Echoes of You: Chapter 5

Fury pulsed through Nash in waves. I could see the crash of each new thought as it took hold. I hated everything about it—that my mistakes and weakness were causing him pain, what he must think of me…

“No one did this. I fell.” The denial slipped from my tongue as easily as breathing. But the price was hating myself just a little more. How many times had my mother coached me in those denials about my father? I’d fallen off my bike, out of a tree, gotten hurt jumping off my bed.

Each little lie carved itself into my soul, and yet here I was, setting more free. But that self-hatred would be worth it if I could ease the anger ravaging Nash right now. I’d pay the price over and over again.

Nash’s nostrils flared. “That’s a fucking boot print on your damn ribs!”

His words were a guttural bellow—as if each one clawed its way free from his throat.

I froze, locked in place by some invisible terror. I wanted to run, hide from his anger, the truth…everything. But I couldn’t. It was as if my fear held me prisoner.

Nash’s entire demeanor changed in a flash. Gone was the rage and fury. His expression softened, even as he struggled to breathe normally. “Maddie.”

He scooted closer to me, his hands low and placating as if he were approaching an injured animal. And in some ways, I guessed he was. Yet the terror still had me. Once the chain reaction started, I was powerless to stop it. I could only watch from above as if I weren’t in my own body anymore.

“Maddie?”

The concern in his voice had tears filling my eyes.

Nash’s hands encircled my arms so slowly it was almost painful. The steadiness of his hold made me realize I was trembling—shaking like a damn leaf caught in a tornado.

“You know I’d never hurt you. Right?”

There was pain in those words. Absolute agony. It broke something in me.

“I-I know.”

“Good.” Nash wrapped his arms around me, gently pulling me against him and holding me.

I breathed him in. Smoky cedar mixed with something I’d never been able to identify curled around me, helping to ease the worst of the panic. That scent would always mean safety to me.

How often had Nash held me after a particularly bad night with my mom? After I’d woken from a nightmare and needed to feel safe just for a little while? Too many to count.

That smell was burned into my brain. I used to beg to borrow T-shirts just so I could have that scent with me. So I could battle back the odors of cigarettes and stale alcohol at my house. Whenever the T-shirt lost its potency, I’d switch it out for a new one.

I’d taken one with me to Atlanta. It hadn’t been long before the smoky cedar faded, but I kept it anyway. Burrowing my face in it whenever times got hard.

When Adam realized who it had belonged to, he’d punched me so hard I’d blacked out.

With incredible gentleness, Nash scooped me up and lifted me into his lap. “I’ve got you, Mads.”

The pressure behind my eyes built. All I wanted to do was fall apart. Go to pieces and let Nash catch every one the way he had so many times before. But I didn’t. It wasn’t fair to always lean on him.

Nash brushed a hand over my hair in soothing strokes as if still calming that feral animal.

“I’m sorry,” I croaked.

His hand stilled for a split second and then picked up its motions again. “You don’t have a damn thing to apologize for.”

But I did. So many I’d lost track. Falling for Adam’s act. Letting him force distance between me and those I loved most. Believing his pretty lies every time he apologized. Staying when I knew he wouldn’t change.

“Was it him?” Nash asked, his voice low.

God, there was no way around this. No way to simply skirt the issue and pretend that Nash had never seen the angry bruises littering my side. And they weren’t even the worst of it.

“It wasn’t like this in the beginning,” I said softly.

Nash went still.

“He was kind. Caring. He paid attention to everything I told him. Sent me my favorite takeout when he was out of town, along with a movie I’d told him I wanted to see. All the things I always thought made me dorky, he found endearing. My love of oldies music. The fact that I always read the last chapter of a book first because I want to know what’s coming.”

Nash struggled to keep his grip on me gentle. As though if he held me tight enough, he could protect me from anything bad in the world.

“I thought he was good.”

“But he wasn’t,” Nash said, a rasp coating his voice.

“No. He wasn’t.” Flashes of Adam’s voice contorted in rage filled my mind. “But he was an expert at pretending he was. The best actor I’ve ever seen. Should’ve gotten an Oscar.”

Nash’s jaw worked back and forth. “Most abusers are.”

I shook my head. “You don’t get it. He’s a master manipulator. If he was sitting here right now, he’d be able to convince you that I’m a whore who put him through hell. That he’s a saint for putting up with me.”

Nash jerked back. “I know you, Mads. Better than anyone. No one could ever convince me you’re anything but goodness and light.”

My head picked up that same shake. The back-and-forth motion that was more of a tic than genuine disagreement. “You’re wrong. He’s so good at it.” I met Nash’s stare, my eyes burning. “Do you know what it’s like to wonder if you’re a horrible person? That maybe all the awful things someone says about you are true?”

A muscle in Nash’s cheek fluttered, and his hands lifted to cup my face. “He’s wrong. I know you. Down to your soul. If you’ve forgotten who you are, ask me, and I’ll remind you.”

A tear slipped free, sliding down my cheek. Nash swiped it away with his thumb. “You’re the girl who tripped a bully to keep me from getting hurt. The girl who sat with me when we thought we might lose Grae, never letting go of my hand until she came home from the hospital. The girl who can gentle the most savage dog and shows every living creature kindness. You make sure I don’t get in over my head with whatever hairbrained idea I’ve cooked up. You make me laugh like no one else. Mads, you’re the best person I’ve ever known. The fact that he made you doubt that makes me want to gut him and do it slow.”

Pain flared in my chest, but it was the good kind this time. “Nash…”

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to my forehead. “I know you.”

“I’m not perfect.”

“No one is.”

My breath hitched as my tears came faster. “I should’ve seen the signs. I know them better than anyone. I was so stupid—”

“Don’t talk about my best friend like that.”

A laugh bubbled out of me, but it quickly melted into a sob. “I promised myself that I would never let anyone hurt me like my father did. That I would never be my mother, turning a blind eye to every awful outburst. And I did exactly that.”

My tears came faster as my body shook. How had I let this happen? How had I not learned my lesson?

Nash pulled me to him. “This isn’t your fault.”

“But it is.” Then I spilled all my shame, letting it tumble out of my mouth and into the air between us. “This wasn’t the first time, Nash.”