She took another deep breath. When she’d made up the first lie thirteen years ago, how could she have possibly realized her life would come to a moment like this?
She was sick of the lies. Sick of the truth eating at the edges of her life. Sick of wondering when it was all going to catch up with her, define her again—kill her again and again and again like it had the first time.
She had to tell him.
“Okay.” She sat down gingerly, carefully making sure her thighs didn’t touch his. “Cole, the life you envision for yourself—the life you’re meant to have—I could never be part of that in the way that you want. I can’t give you the things you deserve, the things you need.”
“How—what?” He shook his head. “No.”
She put up a finger to pause him. It was now or never. “I didn’t grow up in a mansion or in an old plantation house, Cole. I grew up on the way-way wrong side of the tracks in a little dumpy town west of Charleston. I lived in a trailer park with—my mother. And my aunt. And various and sundry men, at various and sundry times.
“A lot of really awful stuff happened there, and I’m not sure I’ve ever quite gotten over it. Despite my best efforts to leave it all behind, I’m carrying the kind of baggage I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy. It is certainly baggage I wouldn’t wish upon someone like you.”
“I’m not afraid of baggage, Jess.” His voice was soft, soothing.
“You say that, but this baggage”—her voice trailed off—“this kind of baggage doesn’t go away.”
“Jess.” He reached out, and she could see pain in his eyes. And she had caused it. It made her feel sick all over again. “Whatever it is, it won’t scare me off. I promise you that. There is nothing you could tell me right now that would send me running.”
“You don’t know that.” Her voice was now a choked whisper. Oh God. Could she really do this?
“I do know that.” He pulled back his hand, clenched it in his other. “I love you, dammit. I’ve loved you since I don’t even know when, and nothing you say right now can possibly change that.”
Jess felt tears slide onto her cheeks. It was now or never. She hated to do this to him, hated to ruin his rosy misconception that no matter what, he could handle all that she came with. But she’d gone this far. She needed to tell him.
She braced herself, took another breath, and slowly pulled open the top of her dress. “Cole, this is the kind of baggage I come with.”
His eyes held hers for a long moment before he looked down. When he did, she bit her lips hard enough to draw blood as she watched his eyes trace the scars, watched his mouth tighten as he swallowed hard.
“Who did this to you?” She could hear bristling anger under his ragged whisper.
She pulled her dress closed again. “My mother. And my aunt. This is why detention was preferable to coming home.”
And why Billy was preferable to coming home.
Cole stood up, hands suddenly balled into fists as he paced the floor in front of her. “When?”
“For years.” She wished her voice could sound stronger, but it seemed to be disappearing as she sat there. “It started when I was little.”
“Did anyone know?”
“Not until a long time in. And by that time, it was just my reality, you know? I only knew what happened inside my walls, such as they were.”
He stopped pacing and turned to her. “This is why you shy away when I touch you?”
“Yes. No.” She took a deep, shaky breath. She’d gone this far. She had to tell him the rest. “It’s not the whole story.”
He sat back down beside her, but she could’ve sworn he was made of live, snapping, zapping wires right now. It looked as if every fiber in his body was tense, ready to spring—and she didn’t know quite what to make of it.
“Tell me, Jess. Tell me the rest.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “I had a boyfriend. At the time, I thought he was my salvation. Or—better than being at home, at least. For a while, anyway. But then things changed. He changed.”
—
“How do I know you’re not gonna go running to the police as soon as I let you out of here?” Billy’s voice was a snarl, his hand a vice as he held her