEK TOGETHER
is quickly winding to an end, and I have to admit it’s been pretty perfect. Denver and I explored the ranch by four-wheeler, making new trails that we had lots of fun getting lost on.

I love that Denver understood, never questioning or complaining, about me not wanting to be away from my mom for long. She didn’t demand I focus on her, and didn’t object to the fact that she’d spent her break caring for someone else’s ailing mother. More often than not, she was the one making suggestions for getting back sooner, movies we could watch, card games we could play … I can’t imagine many girls being so accommodating, much less being content, not to party with friends or, well, whatever college students do when they’re on break. When I mentioned that, she said she’d gotten more out of this visit than anyone else. I wasn’t blind to how she’d benefited, but I know Denver could’ve had a lot more fun someplace else.

For Thanksgiving, we’d had dinner at Austin’s house, and Denver got to meet my aunt and uncle and Austin’s siblings. They’d embraced her just like my mom had. My entire family loved her, especially my mom. And damn, if that isn’t that best feeling. Yep, she fit right in wherever we went.

So, with all this happiness, of course someone has to come and try to fuck it up, and that someone would be an ex-girlfriend. I seriously thought she would never try to manipulate me. She’d been texting me all week and asking to meet up. At first, I was trying to set something up for the three of us—I actually would like for her to meet Denver. But then each message became more demanding than the one before it—not wanting Denver there, wondering why it was taking me so long to respond—stuff like that. They’d started off innocent enough with her making plans for us to get together, as we usually did on break. I started to get an uneasy feeling about the whole thing, so I told her I needed to stick close to home and spend time with my mom and my girlfriend, and the messages became more desperate. She said we need to talk and that she misses me, pleading with me not to turn my back on her after all these years. That’s when unease turned into loud, clanging warning bells.

I don’t have a clue where this is coming from or what she hopes to get out of a meeting with my girlfriend absent, but I’m not naïve. What I do know is that I refuse to play games with her, and I can tell that’s what this is. All I can figure is that she’s feeling threatened by the only girlfriend I’ve had since her, even though she’d been the one to put the nail in the coffin of our relationship long ago. So, me being me, that’s exactly how I respond to her latest text. She’s indignant, of-fucking-course, but when she comes back contrite and claiming it’s about my mom, she finally gets my attention. As much as I’d like to blow off the whole thing, I have to tell Denver about needing to meet up with my ex alone, and I need her to understand why I feel like I owe it to Victoria.

While I sip a beer on the deck and contemplate this latest text, my mom watches her favorite soap opera with Denver, which she has become surprisingly addicted to. I can barely believe she’s able to sit still that long. I thought she was just making an effort to enjoy something my mom likes, but then she was the one cueing it up and shushing me when I playfully mocked all the melodrama. She doesn’t need to know that I can understand the appeal, since I’d gotten roped into watching them myself over the last couple of years.

Shaking my head at my own avoidance technique, I shoot a text to Denver, asking her to join me outside. If I go in to get her, my mom will cotton on to something being up, and that’s no good.

A few minutes later, I hear the door open and close behind me. “When did you suddenly become lazy, Ransom? And I can’t believe you’re interrupting my story,” she accuses, coming to stand before me. “I suddenly seem to have an affinity for Latino men, so I made your mom pause it for me.”

“That’s nothing new.”

“Huh?”

I feel my mouth tug into something resembling a smile. “I’m a quarter Venezuelan.”

Her mouth drops, and she looks me over with new eyes. “Mmm … ”

I’d give anything to lose myself in the heat radiating from her eyes, but I know this is the best time to get all this out there. I drop my head and stare at my boots for a second, trying to figure the best way to begin.

“Hey,” she calls, cupping my head between her hands and bringing my gaze to hers. When she fits her legs between mine, I can’t resist wrapping my arms around her waist. “What’s going on with you?”

“Well, there’s no easy way to go about this, but I need … or want … to tell you some things.”

Her insecurities are written all over her face, so I hurry to reassure her. “We’re fine. It’s not about us.”

Her relaxed sigh becomes visible in the cold air. “God, I’m sorry. That was selfish of me.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “I swear, I don’t think everything is about me. It’s just … I’m just … ”

“I know, baby. It’s all right,” I reassure her. I have faith enough for both us that, one day soon, she’ll be as secure in us as I am.

She releases another shaky breath and braves a small smile, linking her hands around my neck. “So what’s up?”

Figuring there is no “easy way,” I plow ahead. “I’ve told you the basics about my father, but I need to tell you the rest. You already know how he used us as a pit stop, dropping in at his convenience to get his family-fix until we made our own feelings known about being treated like we were disposable. Anyway, as the years went on, he got more and more demanding—and more belligerent—when he’d come through. He never got physically abusive, but every emotional hit you could imagine, he unleashed on my mom.” I fight for control over my need to stand up and pace, as I recall exactly how bad it had gotten, and exactly how badly I’d wanted to kill him with my bare hands for the pain he caused my mother. Denver’s relaxing touch, smoothing up and down my arms, centers me in the here and now.

“As I got older, I got less and less tolerant of all that shit, wanting nothing more than to protect my mom. Of course, that had him turning his special brand of mind-fuckery on me. He stopped coming around for a while, probably figured we weren’t worth the hassle, since it became clear my mom was done putting up with his shit too.” When she squeezes her small hands around my biceps and levels her gaze at me, I take a deep breath, wanting to get this—the hideous part—out there and over with.

She shivers against me, getting my attention. “Why do I get the feeling this gets way worse before it gets better? I feel silly saying this—I know it’s history—but I’m terrified.”

“Shh …” My grip on her hips intensifies, focusing on our connection. “You know how things have a way of working out just as they’re supposed to?” She shrugs and grimaces, and I can tell she doesn’t completely buy into that philosophy. “Well, in this case, even though some awful things happened, some good came of it too. The last visit my father paid my mom, he was beyond drunk. He thought I was off rodeoing, which I was, but I had come home earlier than expected. He had her cornered and was berating her, rubbing it in about all the women he had on the side, and spouting off about how she was about to be replaced completely if she didn’t get in line.” I wave an impatient hand because I’m sure Denver gets the picture. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out the kind of crap that scum could spew. “Anyway, so I walk in, and there’s my loving, generous, wouldn’t-harm-the-hair-on-a-fly mother cowering to
that
piece-of-shit of a man in her own home. I fucking snapped. He was so absorbed in tormenting her, he didn’t even fight me when I bent his arm behind his back and snatched him up.

“I threw him out of the house, but I made the mistake of following him outside, trying to reason with him about leaving us alone once and for all. We got into a screaming match, which resulted in my mom crying hysterically. I turned to send her inside, and when I turned back to him, bastard cold-cocked me. Me!” My disbelief rings through. I still can’t believe it, even after these all these years. “A son trying to protect his mother, and he goes after me. He didn’t just hit me once, before I got my bearings.” I finger the scar on my chin absently for a second.

Denver presses a kiss against it, like she’s prone to do. “I thought this was from an ornery bull.”

“Unfortunately not. Well, like I said, once I realized he wanted a fight, I was gonna give him one. When I tell you I beat the hell out of him, I mean—every frustration, every demeaning comment, every mind game—I paid him back. Every single one of those pains, I let work its way out through my fists. He slumped down, unconscious, or so I thought. I left him in the yard, went in to call the police, and calm my mom down. Of course, you’ve met her—she wasn’t sitting there shell-shocked. She’d already called the cops and calmed herself down. It was then I noticed that our place was completely trashed. I mean, I can’t even tell you how many rolls of trash bags it took get it all cleaned up that next day. Anyway, taking all that in … cold, blind fury choked me when it hit me that my mom had been subjected to his wrath like that. Needless to say, I tried to go back outside with the intention of killing him—” A jaded laugh breaks through, because I really think I might have, had my mom not talked me down. “—but my mom ranted and raved and got through to me. We stayed inside while we waited on the police to come.”

I’m fucking exhausted, and I know she sees that in my expression. “You don’t have to tell me everything right now, Ransom,” she offers. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Rightness flows through me with that little assurance and it invigorates me. “No, I don’t want to talk about this. Ever again.” A sudden thought punches me in the gut. “Shit! I’m gonna have to talk to Stone. I’m sure he doesn’t know all the details, and he should. God, will that man
ever
stop tainting everything?” I tilt my head back and blow out at a breath.

Her sweet touch has moved to my thighs. “I’ll help you if you want. We’ll get Stone through it.”

I can’t resist stealing a tiny kiss for fortification purposes only, of course. I resolve to get the next part out without embellishing, so we can move the fuck on.
Oh joy!
We get to move on to another delightful conversation about my ex. “Anyway, we waited inside, but the cops never came. My mom was scared for me to go out, but my conscience started bombarding me, and I worried that maybe I really had killed him or that maybe he was lying in our yard bleeding out. I finally convinced my mom to let me check on him. She needed to know that I was calm and wasn’t going to do anything stupid.” My eyes wander to the spot in our yard—the last place I’d seen him before his trial—and I stare like he could materialize and wreak havoc in our lives again. I have the sudden urge to push Denver behind me in a protective gesture. This shit’s making me fucking crazy.

“When I got out here, he was gone. My first thought was that he’d stumbled off, confused and disoriented, but I realized pretty quickly that his truck was gone too. We told you he was in prison?” She jerks her head in a little nod. “He took off—drunk, beat all to hell—and crashed about four miles down the road. He walked away, but the little family of three he collided with didn’t.” Denver’s hand flies up to cover her gasp, so I pull her in tight. “He’s serving three consecutive twenty-year sentences.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t even know what to say, Ransom. I mean, you hear about this kind of thing on the news, but to know that you and your mother—two amazing people—went through all this. I just … I’m so sorry. And that poor family,” she breaks off in a quiet sob.

Running my hands over her back, I assure it was all a long time ago. Scabbed over, not as raw as it once was. “I know this may be an odd way of looking at things, and I’m not sure the family of the victims feels this way, but those people he killed? Even in the end, they were giving people. They donated of themselves, saving several lives, one of them a seven-year-old little girl.” I shake my head. “It doesn’t make it right, of course, but it just helped me to see that the good people in this world outnumber the bad, and that’s who we need to focus on.”

“I think I get it,” she sniffles. “If it had to happen like that, at least something miraculous still came of it.”

“It took me a little while to get there. God, the guilt. I wanted to blame myself. I convinced myself that my reactions put it all into motion. I had some good people to get me through that, though, and make me see that he was the only one responsible.” And here’s my segue to tell her about Victoria, and why I feel obligated to meet with her, even with her condition that Denver not be there. I just don’t have the energy to talk about the drama of my ex now.

We had become completely entwined in one another, so I untangle her limbs from mine and jump off the top of the picnic table, my knee protesting from the sudden movement. “I can’t sit still any longer. Wanna go for a quick ride? It’ll give you an excuse to hug up on me for a few more minutes,” I joke, but it falls spectacularly flat.

“Like I need an excuse,” she retorts.

Getting a little fresh air and wide-open space was just what we needed. When we return from our ride, we’re both feeling a little lighter, which is why I can’t tell her about Victoria. Damn, it’s just too much for one day, so I need to figure out another way to handle it. I kill the engine and trap her hands against my chest before she slides off the four-wheeler.

“I just need to make a call. Will you check on my mom?”

“Yeah, of course. I’m getting hungry, and I bet your mom is too. Want me to heat up some leftover turkey dinner?”