Damage Me (Crystal Gulf Book 2)
Page 36
“We are not!” DJ gagged at the mention of marrying the little neighbor girl. “She’s a booger face.”
“She has not ever had a booger on her face.” Aubrey scrunched her nose up and glared at her little brother. “Her brother is kind of cool, though.”
“No,” Dylan snapped, eyes dark. “He’s a punk who’d better stay away from my daughter.”
Beneath the table, I found his foot and interlocked our toes. Not all bad boys were bad. Some of them were just hurt beneath their bad choices. I knew. I’d married one who turned out to be one of the most amazing men I’d ever met. The best husband, father, and my safe zone.
Dylan got me through my darkest time and gave me a future that healed my pain. He was my rock, my strength, and the reason I had a full table with smiles and love. I thanked him every single day for the choices he gave me and the holes he healed.
I loved this man with all my heart.
The next morning, I waved goodbye to Mom and her boyfriend, Jason, as Dylan and I left to go to the hospital. Aubrey and DJ were swinging from the porch swing, Dylan and I already forgotten.
“What do you think about Jason?”
Dylan backed out of the driveway and got onto the road. “I didn’t know your mom could smile that big.”
“I know,” I agreed with a laugh. Jason, a US Army soldier-turned-painter, was a gentle tough soul who could withstand the likes of Patty Hayes. “I think they’re going to get married soon. I can feel it.”
“He wants to go fishing.”
“With you?” My surprise was evident.
His lips quirked. “Yes, baby. Is that so hard to believe?”
“Well, yeah. The only friend you hang out with is Bach.”
“He gets it, you know? He did two tours in Iraq.”
My heart hurt for my husband sometimes. He was a father, but his past as a soldier would never leave. His nightmares woke him up less often, but they still existed, and probably always would. I helped him when he woke up screaming, whispering how good he was in his ear, how strong of a man he was, and that he wasn’t evil for surviving, he was a loving husband and father. His children needed him. I needed him. Yes, he went to war, but he fought much better at home with me. “I think it would be good for you to have another friend.” I reached over and ran my fingers through his hair. “I love you, Dylan Meyer.”
He smiled at the road. “I love you too, Hillary Meyer. Thank you for being my wife. And,” he continued, still a bad boy under his fatherhood, “thank you for letting me play with your golden pussy last night.”
“You were so rough.” I’d grown used to his dirty talk because beneath my shock a part of me bathed in it.
“You loved it.”
“I did,” I agreed huskily, recalling how long my orgasm had lasted as he thrust into me. When Dylan was on top I felt surrounded by him; he was everywhere. I always had the best orgasms when my husband had them with me. “And so did you.”
“I love everything you and I do together. When we fight, when we kiss, folding laundry, picking cereal out of our hair, the sleepless nights, the giggles, the fact that you gave me a beautiful son, how you love Aubrey like she’s your own, that you let me in and gave me this life—I love you more than I can put into words sometimes, and I want to add so much more to that list with you. Thank you.”
“No,” I whispered, falling in love all over again. “Thank you.”
When we got to the hospital and made our way to their room, I gripped his hand and slowed my pace to match his. Six years later and his leg was still temperamental. Some days he could run, some days he could barely walk. I relished both because that’s what he needed. When we got to the room, I knocked.
Bach opened the door and grinned so wide at me I knew parts of my brother had been healed the way parts of me had healed when I gave birth to Dylan Junior.
“What’s up, Sweets? You’re an auntie.” He kissed my cheek and wrapped me in his arms.
“I can’t believe you’re a daddy now. How is she?”
“She’s perfect,” he whispered in my ear, and then rose, giving Dylan a huge hug.
As they talked, I stepped around them, eager to meet her. I wanted to meet the soul who healed my brother.
Harley was sitting up in bed, smiling at us. She looked beautiful, having just given birth last night.
“Where is she?” I asked.
She pointed to the bassinet beside the bed. I walked over and spotted her for the first time. She was so tiny and precious, without a strand of hair but these incredible golden brown eyelashes. My heart was pounding, and when she opened her eyes and met mine for the first time, I breathed a sigh of relief.
Her eyes were light brown.
Like Harley.
Like the love of Bach’s life.
“What’s her name?” They’d been keeping it a secret, refusing to tell anyone.
“Hayley,” Bach said, peering over my shoulder. “After my sister and my wife.” And then he scooped up his daughter and held her, staring into her eyes like he’d finally done something right. The love pouring off of him healed the destroyed parts just like DJ had healed the damaged parts in me.
Bach’s hands were steady around his daughter for the first time in years. They’d steadied on their own over the years, but around his daughter they were perfectly still. No shaking. No breaking. Because we were done doing that.
“She’s beautiful, bro,” Dylan grinned at his best friend and then went over and kissed Harley. Their friendship was something I knew Dylan treasured, and it warmed me every time they were together. “Congrats, nerd.”
She wiped her tears away. “Thank you, Dylan.”
“Hold her head,” Bach instructed, settling little Hayley down in my arms. I cradled my niece closely, eyes blurry from my tears. As I stared at her small delicate features, Harley gasped. Her mouth hung open and her eyes were on the television.
There was a reporter filming outside of a mansion as a man wearing a ball cap was being led away in handcuffs. I hadn’t seen that man in years, avoided any and all things that had to do with him. “Zane Eastwood, star quarterback of the beloved Texan NFL team, was indicted today on charges of attempted aggravated sexual assault. If prosecuted, he could spend twenty-five years in prison. Sources say he led the victim to his hotel room, drugged her with the date rape drug, Rohypnol, and held her against her will. The victim managed to escape after screaming for help. Witnesses tried to apprehend the suspect, but he fled and was later picked up in his Texas mansion this afternoon.”
The girl I’d been all those years ago closed her eyes in peace and faded away. She was healed. Not because her attacker had lost, but because she had won.
My husband bent to kiss my hair. Bach took a deep breath from the bottom of his soul. Harley covered her hand with her mouth as tears trailed down her face.
And I smiled down at little Hayley as I spread my wings and flew.
We were whole.
We were one.
And together we were healed.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Unlike my other novels, I only want to acknowledge two people.
One: The angels who think they’ve fallen.
You haven’t really fallen. You’re hurting. You’re lost in your nightmares. But one day you’ll wake up and realize you’ve slept without a nightmare, you got through a day without remembering. That day will become two, and then three. You’ll have setbacks, but those are natural. You will heal because that is what you deserve. You are strong, beautiful, kickass angels who will soar again. Spread your wings and fly!
Authors note: In Damage Me therapy wasn’t sought for my own personal reasons. One thing I stress you remember is that this is a book, despite how real it can feel. Therapy is an important part of healing and should be highly considered as a form of healing.
Two: The fallen soldiers who can’t forget, and the soldiers we won’t forget.
Your bravery is the reason I can write this book. The reaso
n I can pour my heart onto these pages without punishment, why so many of us can escape without fear. Your fight is far more than a gun and a wound. You are brave, strong, forces who sacrifice yourselves to keep our country free and beautiful. You did not lose yourself. You are men and women who kept your children safe, our freedom free, and our futures wide open. Thank you.
SHANA VANTERPOOL
Shana Vanterpool is a romance author, coffee drinker, and bad boy aficionado. Every second not spent breathing is an opportunity to write and read. I live in Northern California with my family and actress dog, Halle Bella. (Just Bella when she decides to cut the crap.) Escaping with a good book is something I live for and I write so others can do the same.
Connect with Shana Vanterpool:
Website: https://shanavanterpool.com
Facebook: Author Shana Vanterpool
Twitter: @ShanaVauthor
Goodreads: Shana Vanterpool
Instagram: @ShanaVauthor
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
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