Unbreak Me

by Michelle Hazen

  She let her hands cradle the muscles of her arms. They’d lowered her from Gavin’s window. Her legs had caught her and propelled her away. She’d rescued herself when no one else had.

  Andra closed her eyes and stroked her palms down herself, the way she would the coat of a foal newly into the world. Her skin was soft, vulnerable. Unbidden, love rose in her: natural and quavering, the way it did for every innocent foal.

  For years, sex had become this dark, looming threat, and then an unreachable fairy tale that was easy for everybody else. But it shouldn’t be any of those things. Shouldn’t be about power or guilt or just suffering through in the hopes of eventually reaching normalcy. It was supposed to be about respect and nurturing and pleasure. Exactly the way she’d felt when LJ played his saxophone. He’d made love to her without a single touch.

  Tipping her head against the wall, she listened to the patter of droplets against the tub, falling like a quiet rain. Her hands slipped over her hips, nerve endings beginning to tingle as they recognized a touch gentler than what they were used to. Her thighs were more sensitive the closer she traveled to the insides. She’d forgotten that, and now it seemed like a secret path she was learning to follow again.

  There were places on her body that naturally felt pleasure more easily than others. It was the exact place, actually, where she’d clasp her legs around a man. Something deep within her squeezed at the thought of LJ’s slim hips nestled between her legs. But even without him, this felt . . . good.

  She trailed her fingers up the inside of her thigh, coming to rest at their juncture. There was a flinching in her, like that was something off-limits.

  “No more punishment,” she murmured. “You never did anything wrong.” She cupped her hand over her center and rested it there, waiting to feel safe with herself.

  It happened gradually, her breaths winding in and out until she realized the tension in her had been replaced with the slightest of tingles. It was the same rush that had opened in her when she’d pulled LJ’s naked chest close to hers. Except this time, she wasn’t afraid it was the only time she’d ever get to feel it. It was built into her body—the ability to feel pleasure.

  It didn’t have to be given or taken away by a man. It was her right, and it was as natural as birth and death.

  She shifted her hand, chasing the elusive feeling, and a different kind of tension drew up in her. Her body preparing for and wanting more. A smile broke across her face at feeling the change so easily, when for so long it had seemed impossible.

  When it came, her orgasm rose in her like joy. The waves of it expanded, sparkling all the way down to her toes, out to her fingertips. Washing through her until she was all new.

  It belonged to her: her body, her pleasure, her strength. And now that she knew it, no one in the world could take it away.

  Twenty-two

  Andra turned off the shower and wrapped herself in a soft towel.

  She had thought if everything had started with a penis, maybe it could end there, too. But maybe it had never been about that at all. The attacks could happen in a grocery store as easily as in the bedroom, so it wasn’t entirely about sex—it was the helplessness that terrified her more than anything. She couldn’t unknow how easily someone could take all her power away from her. There was only one way to fight that, and it was the exact opposite of the way she’d been living for the last five years.

  Until she was staring down that website with tears in her eyes, she hadn’t realized how many ways she’d been punishing herself for the attack, even though she’d never consciously believed it was her fault. She’d been existing in a kind of withdrawn penance for long enough. She wanted a life, and now she knew for sure that she wanted LJ to be a part of it. With his gentle hands and sunny smile, and the sparkle he woke up in the center of her chest.

  The next step in taking charge of her life, and in truly caring for herself, was to go after him.

  She turned on the lights and started moving through her house, gathering her belongings. She was in a hurry, but she didn’t rush. Instead, she took the time to reconnect with her body after all the years it had felt like an alien thing. Appreciating how easily her arms lifted weight and how smoothly her legs carried her anywhere she wanted to go. She was still whole, though she hadn’t felt it in a long time.

  When she passed her laptop, she picked it up and bookmarked the website so she could check out the sex toys another time. When she opened it again, she’d be looking to see what she might enjoy, rather than trying to trigger fear until she was numb to it.

  It took her until nearly four in the morning to pack everything she might need, since she didn’t know how long she’d be gone. She carried her two suitcases to the door, flicking off lights with her elbow as she went. The last one was the kitchen, and she stared into the cheery white space with its river-rock-pebbled backsplash and open, honest shelves. It wasn’t the house that was wrong. It was the way she’d been living in it. When she got back, she’d do better.

  Andra left her suitcases on the porch and walked to the paddock. She ducked, her loose hair catching on the rough wooden rails of the fence as she climbed between the two lowest ones.

  Two horses stirred in the paddock. The old gelding came to investigate, but Gracie pushed him aside, vying for her owner’s attention. The palomino nosed at Andra’s pockets, looking for treats, but Andra was wearing her good jeans and didn’t have any.

  “Hey, girl,” she whispered, running her hands over the mare’s soft nose, her fuzzy ears. She smoothed a bit of cream-colored mane back to the right side, and her swollen eyes started to sting with fresh tears. “I won’t be gone long, okay?” But that sounded like the same lie LJ had told her. “Actually, I might be gone for a while. But I’ll miss you every day.” Gracie nudged her in the belly, her ears pricking forward. Andra stepped in and wrapped her arms around the horse’s neck, laying her cheek against her warm coat. She tried to swallow and her face crumpled, the first tear streaking into her horse’s mane. Gracie had been the only one close to her for years. Silent and knowing, spunky enough to keep her mind busy when she couldn’t bear to think. The mare had grown up with her, in a way.

  Gracie tossed her head, whickering softly. Andra stepped back, wiping at her eyes.

  “I’ll make Stacia bring you loads of carrots, okay? And Jason will ride you. Give him as hard of a time as you want.”

  She walked away fast before she could change her mind, hitch up a trailer, and try to convince LJ to house the horse in his backyard down in New Orleans. Gracie broke into a trot, following her all the way to the fence, then popping her head over the top and whinnying loud enough to be heard at the main house. Andra picked up her suitcases and tried not to look back, even when Gracie’s hoofbeats pounded along the fence, stopped, then galloped back the other way.

  Her truck was back at the ranch, so she carried her suitcases all the way over the hill, the sounds of Gracie’s distress following her the whole way.

  She loaded her luggage and left Jason a note, then crept past Stacia’s apartment to let herself into LJ’s. All she took was his old half door with the spray-painted marks. Once it was wrapped in a sheet, she propped it in her passenger seat.

  She didn’t know whether he wanted to see her, and if he came back here, she didn’t want it to be just for the door.

  He’d been understanding at first, and so patient, but the look in his eyes had been the same every time she’d had one of her panic attacks. They made him feel like a villain, and it was no wonder he didn’t want to be with a woman whose trauma stuck him in that role.

  She hoped if she reclaimed control over her life, the attacks would lose their grip on her and that wouldn’t be a problem anymore. His mom’s health, though . . . She had the sinking feeling that wasn’t going to be a short-term issue. He might have to move back to New Orleans permanently. Could they handle long distance when everyt
hing else was so shaky?

  She shook off the questions. He was the only thing in her life that felt right. She needed to see him again, and then everything would be fine. Somehow.

  Andra checked the gas gauge before she shut her truck door. She wanted to put a few hundred miles behind her before she stopped. It would be faster to fly, but from how LJ talked about New Orleans, she’d need her truck to get around. If things went well and she was there for more than a few days, she didn’t want to have to rent a car.

  She went back to the apartments, her steps slowing because this goodbye wasn’t going to be any easier than the last one.

  Stacia’s door was unlocked. No burglar had ever ventured this far onto ranch property, and even if one did, the horses were worth more than anything in the houses.

  “Jason, if that isn’t you, somebody’s about to get a load of buckshot in the backside!” Stacia warned.

  “It’s me,” Andra whispered. “Don’t shoot.” She poked her head around the bedroom doorframe, her eyes already adjusted to the dark. “Hate to tell you, but that’s a revolver, not a shotgun.”

  “Trust me, it’ll still hurt.” Stacia put the gun down and flopped back in bed, pulling a pillow over her face. “Ugh.”

  “Are you sleeping with my brother?” Andra came to perch on the side of her bed, starting to smile. He and Stacia had been sort of bicker-flirting as long as she could remember, but after Jason came back from college and they didn’t start dating, she had figured that was as far as it was going to go.

  “I’m not sleeping with anyone right now, because I’m not sleeping, because I hate you,” Stacia grumbled into the pillow.

  “Listen, Stace . . .” Now that she was here, her practiced speech was starting to stick in her throat. “I’m sorry. For being a terrible friend for the last few years, and for not braving the main house often enough to eat your amazing food.”

  Stacia pulled the pillow off her face, a wad of brown hair almost obscuring the killing glare in the one blue eye peeking through. “You woke me up in the ass crack of the night to tell me you’re a bad friend? Fuck, Andra, I didn’t need a demonstration.”

  “It’s not just for that.” Her fingers twisted in her lap. “I’m leaving.”

  Stacia blew her hair out of her eyes, focusing. “You’re going after him?”

  “I am.” It was strange how the words settled down into her. And they felt better the longer she thought about them. The feeling so distracted her that she didn’t realize at first that Stacia was taking a long time to respond.

  Her friend reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Look, you know I like LJ. He’s a good man, and that’s so far out of style these days they don’t even have an emoji for it. But he’s been gone for almost a week, and he hasn’t called once, so . . .”

  “We didn’t leave on the best of terms.” Andra glanced down. “It wasn’t anything either of us could help. I need to get out of here for a while, you know? He’s told me so much about New Orleans that I kind of want to see it anyway. And I think in person, it might be easier to talk this through. I know him, Stacia. He’s not mad. He’s hurting, and I need to make him better.”

  Stacia sat up and pulled her into a hug. “You take care of you, Andra. If that means going to New Orleans, I’ll buy the gas myself, but make sure you’re doing it for the right reasons.”

  “I’m so glad to have you back,” Andra murmured into her tangled hair. “I didn’t want to drag you into my shit, but I missed you the whole time.”

  Stacia pulled back and pinched her arm. “Well, knock it off now.”

  Andra burst out laughing, rubbing the sore spot. “Thanks a lot.”

  “Promise you’ll call me if it doesn’t work out, okay? I’ll fly down there, and we’ll see if we can’t show Bourbon Street how much damage a couple of country girls can do.” Stacia sighed. “I bet they have loads of sequins there.”

  “Loads.” Andra stood up. “I’ll bring you back some if you promise to spoil Gracie for me while I’m gone. And guilt-trip Jason into exercising her.”

  Stacia lay back, waving a tired hand. “No problem. That brother of yours will do anything for a blow job.”

  “Ew. Talk about an image for my nightmares.”

  “Got to keep you awake behind the wheel.” Stacia pulled the pillow back over her face. “Drive safe.”

  Once outside, Andra started the truck and drove to her next stop. Last one before she hit the road. She braced herself.

  The main house was unlocked, too. But she was apparently terrible at sneaking in, because her father met her before she was halfway to the second floor. He was bare chested, the pooch of his belly extending a little past his belt. His hair was smashed flat in the back from his pillow.

  “Andra, what’s wrong?”

  She shook her head. “Everything’s okay, or it will be. I’m going to New Orleans—I need to see LJ. I just wanted to say goodbye before I left.”

  “What do you need to see him for? I thought you two got over your little flirt after the rodeo, but then he up and left with no notice and suddenly you were moping like you were engaged or something.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “What’s all this about, Andra?”

  She gritted her teeth. “He’s given you no reason to talk about him that way.”

  “No? Because before he came around, I didn’t have employees and daughters running off left and right.” He scowled. “You think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been all week? You never even dated him, and he’s making you miserable. He’s not like you, Andra, and he’s not from here. In the end, that’s going to bring you nothing but hurt.”

  She didn’t bother arguing their relationship status with her father. She just stood, two stairs below him, and crossed her arms. “Do you remember me, Dad?”

  “What?” His brow creased, the bags under his eyes deep in the light from the hallway above them.

  “Because I don’t. I remember sneaking out to the barn and getting drunk with Stacia, and buying three dresses for every high school dance because I could never pick just one and you didn’t mind. But me . . . how I felt inside my own head? It’s just gone.” She pressed her lips together. “It wasn’t until LJ came here and shook everything up that I started to remember how it was to like being me.”

  The furrow in his brow deepened.

  “More than that,” she went on before he could start. “More than anything to do with me, he’s a good man.” Her throat went tight, trembling with everything those words meant to her. They were the two best men she’d ever known, and she had no idea how to bridge the gap between them. They were so utterly different and so completely the same. “I wish you could see that, too, because I love you and—” Her voice broke.

  Dad was down both stairs between them in a flash, his solid arms wrapped around her back and the smell of Old Spice and horses warm in her nose.

  “Don’t cry. Don’t cry now, sweetie.”

  The sob tromped its way up her throat before she could stop it, and her shoulders shook. She couldn’t do this right now. She needed to get in the truck and make her own future, but her dad’s arms felt so safe and it had been a long, long day.

  She pulled back and swallowed. “I didn’t come here to fight.” Her spine drew up tall when she asked it to, her body strong despite her lack of sleep. “I just wanted to say goodbye. I’ll call, but I’m not sure when I’ll be back.” She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “I need to start running toward something, Daddy,” she whispered. “Not away.”

  She turned and dashed down the stairs.

  “Andra.”

  She almost didn’t stop, but she’d been listening to that voice for too many years not to. She turned back with her hand already on the doorknob.

  Dad cleared his throat and paused, like he was weighing his words. “He hasn’t lived here that long, honey. There are probably a lot
of things about him you don’t know about. And okay, maybe you’ve got a crush on him, but—are you sure it’s a good idea to just go showing up down there?”

  She pressed her lips together so they wouldn’t wobble. “No, I’m not sure. But I’m going to find out.”

  * * *

  • • •

  “You’re a fool, LJ Delisle.”

  LJ nudged the water glass a little closer to the bed, the ever-present knot in his stomach loosening at the evidence that Mama was feeling well enough to lecture him. “Your pills are right here, but I’ll wake you up for your next dose, and I’ll make fresh applesauce with bananas for lunch. Dropped a little bit of basil in your water so you can’t taste the tap. You want to hit the bathroom before you go to sleep?”

  Mama glared at him, the creases alongside her eyes deeper than he remembered. “You drove all the way across the country to make me applesauce? I can make my own dang applesauce. And everybody else’s, too, for twenty-eight long years so you could have choices in front of you instead of somebody’s dirty dishes.”

  He winked. “Not a problem. I did the dishes earlier, so there’s not a dirty one left.”

  “Don’t you sass me, LJ,” she warned. Her throat shook as she held back a cough, or maybe a laugh. He was hoping for the second.

  He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I have choices,” he said. “And one of them is to come back and see my mama whenever I please. Don’t fuss yourself too much. I haven’t been fired yet.”

  That might not be entirely true, since Bill had never answered the voicemail he’d left explaining the situation, but there was no reason to tell Mama that. Jobs were easy enough to find if you weren’t particular about what you did or how much you got paid to do it. He’d always found them, even when there wasn’t a plug in the city feeding electricity, and you couldn’t drive through the streets without plowing your bumper into a sandbar or a house.