Broken Silence (Silence, #2)(72)

“No,” Cole replied, getting up and kneeling in front of me. “Not again, Oakley, please. I can’t lose you again. Stay here with me—”

I placed my index finger over his lips. “I have to go back—”

“No,” he said fiercely. His eyes were wide with panic. If he would just let me finish!

“Will you let me talk!” I shook my head. “I’ll be gone for a total of three days. Ali’s already said I can have the spare room until Mum sells the house and moves back here.”

“No,” he repeated.

I frowned as his whole face lit up with the most perfect smile. He didn’t want me to come back? He was smiling though. Huh? “No? What?”

“You’re not staying with anyone else. You’re living with me.”

He can’t be serious? We had only been back together a few months, although it did feel so much longer, like we hadn’t been apart for those four years. But still…

“Cole you—”

“I’ve spoken!” he said like a caveman. “Seriously though, Oakley, you’re mine now. Suck it up and move in with me.” Oh my God, he is being serious! He wants us to live together. Squealing, I threw my arms around him and hugged him tight, probably crushing his bones, but he didn’t complain. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I murmured against his neck. Wow, I was going to be living with Cole. Living in that beautiful house we decorated together. It didn’t seem real, like it wasn’t happening to me. I never thought I would have that, a proper relationship with someone that wanted me. Someone that didn’t care about my past.

“And I’m coming to Australia with you.”

I shook my head. “You have work, and it’s only three days.”

“We’ll argue about that later.” He lowered us down on the futon. “I fucking love you,” he whispered and kissed me senseless.





Chapter Twenty-Four


Oakley




I got into the car and closed my eyes. Finally, it was done. No more revisiting the past, outside of therapy anyway. I wanted to be finished with therapy already, but I had learned not to give myself a timeframe. I would go until I felt I didn’t need to any more, and I just wasn’t there yet.

“How’d it go?” Cole asked, squeezing the top of my leg.

“Good.” I had just finished the last interview I agreed to do, and it was such a relief. Selling my story had been the last thing I wanted to do, until I realised the money would fund a sport and hobby centre at the gym.

After speaking to countless therapists and other people that had been in my situation, I discovered that a lot of children that were abused were able to use hobbies as an escape. Through therapy, so far, I’d met people that painted, sang, played music, danced, and cycled. For me, it had been gymnastics.

When Marcus told me how bad the gym was doing and that the owners were cutting their losses and turning it into a fitness gym with a swimming pool, I knew I had to do something.

The thought of someone going through a similar thing to what I did without having access to that tiny bit of normality was painful. So I sold my story to a major magazine, had one interview with a national newspaper, and a women’s weekly, and did three TV appearances.

Dredging everything back up was hard, but I knew that it would be worth it in the end. The centre would help so many people, and I was going to donate a cut of the yearly profit to a charity that helps victims of child abuse.

My last interview with a magazine marked the end of the fundraising and meant I could afford the finishing touches for the centre. I’d officially named it ‘La Fuga’, which was Italian for ‘The Escape’, but we mostly just called it the centre.

“I’m proud of you. You’ve done all this by yourself.”

I shook my head. “Not by myself. Marcus has been with me every step of the way. So have you, and both of our families!”

“Alright, well it was all your idea.”

“That one I’ll take credit for.”

Cole chuckled and took the exit that would take us home. “So, tomorrow’s going to be ridiculously busy, huh?”

I nodded. “Yeah, we’ve got so much to do. The electricians are coming at one. The mirrors are being installed in the ballet room at two-thirty. There’s a huge delivery of football and rugby balls coming sometime in the morning, and I have to call some companies about vending machines and a cleaning service. Oh, and we really need to get those liability insurance forms signed.”

“You have a list, right?”

“I have about a thousand lists.”

“Right, well don’t stress over it, we’ll get it all done. Jasper and Abby are picking up the art easels and stools next week, and apparently the company agreed to throw in a bunch of paintbrushes too.”

“Yeah? That’s great! How is the shack looking?”

When word got out about what we were doing, the whole community got involved. An online sport shop donated football goalposts. An art and craft company donated the easels, stools, and now brushes.

I’d had a load of gymnastics equipment donated to the centre, which would replace a lot of the used stuff from the old gym. Tables and chairs for the cafeteria were donated from a manufacturing company, and I’d already had a stack of job applications back. It was a little overwhelming, but I had a lot of support.