The Atonement (The Arrangement, #3)(53)

“But I want you to be careful. I never wanted to get you involved. He’s dangerous, Gina. Unpredictable.”

“You didn’t force me to get involved. I inserted myself into the situation. I insisted you save my number. I wanted to help you, Ainsley. I’m not worried about Peter. I can take care of myself.” She was quiet for a moment, though she looked like she had something she wanted to say. Finally, she spoke up. “I know this…this company. They helped my friend. Mujer. They help battered and abused women and kids. It’s super secretive, but this woman and her husband who run it, they’re great. I can put you in contact—”

“I’m okay,” I promised, reaching out and putting a hand on her arm. “You’ve done more than enough. I’m going to go away. Take my kids and go. I’ll be okay now, thanks to you.”

She ran her tongue along her teeth. “Where will you go? Do you have family you can stay with, or…”

“I’ll figure out something.”

“Men like him don’t deserve to get away with this.”

“He’s lost everything he cares about, Gina. His company, his marriage, his family. Peter may not be going to jail, but…there are worse things.” I swallowed, stone-faced. The reality of it was bitter. It wasn’t easy. Peter hadn’t been wrong about how much I loved him, but that didn’t change the fact that I loved my children more. “He’ll be alone for the rest of his life.” I paused. “I know you don’t agree with my decision, but—”

“But it is your decision. And I respect it. Just…promise me you’ll be careful. Wherever you go.”

I smiled. “I will. I promise.”

“So, where can I take you?”

I gave her directions to my mother’s house, then rested my head against the window as she navigated us there, a pit in my stomach and throbbing in my head as I thought about the last time I’d told someone my husband was abusive. Poor Stefan…

That time, it had been to save my marriage.

This time, it was to save myself.





CHAPTER THIRTY





AINSLEY





The next morning, I awoke to the sound of a knocking on the door. My entire body ached, every movement as painful as if I’d been hit by a truck.

“You up?” Mom asked, pushing the door open and peering in.

“Yeah, I am,” I lied, easing myself up off the bed.

“Do you want breakfast? What time’s your flight?”

“Eleven,” I told her. “And yeah, breakfast sounds nice.” I stood and crossed the room. “Do you happen to have a toothbrush I can borrow?”

“Of course. Be right back.” She left the room and reappeared moments later with a red plastic toothbrush still in its packaging. Passing it to me, she studied my face. “There’s some antibiotic cream under the sink, too. The better care you take of it, the less chance it’ll scar. And what a nasty scar that would be.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

She nodded. “I can’t believe you ruined your hair like that.” I turned away from her, refusing to respond, and she went on. “Are you sure you’re ready to travel? Why not stay here for a few days and rest?”

“I told you…I have to go get the kids. I only stayed behind to take care of things.”

“And everything’s taken care of now?”

“Yep.” In the bathroom, I spread toothpaste on the brush and placed it in my mouth.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t see some sort of specialist? I mean, it just looks awful.” She was still eyeing the scrape.

I spit, lifting back up to say, “Well, it’s from a car accident, so it’s not going to look great. I’ll be fine. Just a little road rash.”

A doorbell rang out downstairs, and she twisted her mouth in thought. “Are you expecting anyone?”

I thought of Gina, who’d dropped me off the night before. We hadn’t made plans to meet up again, but it was entirely possible she’d come back. Then, without warning, my heart plummeted, worrying it was Peter.

No.

No.

It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be.

Would it always be that way? Would I worry every phone call or doorbell for the rest of my life would be him?

I shuddered. “I don’t think so.”

“I’ll get it. There are some of your old clothes still in the dresser. You’ll probably still fit in them.”

Ignoring her underhanded comment, I dug through the drawers, pulling out a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt to cover the scrapes on my wrists. It was going to be bad enough flying with my face as banged up as it was. I didn’t need to give anyone any further reason to notice me.

Once I’d gotten dressed and brushed my hair, I made my way down the stairs. Halfway down, I could hear my mother’s laughter from the kitchen. I rounded the corner and gasped at the sight of Matt, who looked equally horrified to see me.

Or rather, to see my face in its current state.

“Jesus, what happened?” He moved toward me quickly, his hands outstretched as he examined the wound. He examined me with such tenderness, I suddenly felt tears stinging my eyes.

“Car accident.” I carried on the lie I’d told my mother and the one I’d tell my children as I pulled out of his grasp.