Chapter 23

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The modest, single-story brick house with the wisteria growing up the side of the garage looked exactly the way it had two years ago. Comfortable, but a little sad. There were no embellishments on the outside to show how much love was contained on the inside. No lawn chairs in the yard. The grass was due for a mowing. The flowerbeds were wild and uncontrolled as if the people inside had no time to enjoy the upkeep.

As if time stood still, the house was a welcome sight to Ingrid as emotions swept through her. The excitement over seeing her parents overtook fear of rejection. If her parents let her talk and explain, they'd forgive her.

She had to believe that and hoped they'd realize what she'd done, she'd done to protect them.

Unless Evan told them an untrue reason of why she'd disappeared out of their lives, and they hated her for hurting them. The six months before moving in with Evan had been strained between her and her parents. They hadn't approved of her choice to push her dreams to the wayside because she was in love.

Or, thought she'd been in love.

Her mom had tried to convince her that her relationship with Evan was only infatuation, but she'd been too immature and obsessed with having a boyfriend to listen. What she believed was love then was only the exuberate thrill of having someone give her attention. She'd missed all the signs of Evan being an abusive person.

"Are you doing okay?" asked Glen, placing his hand on her back.

"Nothing has changed here, but I have. I took what my parents offered me for granted. All the love and support they gave me, and all I wanted to do was..." She turned her head toward him. "I guess it doesn't matter now."

"If it matters to you, it'll matter to them." Glen gazed at the front of the house. "Are you sure they're home? The drapes are pulled."

"They're always closed. They're private people." Her chest warmed. Her dad was a proud man, and her mom was a supportive and loving spouse. "I should go to the door."

"Whenever you're ready," said Glen.

She thought about grabbing his hand, making sure he came inside with her, but besides his hand on her back, he'd kept his distance.

"Okay. I'm ready." She walked along the concrete path and stood in front of the door. Raising her hand, she pushed the doorbell with a trembling finger. With the bravery of seeking their forgiveness, she found herself terrified of disappointing them again.

A full minute passed, and Glen said, "Maybe they're not home."

"They're home."

"We should knock." Glen raised his hand.

She grabbed his wrist and softening her panic, she held on to him. "I don't need to knock. Just give my mom time."

He raised her hand and kissed the back of her knuckles. "If you're sure."

"I am." She swallowed.

Her mouth had gone dry. She wouldn't only be coming clean with her parents, but Glen, too. The person he knew off the streets wasn't the girl who grew up here. What if he found himself unable to accept her and her family?

The door opened, and her mom stood in front of her. Ingrid gasped. Her chest captured her sob. Her mom looked beautiful. Her long blonde hair, so similar to Ingrid's when she had hair, flowed down her back. Her blue eyes blinked, and she raised her brows, opening her mouth.

"Mom," she said.

Her mom squealed and stepped toward her, wrapping her in a tight embrace, and rocked her side to side.

"Oh, my God, you're here." Anna Peterson pulled back and stroked Ingrid's crewcut. "I hardly recognized you. New York stole all your long blonde hair and...let me look at you." Her mom stepped back lifting Ingrid's arms out to the side. "You're so skinny. Don't they feed interns at that fancy cosmetology school?"

"I..." She grabbed her mom tightly afraid to let go, her head reeling. "I've missed you. I can't even tell you how much."

New York? Cosmetology school? Intern? She had no idea what her mom was talking about. All she felt was her mom's happiness spilling out of her and wrapping her in love.

"Oh, baby. I've missed you, too. Thank God for emails, or I would've thought you'd dropped off the edge of the earth." Her mom kissed her cheek and pulled back. "When did you get back to town?"

"Um..." She looked at Glen.

The reunion wasn't going at all how she'd expected. She'd prepared her answers ahead of time to try and alleviate her parents' fears. But, her mom believed she had moved away.

"How rude of me to go on and on. I'm just so excited. If you would've told me you were arriving today, I could've fixed you a pot roast and made you that strawberry dessert you always loved." Ingrid's mom laughed and held out her hand to Glen. "I'm Anna Peterson."

"Glen Steele." Glen shook her mom's hand.

The moment her mom's gaze fell on Glen's leather vest, she frowned. Ingrid hugged her mom again, and said, "Can I go see Dad?"

"Of, course. My Lord, he's going to be excited to see you." Her mom wrapped her arm around Ingrid's waist.

Already, her mom had forgotten the strange appearance of Glen with her daughter. Ingrid shook, unable to process why her mom acted like her showing up at home was a cause for celebration.

Her mom squeezed her tight. "Let me go back with you. I want to see Gunnar's face when he realizes who came home."

Ingrid looked over her shoulder. Glen had stepped into the house and shut the door, remaining in the entryway. She couldn't dash her mom's happiness. Not yet.

Her mom let go of her in the hallway and nudged her forward. Ingrid stepped into her parents' bedroom and found her dad in his wheelchair facing the window, where he enjoyed sitting during the day. The high school football field was in view, and his favorite thing to do was watch the games, practices, and summer camps.

She stepped into the room. "Dad?"

His electric wheelchair remained facing away from her. She looked at her mom and frowned.

"He lost the little movement in his hand over a year ago. You'll have to go to him, honey," whispered her mom.

Saddened by the news, she approached her dad and stepped around in front of him. She waited for his gaze to raise to her face and recognition hit him. There was no outside expression, only a flickering of his eyes and an intense love she'd missed.

"I'm home, Daddy." She hugged him, feeling the complete loss of two years when his arms failed to lift, even the slightest, off the arms of the wheelchair.

When she'd left, her dad was still able to move his arms from side to side a few inches, allowing him to control his wheelchair himself. She placed her head on her dad's shoulder and failed to stop the tears. To her, he was the man she remembered as a child. The man who'd thrown her up in the air and always caught her. The man who'd carry her to bed on his shoulders. The man who had time to participate in a little girl's play world where dragons came alive and a princess needed to be saved. That all ended when she was eight years old.

Her dad had been involved in a car accident, and because of his injuries, he had C2 incomplete paralysis. They'd been prepared that over time, the paralysis would become complete. All movement would be gone, and breathing on his own would become impossible.

A hand landed on her back. "Oh, baby. Don't cry. We're proud of you. All your emails sounded exciting. We loved hearing about your adventures in the big city. Evan gave you quite the experience paying for your training, and I'm glad you were able to go. Going to cosmetology school was something you've wanted to do since you were in high school."

Ingrid lifted her head, kissed her dad's cheek, and wiped her face with her hands. The strength that had helped her walk to the front door left her. She rocked back on her heels, and the back of her knees hit the bed. Letting herself go, she sat with a plop.

"Is Evan coming over, too?" asked her mom.

The shock at learning somehow, someone, had emailed her parents and pretended to be her scared her. Had Evan stayed in contact with them? Was leading her parents on for two years part of his sick game?

"No." She cleared her throat. "He's not coming over, and I don't want you seeing him."

"Heavens, honey. What are you talking about? We were under the impression you were deeply in love with him, and you couldn't wait to come back and be with him." Her mom sat beside her on the bed and rubbed Ingrid's back.

She really needed Glen. How was she supposed to get through today without him by her side? "I'll tell you everything, but can we go in the living room. I left Glen out there."

"Oh, of course. I'll wheel your dad. I know he's anxious to hear all about New York." Her mom stood and got behind her dad's wheelchair. "I just don't understand why you thought to surprise us by coming home today or what that man...that biker is doing with you. He looks my age, sweetheart. I don't think he should be traveling with you. Do you even know him?"

"I wasn't in New York," she blurted, not wanting her mom to speak badly about Glen.

Her mom stopped at the doorway and turned around. "Where were you?"

"Here. St. John's." She joined her mom and walked behind her to the living room. "I swear, I'll tell you both everything."

"Okay," her mom whispered in confusion.

In the living room, Glen turned away from studying the pictures on the fireplace mantel. Ingrid watched him for any sign of anger. She'd thrown a lot at him bringing him home with her. Maybe he could now understand why it was up to her to protect her family.

"Dad?" She walked around her mom and put her hand on her dad's shoulder. "This is Glen Steele. He's a member of Notus Motorcycle Club and lives across town."

Glen lowered his chin. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Peterson."

Ingrid waited until Glen brought his attention back to her and said, "Dad's unable to talk. He's a C2 quadriplegic, but he can hear."

She turned to her mom. "Can you please sit? I need to talk to you both."

She waited until her mom moved her dad's wheelchair beside the end of the couch, then sat, and held her husband's hand. Ingrid swallowed the lump of emotions choking her. When she'd moved out to live with Evan, she still came home almost every day to give her mom a break from being the caregiver for her dad. There were only a few people her dad was comfortable around, seeing him in a wheelchair. Now that he'd lost all movement in his arms, he could no longer use his type to speech pad.

"I know you're both surprised to see me." She sat in the chair across from them, hoping Glen would stand beside her and lend his support, but he stayed by the fireplace. "I'm not sure how to tell you where I've been and what has happened since you last saw me."

"Are you saying you didn't go to cosmetology school?" Her mom frowned. "That doesn't make any sense. I've got hundreds of emails from you."

"They weren't from me." She shook her head. "I suspect Evan sent them to you, wanting you to believe I was away."

"Why would he do that?" asked her mom.

"Because he's not a nice man," she blurted, sucking in air. Like ripping off a Band-Aid, she continued. "Mom, Dad, Evan was abusing me. During the six months I lived with him and Stewart, he would throw things at me and hurt me. The first time, I went to the emergency room with broken ribs. After that, I learned to hide my injuries."

Her mom covered her mouth and shook her head in disbelieve. Her father's gaze never wavered from hers. It was because of her father's steady, supportive gaze that she told them how she ended up running away and hiding because of Evan's threats toward them. When her mom broke down, Ingrid kept talking. She couldn't stop. The ugly, painful truth needed to come out because once she confessed to everything that'd happened in the last two years, she never wanted to speak of what she'd lived through again.