Rough Edge (The Edge #1)(41)

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You loved the army. I thought you wouldn’t be able to adjust to having your own life.”

I couldn’t tell him that my life wasn’t my own or who it belonged to. I knew what the warning signs of abuse were, which was why I’d lied to the hospital staff about my wrist. Isolating the victim. Mercurial personality changes. Sexual demands. A rising tide of injuries.

No one would understand what was going on in my house, especially not my little brother.

“It’s hard,” I said. “I’m used to knowing what I’m doing every day and having this huge support system.”

“That fails constantly?”

“At least when the pipes broke on base, Mom knew who to call. I don’t know where the boundaries are out here.”

“Is something going on I should know about?”

“No. Everything’s fine. But like with the bartender here? Of course she saw the names, but I promise you she was eyefucking you before you handed her your card. And that’s not even the thing. Sure, it happens in the service, but it doesn’t feel so strange because I understand the context. Multiply that by a billion little things.”

Colin finished his drink and pushed the glass to the back edge of the bar. “Sister, dear, you are the most competent person I know. That’s the only reason you’re doubting your competence. We doubt what we’re gifted with.”

“And what do you doubt?”

He smirked. “I doubt you could walk a straight line. You’re swaying like a boat. Should I get you a cab?”

I finished my drink and plopped it on the bar, flicking two fingers against the bottom to slide it over to Colin’s. They clinked together. “Let’s blow this shithole.”

“We have to talk about Mom,” he said when we were outside. “If she comes, she’s staying with you.”

With me? Where Caden did violent, painful, intense things to my body?

I agreed to talk about it, but no more.



* * *



The house was empty and quiet. Caden’s coat was gone. A note sat on the counter.

Major -

I got a call. I’ll be at the hospital. Come by the theater some time if you feel like watching.

- Captain





Short, businesslike, to the point.

“Roger,” I said with a little slur on the edges, tossing the note on the counter.

Fine. It was fine. I needed to get to sleep anyway. I could worry about my husband tomorrow. I trudged up the stairs, hanging on to the banister. Colin had been right. I couldn’t walk a straight line to save my life.

The empty bed was made; an accusatory rectangle with military corners and sheets so tight a quarter would bounce twice on it.

You failed him.

Having let in the first thought I’d been avoiding, the next ones came without being invited.

He needed you and you failed him.

You’re the healthy one. You need to step up.

I stripped down, leaving my clothes on the floor, and put on a big army T-shirt.

You enjoy it anyway.

You need to just let go.

“I do enjoy it,” I grumbled, getting off the toilet. “But not today. Not today.”

I saw myself in the bathroom mirror.

“You,” I said with all the authority the whiskey-and-mint drink let me muster, “you are awesome. You did a great job.”

I opened the medicine cabinet, retrieved the toothbrush and toothpaste, and snapped it closed to see my face again. “No. Really. No arguments.”

I squeezed toothpaste on my brush and got to work. Despite my mouth being occupied with daily hygiene, the woman in the mirror wasn’t finished talking.

“Ou can ‘ake a ‘ight ‘or-ooself. Ou did-a’ight ‘hing. ‘Oor no ‘ood ‘oo him ‘essed uhp.”

The woman in the mirror was right. I was useless to Caden if my resources were depleted. We’d worked out sexual boundaries and needs, but we hadn’t talked about the toll his condition, or whatever it was, was taking on me.

I spit the toothpaste.

I could call the shots too. The man I’d married was going to have to live with that. The man he became in the weeks—no, days—between demanding, painful, orgasmic, boundary-pushing sex was going to have to live with it too.





Chapter Eighteen





caden





The lubricated slope that slid into the pit of cool detachment got wider and easier to find. I felt relief sliding down it and worried about how easy it was. Was I making a choice anymore, or was I like an addict telling myself the story of a decision I never made?

I didn’t leave her alone out of consideration but practicality. Considering her earlier refusal, I wasn’t sad or guilty. I couldn’t register her needs as important outside my own because Damon was shouting in the desperate corners of my perception. But I knew they existed and I knew what they were. I knew feelings inside me would return and that I’d be glad they were there. Maintaining complete detachment wasn’t hard, yet the consequences were exhausting.

It got worse every time.

I didn’t wonder if I loved her; I wondered what love was at all.