Rushed(43)

Tyler's hand clenches, and I can see his forearm muscles, the same forearm muscles that I know can put a drill like spin on a football over a long distance, flex in anger. “He abused you.”

I nod, and I can't take it any more, I pull off the expressway and into a gas station, not comfortable to drive until we’re done. The emotions are too intense. “I know I should have walked away, but Dad was just coming off a round of cancer treatments, and Mom . . . well, we didn't know it at the time, but she was showing the first signs of her Alzheimer's. By the way, before you ask, the doctors already screened me for the genetic markers for early onset, and I'm clear.”

He nods, taking my hand. “Tell me more about Thomas. How far did it go?”

“He spent months making me feel like shit. I quit basketball, my grades went down the toilet, I became a recluse . . . and I thought it was because I was in love. I thought he loved me too, until I caught him sexting on his phone. We were in a Tim Horton's at the time I confronted him, so he didn't try to get physical, but it nearly went there. Then he got busted by the cops for drugs, he was caught trying to smuggle pot down into Michigan, got rapped on the knuckles for it, but it was enough of a break for me to step away. I went to a private school my last year in high school, and then came here to Toronto for uni . . . but the damage was done. Every time I looked in the mirror, every time a guy tried to talk to me, I kept seeing Thomas in my mind, his face going from kind and funny to angry and abusive. If . . . if it hadn't been you, I wouldn't have been able to let myself fall in love with you either.”

My hands shake, and Tyler looks at me, as if peering into my soul. “You're worried that our honeymoon period is going to fade too, aren't you?”

I sniff and look back at him, shaking my head. “No. Like I said, I know you Tyler. I thought I loved Thomas . . . but that's nothing compared to what I feel for you. Yeah, at first I worried. Right up until the time that I moved in, I worried. But for a month now you've been just as kind, just as amazing as you were before you got me into bed the first time, and the one time you've been violent, it was to protect me . . . or at least my reputation.”

Tyler thinks, then nods. “I'm not always a peaceful guy, April. You've seen that, but I can swear here and now . . . I’ll never abuse you, mentally or physically.”

I smile and kiss his hand before resting it on my left breast, over top of my heart. “In my heart, I believe you. I know you, and if I ever show doubt, it's the fears that are still haunting me that are showing up, not my love.”

“And I love you,” Tyler says quietly. He doesn't move his hand, but still it feels nice with his warm hand on my breast, and my nipple hardens in response to his touch. Tyler notices and chuckles. “Really?”

“Really. Not here though . . . first there's some other things we need to talk about.”

“Like what?”

“Chocolate and batteries.”



Tyler's eyes open wide as he sees the old photo that is in Mom's room. The yellow t-shirt, the khaki shorts, the twin braided ponytails that I wore that first day which led to my nickname . . .

“Pocahontas?” Tyler says wonderingly. He studies the picture carefully, like he's making sure it's not a fake, but as I stand there in the doorway watching him, I can't help but feel a lump of worry well up in my throat. My final secret, the big one, laid bare in front of him. “Is it really you? So that's why I kept thinking of the ocean and pine trees when I saw you at first, the walking path between the cabins and the beach. It's really you.”

“Yeah,” I say, tears slipping down my cheeks. “It's me.”

Tyler sets the photo down and turns to me, his face etched with concern. “Why are you crying?”

“Because all this time, I've known who you were. As soon as the GM told me your name I knew it was you . . . and I didn't tell you. All the things you thought I researched about you, like your favorite color, I already knew. I've known, and I never forgot.”

“And you thought I forgot you,” Tyler replies. “I wish it were that easy, or that cruelly simple. The fact is . . . I never forgot you at all.”

“Then what happened?” I ask, the question that's haunted my heart for months now coming out. “Why didn't you ever write me like you promised?”

“Because I was a boy who didn't do a good job of unpacking his bag when he got home,” Tyler admits. “The paper with your address on it must have gotten tossed in the washer, because when I went through my things later to try and find it, I couldn't find anything. And then when I took my stuff out of the washer, I found a wadded up, beaten up and nearly pulpish ball of what had been notebook paper. I didn't even know your family name. You were always Pocahontas to me. But it does explain so much to me, too.”

“Like what?” I ask, and Tyler smirks.

“From the first moment I saw you at the airport, there was always that little voice in my head that said I knew you. That somehow, we knew each other. After a while I just said that it was coincidence that you were so much like Pocahontas from camp, and that I was so attracted to you. You . . . you've always been special to me.”

I laugh and nod. “Me too. You were my first kiss.”

“You were mine,” Tyler says shockingly, confirming it with a nod, “and if my memory is right, the first time I ever touched a girl's boob too.”