I took a deep breath. And then another.

I threw my eyes up at Art and tried to tell him to tell me what the fuck he had just done with just a stare but I didn’t know if he was capable of reading them right now.

Tim was gone. For now. That was a good thing. That was always a good thing.

But now I had to deal with the fact that Art was still there, staring at the front door with a golden glare, his body still tense.

Jesus, his body was huge. I hadn’t even really noticed what he was wearing because I was still focused so hard on the roses at work and now Art Jackman in my house and Tim on my doorstep. Honestly, this was way more than I could take.

“What,” I managed to get out, taking in that white tank top, the grey sweatpants that clung to his butt and oh my God, he had the best butt I had ever seen. Like, seriously movie star slash soccer player butt. If I didn’t rip my eyes off of him, he would totally catch me staring and that would be the worst. “What did you just do?”

“He wouldn’t shut the fuck up,” he said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “He wouldn’t leave you alone or leave the house. I did the only thing I could think of doing to get rid of him.”

“You said we were together,” I said flatly, moving my eyes over to make sure the door was locked. 

I heard Tim leave, I heard his car take off, but that didn’t mean...

I took another deep breath. I needed to calm down. He was gone. At least, for the moment, Tim couldn’t get me.

“I did,” Art said with a curt nod. He placed his hands on his hips and looked at me with a cocked head, almost as though he didn’t quite understand what was wrong.

“And how do you suppose we pull that off?” I asked him. My voice kept raising octaves and I had to close my eyes to keep from wincing at how shrill I sounded. This was not like me. I mean, I wasn’t cool but I sure as hell wasn’t shrill. “You are a hockey player in the Stanley Cup finals. I’m a girl who works in the records department for the city.”

“Western Conference,” he said.

I shot him a look. “What?” I asked him through gritted teeth.

“You said we were in the Stanley Cup finals,” he said. “We’re not there just yet. Game One is tomorrow. If we win this round, we advance to the Stanley Cup Playoffs.”

I rolled my eyes. Was he really getting caught up on a technicality? I clenched my jaw and looked away, trying to keep my temper.

That was the operative word - trying.

“Can you please,” I began, starting to pace up and down the tile of my home, “answer my question before I start crying for no reason and hyperventilating and overreacting. Tell me what the plan is because I honestly have no clue. And I need you to tell me what you’re thinking so I can calm down and focus on something. Anything.” I flashed my eyes up at him. “Can you do that for me? Please?”

He peered at me like I was insane and yeah, I wasn’t helping myself with that. But finally, he breathed out through his nose and nodded his head.  

“Yeah,” he said. “I can do that. To be honest, I have no idea why I said what I said. I don’t have a plan.”

I clenched my teeth. I tried to regain some sense of patience.

“What?” I demanded. 

That patience didn’t happen.

“Yeah, I just wanted to get him away from your house,” Art continued nonchalantly, like he was talking about why it was overcast today and not my violent ex-boyfriend.

I closed my eyes and tried to process what was happening. I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to breathe, trying to calm myself down.

“This is bullshit!” I finally exclaimed, dropping my hand and putting them both on my hips. “This is bullshit! You decide to tell fucking lies when you don’t even know what the hell I’ve been through with Tim. And yet, you think you have any right to exert yourself in my life like you do. You think you can make choices for me without discussing this with me, without even trying to see it from my side. Do you know what you’ve done? Have you thought about how your smartass mouth is going to affect me?”

“What is your side?” he asked me quietly.

I didn’t know if he was actually ashamed of what he did. But the gravel from his voice was gone. If anything, it was husky and low. It wasn’t a voice he typically spoke with, I surmised.

“What?” I asked. I still had a tone but it didn’t have the bite it had had before. If anything, I was confused by his question.

“You said I didn’t know what had happened to you,” he said, his voice still quiet. “You’re right. I don’t have a fucking clue. But I want to know.”

I looked at him with disbelief. This guy, this stranger, wanted to know something I couldn’t even tell my best friends. Was he serious?

“I know it’s not my business,” he continued like he could read my mind. “I know you don’t have to tell me anything. You don’t have a reason to. Clearly, some serious shit happened. But if you want to tell someone, I want to listen.”

He was tense, I could feel it. And it was obvious he was uncomfortable even saying what he said. But there was a sincerity in his tone, a small, genuine flicker behind that rough voice that made me melt just a little. Soften, just a little. Want to trust him, just a little.

I sighed through my nose. “I should probably get you that coffee,” I murmured, looking down at my floor and heading to the kitchen. Without turning back, I could hear him shuffle behind me, which was what I wanted. “Hopefully, it hasn’t gone cold. But if it has, I can just get you a new cup. I mean, start a new brew.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head.  Sometimes, I could be such a spaz.

“You know you have nothing to worry about,” he said from behind me as I reached up to grab a mug I could pour the liquid into. 

I froze, and without realizing it, accidentally dropped the mug so it shattered to the floor. Immediately, I dropped to my knees and started to pick up the broken glass. I could feel him next to me, helping me. I almost wanted to scream at him, to tell him no, don’t help me, I don’t want your help, I don’t need your help. But I couldn’t find it in me to reject him.

“Why would you say something like that to me?” I found myself asking him as I made my way to my trash. 

I knew he was trying to be helpful. I knew he meant nothing by what he was trying to convey. I understood what he was trying to do, and unfortunately for him, it wasn’t working out the way he planned. But at the same time, everyone I talked to about this told me the same thing, and quite frankly, I was sick of it.

“Listen, I know you’re trying to help me, and I appreciate it, but the fact of the matter is, this isn’t about you and what you can do for me. I’ve talked to people about this before you and one of the reasons I don’t talk to people about this anymore is because they tell me what you’ve just told me: that I’ll be all right. That things will move on. That I have nothing to worry about because the police will help. The police helped. They did a great job. The police were great. It’s the law that sucks. I wish people - those helpful, friendly people that decided to offer me their opinion about my situation without me even asking them for it - should realize that unless they have gone through anything like what I went through - apparently, what I am going through - then they should just keep their mouth shut. They shouldn’t say anything.”

By the time I finished my unexpected lecture, my voice was strained and I needed to catch my breath.

“I understand,” he said finally, looking away. 

I didn’t know why he couldn’t make eye contact with me. I wish he would. I wanted him to see that it did mean something that he cared enough to ask. Nobody really asked about my past. Then again, no one had ever been confronted with it before unless you counted flowers on my desk at work. 

“Actually,” he continued, shifting his gaze. “I don’t. I don’t know what you went through.” He pressed his lips together to hold back a secret, like he didn’t want anything to accidentally slip out. “I have a younger sister. As far as I know, she hasn’t experienced half of what you’ve experienced, and for that, I’m grateful. I want to help you because, I would hope, that if my sister ever finds herself in similar circumstances, I would hope someone would do the same thing for her.”

I widened my eyes. I hadn’t realized Art had a sister. Which was stupid because he was still human. He still had a family.

Something inside of me was starting to shift. “Art,” I said slowly. I had come in here to get him coffee and ended up with a broken mug. “Tim wasn’t a very nice guy when we were together. I don’t want to go into specifics but he’s dangerous. And I know that firsthand. I didn’t want you involved because I’m embarrassed that this is still going on. That this is something I still have to worry about.”

I picked myself up and turned to him. My oversized sweater kept me warm and I felt the tension in my body start to ease. I sat at my kitchen table and held back a yawn. It was just after ten in the morning and I was already ready to crawl back into bed.

“To be honest,” I said, “it was a very bad time in my life. I don’t like to talk about it. I don’t even like to think about it. I’m ashamed of myself for letting me get so wrapped up that I didn’t even see the signs even though they were right in front of me. I felt so... stupid.”

“You aren’t stupid,” he said, taking a seat next to me after throwing the glass he picked up away.

I snorted. “Look, I’m the least self-deprecating person I know,” I said. “I studied this when I was in school. I knew what to look for. I could recognize a victim of abuse on the street. I never thought I would ever be one.”

It took me a moment to realize what I had admitted. My eyes jumped into his but I found him staring down at me with a soft look on his face. Like he wasn’t judging me. Like he did want to listen.

“Tim is dangerous,” I felt myself saying. I looked into his eyes and before I knew it, the words started coming out. “He was controlling, critical, verbally abusive. He was abusive in other ways too. At one point, I thought he was going to kill me. I thought I was going to die. When I woke up in the hospital, I promised myself this would never happen again and I left. I completely vanished.” I shrugged. “And now, here I am.”