How the abuse started, what happened when I did try to break up with him, how I felt this was my only option, how scared I am right now and how he’s found me and is bothering me.
Mom is silent the whole time. When I finally stop speaking, I hear only her heavy breaths.
I feel my cheeks grow cold in streaks and realize I’m crying, even though I feel numb inside after telling all of that to her.
“It’s…” Mom pauses. Starts again. “It’s so hard to believe, Aubrey. We’ve never seen anything of the kind in him, not once.”
“That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?” I charge back. “To make sure no one else knows what’s really happening? You do believe me, don’t you?”
Mom’s sigh cuts me right to the bone. I know that sigh. It’s the one where she’s struggling with what to say. And in this situation, she’s struggling to believe me and is trying to find the right words to neutralize this situation. Because to believe me means she made a grievous error in judgment. And my parents hate to be wrong, no matter what it costs.
“You know what? I don’t care,” I finally tell her, my voice trembling with pent-up emotions. “Believe or don’t believe. I know what’s true and I don’t need to waste my breath trying to convince you of it. But thanks a lot.” I hang up before she can reply.
My phone buzzes again, but I don’t feel like talking to her or anyone else right now, so I shut it off. No, wait, I do feel like talking to someone. I want to find Smith.
When I came to him, scared and vulnerable, he believed me without a second thought. Didn’t ask me to even show him the note Roger left. No, he held me in his arms and let me cry and then he told me he was going to protect me.
My legs are little unsteady as I rise from the couch. I comb my fingers through my sleep-mussed hair then make my way down the stairs to the bar’s entrance. I see Jax, who is startled to find me standing in the hallway.
“I’m sorry,” I say, fighting with everything I have to sound even and not like I’m about to lose it. I can’t stop shaking. The stress of the text messages, of my mom, are weighing on me, and I just want to cry. “I need to speak to Smith if he’s available.”
Jax’s brow furrows as he eyes me. He steps closer. “You okay?”
My throat gets so tight I can’t even speak. I just look down at the ground and shake my head.
“Fuck. Did that asshole ex of yours do something?” Jax says, his voice changing now.
I hand him my phone and let him see the text messages.
“Oh, hell no.” Jax’s voice raises. “Fuck that. No. We’ll find Smith and take care of this. That guy is gonna regret ever coming here to find you.”
I look at Jax, who doesn’t know me, yet he too is standing by my side, and I burst into tears.
He looks startled. “Shit. Did I say the wrong thing?” He scrubs a hand over his hair. “I’m trying to help. Sorry.”
“No, I’m just…” I sniffle and blink. “I’m sorry. I’m stressed. This is difficult. Thank you for your help—I appreciate it. I don’t want to be a burden.”
“The only burden is this motherfucker who’s going to quickly realize you don’t screw with us,” he says vehemently.
And just like that, I’m enveloped into the lives of the Beckett boys. Jax waves Asher over as he walks by and pulls his brother aside, whispering to him. He shows him the texts.
Asher’s face pinches in anger and he looks over at me. “Don’t you fucking worry about a thing,” he says to me hotly. “This shit don’t slide, not at all. We’ll take care of it.”
“Take care of what?” Smith says, appearing behind the brothers. He takes one look at my face and storms over in front of me, gripping my arms. “What happened? Are you hurt?” He pulls back to eye me from head to toe. “Tell me.”
Jax hands Smith my cell phone. Smith looks at it, his face unreadable but for the jaw line ticking as if he’s grinding his teeth. Smith doesn’t say anything at first.
He gives me my phone back, then wraps me in his arms and strokes my hair. “Oh sweetheart, I’m sorry. I promise you we’ll make it all okay.”
Enveloped in his warmth, surrounded by his brothers, in this moment I believe Smith. I feel overwhelmed by their protectiveness, these wild boys who have such a bad reputation yet such deep hearts. How is it no one sees this in them? It’s clear as day to me that they care strongly.
After a few moments, I withdraw from Smith’s arms. “We should go to the police,” I say. “I didn’t want to before, but he texted me. They can trace that stuff, right? Find where it came from? I have evidence now of him trying to harass me.”
Smith stiffens. “Um. Yeah, I guess we can.”
“Is it not a good idea? I don’t know what else to do. You don’t think they’ll take me seriously?” Panic hits me. Where the hell can I turn if even the police can’t help me against Roger? How much can the Beckett brothers really do?
The other two brothers stand there, staring at Smith. An unspoken message passes between the three of them.