A muscle ticked wildly in Allen’s jaw, but he moved into one of the aisles. I wrapped an arm around Addie’s shoulders and guided her towards the exit. She trembled against me, but you would’ve never known from the look on her face that she was scared.
“This isn’t over,” Brandon hissed.
I didn’t look back, just kept pressing Addie forward. We crossed the parking lot, and I pulled open the passenger door of my truck, helping her up. Then I jogged around to my side and hopped in.
Addie stared at the door as if waiting for her father and Brandon to emerge.
I slid a hand under her hair and squeezed her neck. “Hey, you’re safe.”
She turned to me. “Am I?”
The despair pouring off her in waves hit me right in the chest. “You are.” I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“They’ll never let me be. I keep hoping that, with time, he’ll forget I even existed. It isn’t like he wanted me around for anything other than cooking his food and being a convenient punching bag.”
I’d known that Addie’s father had hurt her, but she’d never said the words out loud—at least, not to me. “Addie.” Her name was a hoarse whisper.
“I don’t want pity. I just want to be free.”
I framed her face with my hands. “You are free. He’s trying to convince you that you aren’t because it’s the only power he has left.”
“I don’t feel free. I’m scared all the time. And I hate myself for it.”
I pulled her against my chest. “You’re allowed to be scared. You’re allowed to feel whatever’s going on inside you. You’re doing the bravest thing possible and living your life despite that fear. Eventually, it will subside. But you don’t have to face it alone. You have people in your corner.”
“Everyone who has ever been in my corner has left, Beckett.”
I pulled back, meeting her stare. “Not me. I’m not going anywhere.”
It might take time. But one day, Addie would believe me.
21
ADDIE
I patted down the soil around the burgundy mums. They would look beautiful set against the white of the house. They were a symbol for me to hold onto, something to mark my freedom. It was a little piece of liberation, but it was one I loved—being able to decorate a front porch with flowers.
Soon, I would add pumpkins. Maybe even some stalks of corn and a bale of hay. Then I would sit on these steps in my witch hat and pass out candy from a cauldron as children came by. I would get some of the traditions I’d always wanted but never had.
Footsteps sounded on the porch as the front door closed. “You’ve been busy this morning.”
Beckett’s voice was still a little hoarse from sleep, and when I looked up, my stomach flipped. His hair was in wild disarray, and he had lines on his face from his pillow. I forced my gaze back to the mums. “I woke up early.”
“Where’d the plants come from?”
“I biked over to the nursery after they opened.” I had a little cart I could hook to the back of my bike if I needed to transport anything large, like a flat of flowers.
Beckett was silent, and I looked back at him. His eyes had lost the look of sleep, replaced with a hint of anger. “You went by yourself?”
I stiffened, tension stringing my muscles tight. “Yes.”
“After that scene with your dad and Brandon yesterday, you thought it was a good idea to bike to a nursery by yourself? When I was here and could’ve driven you?”
My hand curled around the railing, and I pulled myself to standing. “I told you, I’m not going to be a prisoner. They don’t get to dictate my life anymore. I thought you understood that.”
Beckett pinched the bridge of his nose as if a headache were forming there. “I know you want your freedom, but for flowers? How is that worth the risk?”
I stared at the man before me. I knew his frustration came from a good place, from worry and wanting me safe. But good intentions didn’t matter if they suffocated. “My father never let me plant flowers.”