After We Fall (Take the Fall, #3)(4)

Honestly, I don’t know why I’m so scared of men anymore. Penn served his time in jail and has moved on, living it up in some tropical country while his family maintains that he’s getting healthy. Always, they want to blame the drugs and alcohol and his post-traumatic stress disorder from serving in Afghanistan. Yes, I know those things fueled his rages, but as the one on the receiving end of his fists and kicks, I don’t give a good damn.

My lawyer told me I should be grateful he got any time at all because most sons of prominent political figures don’t serve at all.

“Grateful—ha!” I mutter. The only thing I feel like I should be grateful for is the easy divorce. Although waiting for twelve months to be allowed to divorce is a joke, especially when you consider the circumstances. Or the pictures of what he’d done to me.

In any case, Forrestville was supposed to be where I start over, not relive my past. Officer Hunter Sloan is not the person I want as my neighbor. He’s not someone I’m interested in at all. The entire male species is off-limits until further notice.

And there’s no way some hot cop with a sexy smile and—

“Stop it,” I snap. That’s how things started with Penn. I was nursing a broken heart and met him. A very sexy bad boy in Army fatigues—the exact opposite of my pacifist Boy Scout of an ex-boyfriend who was the epitome of a good guy.

Apparently, I find extremes very attractive.

Obviously, I am a stupid girl.

Dust motes fall, catching the last rays of the sun. They seem to fill the room and sparkle. Reaching out my hand, I try to catch them, but they fall through the cracks between my fingers.

It’s useless, just like me.

I have no use.

I’m empty, but I don’t want to be filled anymore.

—

The next day, I go for a walk around the block. I hate running. Mostly I hate running because my right kneecap hasn’t completely healed from where Penn stomped on it.

The day is already humid, heat rising in waves from the sidewalk on the side of the street that isn’t shaded by trees. It would be better to walk on the shaded side, but I want the sun. I want a tan, but thanks to Penn’s handiwork, I have scars and bruises that haven’t faded completely, so no beach daycations for me.

Besides, who would I go with? I have no friends or family nearby. In fact, my friends are no longer my friends—Penn had put a stop to that, claiming that my friends were sluts who didn’t respect their husbands. As for my family, they think I’ve moved to the West Coast and have a new job that won’t allow for time off until Christmas.

My phone rings and I sigh at the familiar tone.

Somehow my mother knows when I’m thinking of her and always calls. She even called the first time Penn hit me so hard that I couldn’t see straight, which made answering the phone difficult.

“Hello?”

“Evangeline, sugar. I was thinking of you,” she begins and I brace for the lecture about coming to see them.

“I still can’t come home until Christmas.” My heart catches at the sight of a group of mothers pushing strollers. They look so happy in their group, like best friends who have been together for years.

Quickly, I step into a yard dotted with pink flamingos that have mini HAPPY FIFTIETH, PAULA banners across the front of each one to avoid them.

“Which is why your father and I are going to fly in to see you,” she says excitedly. “But not until Thanksgiving.”

Panic fills me and I stumble into a flamingo, sending it to the ground and causing pain to radiate up my leg. I bite back a curse and kneel in the yard to fix the stupid bird.

I can’t tell her the truth. She doesn’t know the reason why Penn and I separated, only that things didn’t work out and he’s in rehab. I think my parents are sympathetic to that, and maybe even a little disappointed that I would leave my husband in his time of need. Yet another thing that’s my fault.

But I can’t tell them the truth. I can’t admit that my husband abused me and I stayed with him for six years before finally escaping that hell.

I just can’t.

“That sounds great, but I’m not sure if I’ll have my own place by then—”

“We can get a hotel room.”

As if that will solve all our problems. Standing, I practically limp out of the yard, hoping that the caravan of moms didn’t see me looking like a fool.

“It’s not that…” I begin, my mind whirling as I try to come up with another excuse as to why they have to stay put in Holland Springs.

“We miss you—I miss you,” she says simply, and I cave like a sand castle hit by a wave.

Tears fill my eyes. “I miss you, too. Maybe…maybe I can find a way to come home instead.” I swallow. “Please don’t buy plane tickets until I know for sure. Okay?”

“If that’s what you want.” It kills me to hear the disappointment in my momma’s voice because it’s not what I want. The last six years of my life have been all kinds of not what I want.

But I can’t share that.

Because I’m a coward.

“It’s what would work best for me right now,” I reply softly. “Well, I better go. I’m out walking and don’t want to run into a tree or something.”

“Oh please,” my momma huffs. “You are the most graceful of all my children.”