Текст книги "These Battered Hands"
Автор книги: Laurel Ulen Curtis
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 14 страниц)
“I know you’re focused,” he added before my dad could speak up. “But I also know you’re not blind.” His words were pointed and cutting. “You could not have missed that your daughter was happy…and that you were the one taking it away.”
“Mom?” I asked, not wanting to know the answer.
She shook her head in despair. “I didn’t know.” Her eyes flashed to my father in disgusted disapproval. “Not until recently.”
“I want you to go,” I told my father, barely able to look at him, all of the years of his command-like-suggestions stacking up in the back of my mind. I’d never thought him to be calculating, but he was. He was from the beginning.
The one who had changed was me. I’d been a better puppet, an easier target, and an easily swayed vote.
Not anymore.
From naive to aware in the blink of one Olympic fall’s eye.
He didn’t realize what was happening, I could see it in his eyes, the denial of his consequences.
But I wasn’t deciding if I trusted him anymore or not.
It was already—
Done.
Family ties are usually for life. But when the binding breaks, it’s nearly impossible to put them back together again. Not without a whole hell of a lot of cooperation and glue.
After a thankfully short stint, therapy was finally over for Callie, and so was her relationship with her father.
Her back had healed beautifully, but her father’s scars were still just as ugly as ever. There’d been no reconciliation and no apology, and, when it came to the two of them, absolutely nothing resembling a happily ever after.
The harsh reality was that some people never learned their lessons.
Parents died.
Trusted loved ones turned out to be neither trusted nor unconditionally loving.
For Callie’s dad, their relationship came with strings. Big, thick, Olympic-sized ones.
Rationally, I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. He’d had to have known that eventually it would end. That she’d grow too old to compete, too tired to perform, and too burned out to care.
I guess he just always expected it to end on his terms.
She felt the sting of his loss every day, but I made sure to contain the burn. Loving and supporting her own decisions and desires with the same fervor that I invested in my own.
Step by step, I carried her burden, but it didn’t feel remotely like weight. Not when she did the same for me.
“Nik?” she called from the bathroom, the sound of it echoing and bouncing down the hall to my spot on the couch with uncertainty.
It was rare that I couldn’t get a read on what she was feeling anymore, but all mixed up and stirred together, I had to admit that on this one, I had no clue.
“What’s up, Cal?” I asked as I walked, not getting an answer.
I quickened my steps and deepened my frown, making up possibilities in my head and then taking them back just as fast.
Callie was different. More open to solutions and a fan of necessary change. She’d handled the upheaval of her injury surprisingly well, but there were moments when she didn’t.
It was my job to be there when she had them.
“They’re gone,” she said simply, as soon as I turned the corner.
Her eyes weren’t pained or sad necessarily. Just reflective.
My mind searched for what she could be talking about but ultimately came up empty.
“What’s gone?”
Instead of answering with words, she settled for a simple nod of her head.
I glanced down, following her line of sight exactly and landing on the palms of her hands.
Healed and whole, no ugly rips marred the surface and years worth of calluses had softened and pinked slightly. They looked normal to the layperson, and it took me hardly any time at all to figure out that was the problem.
“I resented them and hid them my entire life, embarrassment in school and relationships and everything in between,” she murmured, tracing the lines on her palms and following each individual branch of the print with precision.
Captivated, I followed along with her, pausing a beat at the places where each line came together.
“But they were my whole identity.” She laughed. “Hell, you pointed it out. And now that they’re gone, I don’t know how to keep from missing them.”
I shrugged and pulled her hand to my face, putting my lips to the pristine palm and giving it a gentle kiss.
“It’s the key to everything, Cal. Instead of looking for what’s missing, be happy with what you’ve got.”
A smirk transformed her face from troubled to trouble-making in one quick shift and confirmed that the hands weren’t the part of this conversation that mattered.
“But then I never would have ended up with you.”
I shook my head, but she grabbed it by both cheeks, stopping the movement and pulling my mouth down to meet hers.
“You changed me, Nik. There I was, so sure I wanted everything to stay the same and you taught me better.”
The journey hadn’t been easy, but she was worth fighting for.
I took her mouth with mine, but she pulled back one last time.
“I’m happy with what I’ve got,” she breathed, thinking the words that ran through my own mind on a constant loop.
She looked at her hand in mine, and then squeezed.
“You’re a good teacher, you know?” she asked cheekily.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” she nodded with a smile.
“I learned to love those battered hands, but I learned to love you better.”
Every story follows an arc, but mine was unconventional.
In some twisted way, the conflict was the resolution.
More than half of my struggle had been inner-turmoil about whether I could really handle the idea of being done or not.
Now, I was.
Period.
Accepting that was what opened the door to change and love and the life I wouldn’t trade for anything.
“How’s it feel to be opening the doors to your own gym just one short year after breaking your back at your third Olympic games?”
I laughed somewhat awkwardly at the question, shrugging my shoulders minutely.
“It feels better than last year.”
The reporter smiled and nodded, congratulating me silently on not being a complete robot of a human being.
“And it’s not just my gym,” I corrected, pulling a squirming Nik into the frame. “It’s ours.”
He was the whole reason I opened the damn thing in the first place.
Not because he wanted me to or asked me to or thought it would be a good idea for something we could do together.
I did it for purely selfish reasons.
I did it because I wanted to watch him tumble every night until he couldn’t anymore.
I did it because I wanted to spend those hours alone together learning and leaning on each other.
I shook my head on a smile, the edges of it freezing as Nik’s body lowered down to one knee beside me.
When his hand turned over to hold out the ring, the palm of it sparkled with glitter.
“What do you say, Cal? Wanna make a little extra magic with me?”
THE END
I’m extremely fortunate to have tons of supportive people in my life. But, as always, the first person I have to thank is my mom. She’s the first person to have eyes on my book, even when it’s in pieces, and is an invaluable source of encouragement and wisdom. And she’s not a bad editor either. Lol! Thanks, Mamalicious!
My proofreaders! You guys were absolute champs. You help me put out the best product possible, and I really can’t thank you enough for it!
My author friends. There are a ton of you, and you’re all AWESOME. Thank you for sprinting with me, pushing me to keep writing, lifting me up, and assuring me that I really COULD do this.
M. Mabie, Aly Martinez, NA Alcorn. The set of you is trouble, but it’s the kind I like to have.
Bx3 ladies. You guys are it. End. Of. Story. You lift me up when I’m down, make me laugh through it all, and support me unconditionally better than any group I’ve ever known.
Blogs. Um, hello, none of us could do this without you. I definitely couldn’t do this without you. You all work so hard, and so many of you have supported me in ways that I can never thank you enough for. But I’ll try. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I’d list you, but then I’ll forget someone and be devastated. Bad mojo.
You. The readers. Sweet baby Jesus, you guys are awesome. Every message, every comment—they mean everything to me. I spend hundreds of hours working on these books, and just one message from one of you—someone who saw something in my book, was touched in some special way—makes it worth it.
And, of course, I have to thank my family. My husband and son sacrifice the most, going without food and attention in order to let me push through to my deadline. Thank you for your support and for believing that this book is going to be something big.
Laurel Ulen Curtis is a 28 year old mother of one. She lives with her husband and son (and cat!) in New Jersey, but grew up all over the United States. She graduated from Rutgers University in 2009 with a Bachelor of Science in Meteorology, and puts that to almost no use other than forecasting for her friends and writing a storm chasing heroine! She has a passion for her family, laughing, and reading and writing Romance novels. She’s also addicted to Coke. The drink, not the drug.
Laurel’s Social Media:
http://Laurelulencurtis.blogspot.com
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Other Books by Laurel:
The One Series:
The One Place
The One Girl
Huntsford Hearts:
Impossible
The A is for Alpha Male Series
A is for Alpha Male
Secret Alpha
Accidental Alpha
One Last Night: A Novella
Hate: A Love Story
Quirks & Kinks
Coming Soon:
Ellie’s Beat (A Hate Prequel Novel)
Untitled (A is for Alpha Male, #4)
Fated (Huntsford Hearts, #2)
