Wife Number Seven (The Compound, #1)(92)

“I thought I was being tested months ago, but this, this is my test. Right here and now.” Rebecca took a deep breath before continuing, holding back tears as her voice broke. “I need to honor Burt, honor Brinley by staying here . . . staying and accepting my fate.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Aspen whispered. “You can have another chance, another start.”

Rebecca simply shook her head.

Aspen’s mind spun. She didn’t want to leave her sister wife behind, caught in the clutches of Lehi and his evil first wife. She wanted to fight, to insist, to challenge Lehi enough that he would cave to her demands. But Rebecca had said her piece. Continuing to fight on her behalf would be futile.

“Fine. Rebecca will remain here . . . with you. But I demand to be reassigned.”

Lehi nodded. “I’ll speak with the prophet first thing in the morning. I’ll tell him it’s of the utmost importance.”

Aspen gave him a curt nod and left the room to check on her children. Soon, she hoped they’d have quite the transition to make, and she needed to wrap her arms around her sweet babies, to tell them it would all be okay. Even though they’d have no idea what their mother was talking about.

She couldn’t protect Brinley any longer, or Rebecca for that matter. But she could protect her children. She hoped they’d be safe and welcome in a new household, a new home. She wasn’t one to embrace fairy tales or the concept of happily-ever-after, but she hoped . . . she hoped to be placed with a kind and gentle man. A man who would appreciate her sharp wit and remarkable memory. A man who didn’t plot, connive, or control. A man who didn’t lash out in anger. A man who stood by his word and insisted upon honesty. A man who was capable of love, who respected and cherished life.

A man . . . not a monster.



Epilogue

One year later

My new favorite thing in the world was sunsets. Beautiful, glorious, calming sunsets. Each night, Porter and I would sit on our patio and watch the sunset, a cold beer in his hand, a glass of white wine in mine. We’d talk and laugh until that moment when the fiery orange orb slid just behind the mountains. In that moment, we’d be silent. Then Porter would reach for my hand, squeezing it tightly.

I’d lived with Tiffany for several months after leaving the compound. Porter respected my reasons. He had to get clean, for once and for all. I was terrified that the burden of playing nursemaid to my injuries would push him over the edge. So, instead I’d begged Tiffany to allow me to stay with her. Being a kindhearted person, she gave me her bed and slept on the floor next to me. She tended my wounds, iced my bruises, and kept me company when she wasn’t working at the clinic.

Each night, Porter would visit. He’d sit with me and we’d talk about his day, about how the house was coming along, about how he’d resisted using with his roommates. He started attending Narcotics Anonymous. He made friends and quickly had a sponsor he could call in the middle of the night when he was feeling weak. He didn’t want to place that burden on me, and I was grateful.

Each and every weekend, Porter stayed busy working on the house, getting it ready, making it perfect. Finally we drove to the small cottage one day, our fingers entwined on the front seat. A look of pride came over him as we strolled through the tiny house. The walls were covered in serene shades of blue and green, the carpet was fluffy and soft, and fresh flowers bloomed outside the kitchen window.

It was perfect.

Porter moved in immediately, saying good-bye to Charlie and the rest of his roommates. He was ready, truly ready for a new start, a new home.

I joined him three months later.

The money from Jorjina didn’t go very far, and so we agreed that it was important for me to find work. I was nervous, to say the least, the day that I walked into the local grammar school for my interview as a study hall supervisor. I had no credentials, no formal education, and was shocked that they didn’t laugh in my face when I applied. But that was the thing about the outside world; it constantly surprised me. And I’d surprised myself, as well.

Despite my assumptions about how I would carry myself in the outside world, I had yet to cut my hair. Tiffany’s words had resonated with me; I didn’t want my first haircut in twenty-three years to be about rebellion or revenge. I wanted it to be about independence, a fresh start, a new beginning.

And so, like any other evening, Porter and I were enjoying the sunset from our new patio. Porter was covered in dust from a job site, and I was still wearing my school attire and makeup, my long hair twisted into a tight bun.

“More wine?” Porter asked, holding the bottle over my glass.

“Trying to get me drunk?” I teased.

“You might need it,” Porter said with a wink. “After all, our plans for this evening are a little . . . adventurous.”

I giggled in response, taking another sip of wine, its sweetness easing down my throat as I pondered his words. He was right. But I was ready.

“I can’t believe it’s been a year,” I said softly, then bit my lip, waiting for his response.

“Yeah.” He grinned.

“I’m proud of you, Porter. So proud.”

Porter had stayed clean since the day Aspen and Rebecca dragged me to his apartment. He’d made a decision to prove it to me, to prove he could clean up his life, his body, his mind, his soul.