There were so many things I wanted to say to my wife. So many promises I longed to make her that I knew I wasn’t capable of keeping. But unspoken words were easier to live with than broken promises, so I kept my mouth shut as I watched Hope reverse out of the driveway.

My heart, my stupid, dysfunctional heart somersaulted around in my chest like it was the first time I'd ever seen her. It didn’t make sense, but then, nothing ever did when it came to my feelings for my wife.

Once her truck was out of sight, that feeling of elation quickly turned to dread in my chest. And just like every morning since rekindling my marriage, every single one of my deepest, darkest fears and secrets roared to life inside of me.

What was she doing with me?

How long would she stay?

How could I keep her happy when I wasn’t sure when or if I could get to a place in my life when I would feel ready to satisfy her in the ways she needed me to?

I felt like I was drowning, and in all honesty, I didn't have the faintest clue of how long I was going to be able to keep her at arm's length before she snapped.

Most of my teenage years had been consumed with inappropriate thoughts and sexual urges all directed at Hope.

Hell, at thirty, they still were.

But it was different now.

My needs were different.

Sex, I could handle.

Intimacy, not so much.

And Hope was the kind of woman that needed both.

She deserved both.

I couldn’t give that to her.

I kept love and sex in two separate compartments in my brain.

I guess somewhere in between being raped and fucking butchered by my mother's husband, I'd forfeited all notions of romance.

I was fourteen years old when it first happened.

September 2^nd.

The first day of eighth grade.

The last day of my innocence.

The day I died inside.

I still remembered that day like it was yesterday.

I remembered every fucking detail…

Every smell.

Every sound.

Every move he made and every pathetic fucking sob and plea for help that tore from my mouth as he held me down and impaled me.

As he raped my body and pillaged my life...

No one saw it.

No one helped me.

No one stepped in and saved me.

No one cared enough to take a closer look and see just how fractured I was on the inside.

That's why over time, when I was asked if I was okay or if something was wrong, I kept my mouth shut and remained quiet.

Admitting you were raped wasn't easy for a guy.

Who would believe me?

How would they understand?

And what would happen to my mom if I told? The truth would kill her, and if it didn’t, Paul certainly would.

Back then, I hated the world and blamed every person I had ever come into contact with for the soul-destroying life I had been dealt. For my life being over before it had even started.

And when I had finally crawled my way out of that world, when I had finally escaped, I'd been dragged back in. That's what hurt the most; my whole life I'd been on a road to destruction from childhood and just when I peaked, when I was free and got the one thing my heart had always desired, I had crashed and burned.

Hope told me not to go back there.

I didn't listen to her and it had ruined my life.

I had spent eight months in a rehab facility to repair the broken pieces inside of me –trying and failing to fight my demons – and many years since clogging up therapist's waiting rooms. I had been trying to come to terms with what had happened to me since getting sober, to find some semblance of peace inside of me, but it turned out that I was better at healing others than healing myself.

My job had become my coping mechanism. Helping people in similar situations as I had been soothed something deep inside of me. I had replaced drugs with work and I was thoroughly hooked. A slow work week for me was an eighty hour one. I was addicted to keeping busy. I had found my passion in helping others and I had clung to it like a lifeline, giving everything I had to my work.

I was in a better place now, but I still had days when I couldn't stand the man looking back at me in the mirror. I still had days when I wanted to peel the skin from my body and set it on fire. Days when I wanted to bleach my skin clean and disappear from this cruel fucking world.

Keeping myself closed off was how I stayed sane.

Avoiding physical intimacy was how I erased his touch.

I wanted to be with Hope sexually. Problem was, every time we came close to it, she caressed and cuddled and touched me in such a way that brought the painful images and memories to the fore point of my mind, rendering me paralyzed and eliminating any desire.

Certain ways she touched me triggered violent memories. Random smells and situations caused me physical pain. I was struggling being in close proximity of Hope which was fucking ridiculous, but the worst part was she seemed to have given up on me.

She never tried for more than a chaste kiss from me now. It was as if she had accepted that I was never going to be able to fulfill that need and it shredded me.

Loving me had caused Hope Carter pain and scars and tragedy, but she was still here. Problem was, she wasn’t here with me.

Not really.

Sure, she slept beside me each night and lived in my house, but her mind, that beautiful mind of hers, was far away. I didn’t like thinking about it and selfishly, I pretended it wasn’t happening. I pretended I wasn’t losing the only person I had ever loved.

I knew deep down that I deserved this.

How could I not?

Walking out on my wife eight years ago without a call or a text was a shitty thing to have done. Falling into the pits of darkness and drugs had been my punishment.

For breaking her.

For breaking us.

When Hope forgave me, I knew it was too good to be true.

And I was right.

I knew she still loved me, she wouldn’t be here if she didn't, but it was different now.

That far off expression Hope wore when she thought no one was looking was enough for me to know that I didn’t own her heart anymore.

A piece of it belonged somewhere else now.

Somewhere I couldn’t reach.

She was the sweetest girl in the world and I let her down in the worst imaginable way. I walked away from my home. From my safety net. From my hope…

I noticed the familiar silver Ford Kuga drive up the street towards my house and had to force down the surge of resentment that tried to force its way out of me.

Derek.

My father pulled into the spot Hope had vacated and killed the engine. I watched as he got out of his car and walked towards me, laden down with a stack of containers in his hands, filled with desserts and treats no doubt. That was Derek's answer to everything. When he didn’t know what to say or do to help a person, he cooked and fed them.

I hated my father.

Hatred was a strong emotion and maybe I didn’t feel that strongly about him, but I certainly didn’t love him like a son loved his father.

And in my defense, he'd never giving me much to love.

Absent and uncaring.

That's how I remembered the man walking towards me.

Missing.

Not there.

Fucking gone.

Like every time I ever seemed to lay eyes on the man, I was bombarded with memories from my past…

"She can never know."

"Jord–"

"I mean it, Dad. Hope can never know about this…about me. None of the Carter's can."

My father's face was a map of pain, contorting in agony as he watched me watching him from a hospital bed. Finally, after what felt like forever, he bowed his head and sighed. "I wish I could take this all away for you," he whispered. "All the pain… All the memories." Glancing up with tears in his eyes, Dad whispered, "I feel useless." Shuddering, he added, "I could have done more."

Grasping the bed clothes with more force than necessary, I nodded stiffly. "You can't change the past."

"Maybe not, but I can change the future," he shot back, adamant. "I mean it, Jordan, I don't want this life for you." Sighing, he added, "You've seen me. You watched first-hand what living with your demons can do to a man. I can't sit back and allow what happened to me happen to you."

"My situation is nothing like yours," I hissed.

"You hungry, Jord?" Derek asked, stirring me from my memories. "I brought plenty for all of you guys." Juggling the half a dozen or so containers in his arms, he added, "I packed some toddler friendly goodies for the baby. Is he here?"

"Morning," I acknowledged, good manners winning out, as I fell into step with my father and walked back into the house. "And no. Ryder's at daycare."

"Damn," Derek muttered, sounding genuinely disappointed as he followed me through to the kitchen. "I was hoping he would be here." Setting the containers down on the kitchen table, he shrugged off his coat and hung it on the back of the chair closest to him. "The kid's adorable."

"That's you all over, isn’t it, Derek?" I tossed out as I walked over to the coffee machine and grabbed a mug. "You're a sucker for other people's kids." Never your own.

Derek sighed heavily before slumping down at the table. "Are we really going to go through this again, Jord?" he asked, tone weary, keeping his back to me. "I fucked up. I'm a piece of shit. I ruined your life. I'm the one in the wrong."

"Whatever, Derek." He was right about one thing; there was no point in rehashing this conversation. His excuses never changed and I never felt any better from it. "How's work?" I decided to change the subject by asking. Pouring two mugs of coffee, I walked back to the table and handed him one before taking the seat opposite him. "Did you finish setting up that new menu at the restaurant that you mentioned last week?" My father was a chef, and a brilliant one at that. I guess taking care of other people's kids and cooking were his best traits.

"Thanks," he replied, accepting the mug from me and taking a sip. "And yeah, I finished it on Tuesday." He placed the mug on the table in front of him and leaned back in his chair before asking, "So, how's everything going with you and Hope?" his green eyes were locked on mine, and if I didn’t know better, I would say he looked genuinely interested in my life. But I did know better and the reason he was asking about my marriage wasn’t his paternal instincts kicking into gear; it was his best friend's. Hope's father was my father's best friend. Kyle Carter was also a father in all forms. He wasn’t a blow-in like the man in front of me who'd fallen into my life when I was four and had fallen back out of it when I was fourteen. No, my wife's father had stuck around to raise her and her brothers. He'd been there every day of her life, and with the exception of me fucking things up for her, she'd been incredibly sheltered and protected because of the man.

"Who wants to know?" I shot back, mirroring my father's actions by leaning back in my chair and studying him. "You or Kyle?"

Derek frowned deeply and I saw the hurt in his green eyes. It was there and obvious for me to see. Thing was, I didn’t care. I didn’t care if he was hurt by the truth. That was life. "Me, Jord," he finally replied. "I want to know."

"We're fine," I answered him. That was all Derek Porter was going to get from me. He didn’t have the right to any information about my personal life. Sharing blood, genes, and a surname with this man didn’t mean anything to me.

We drank the rest of our coffee with me in silence and him making small talk that I either nodded along with or completely ignored. When I was finished, I shoved my chair back and got up. "I need to sleep," I announced bluntly. "I'm back on night shifts this week."

"Okay. No problem." Nodding, Derek drained what was left in his mug before standing up and slipping his coat back on. "Don’t burn yourself out, Jord," was the advice my father gave me before leaving.

Feeling at a complete loss, I shook my head and watched him leave.

I knew he'd be back.

Same time on Friday.

It didn’t seem to matter how rude I was to the man.

He wouldn’t go away.

Twice a week for the past eight years, I had been tormented with awkward visits from my father. He came when I was in rehab. He came when I was high. He came when I was sober. He came when I wasn’t. Twice a week, every damn week, the man kept fucking coming back.

I just wished he had that determined streak inside of him back when I had needed it most.

When it had mattered.

Because it sure as hell didn’t matter now.