“You’re the only one overly excited about this,” he points out to her.

“Because it’s our last night, there is alcohol, and a spa. Of course I’m excited.”

“Alcoholic.” He grins down at her.

She kisses him again, and they disappear upstairs.

“You excited to get in the spa?” Jack asks me from his position beside me on the sofa. “It’s really nice. Warm.”

I look to him. “Yeah, it’s been so long since I’ve been in a spa.”

We spend the day sailing again, stopping for a seafood lunch at a local restaurant. Then we came back and Jack took me to a lighthouse up the beach, before we came back to chill out before dinner and drinks.

It’s been an amazing trip. I’ve had so much fun.

So much.

“Well, go and get changed, and I’ll meet you in the spa. All the others are already in there. Except Molly and Roman, because, well, she’s behind in the times.”

I laugh softly. “Okay, I’ll go and get changed.”

I stand, smile down at him, and disappear upstairs. I grab my full-length swimsuit and move into the bathroom. I close the door and begin getting undressed. Before I get into my swimsuit, I stare at myself in the mirror. Mostly at the ugly, jagged scars that take up most of my abdomen and pelvic region. My heart clenches. Even with a full swimsuit, I’m always so afraid. So conscious. So ...

“Oh, my God. What the hell?”

I spin around with a cry, pressing a hand over my midsection. Molly stands at the door, her eyes on my scarring, her face expressing the shock and slight horror she feels looking at the damage.

“What ... what happened?” she breathes. “Who did that to you?”

“Please get out,” I say, my voice shaky.

My hands are shaking.

I’m horrified.

So embarrassed.

“No, Baylee, please, I’m not trying to—”

“Please get out!” I cry, tears bursting forth and running down my cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” she says, meeting my eyes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know anyone was in here. I’m sorry, I’ll go.”

She backs out of the room, closing the door. With trembling fingers, I pull my clothes back on, abandoning the swimsuit. I need to get out of here. I need air. I rush out of the bathroom and stumble down the stairs, my vision blurring, my body wound up so tight I can barely feel my legs. I run out the back door, and past everyone in the spa.

Molly is standing with Jack, and I know she’s told him what she saw. I know because I catch a glimpse of his face.

I run harder.

“Baylee!” he calls.

I don’t stop. I pump my legs with everything I am, running so hard and so fast I don’t honestly know how he catches me, but he does. His big hand curls around my arm and suddenly I’m being jerked backwards. A terrified scream leaves my throat as I hit the sand and his body comes down over mine. Visions of York holding me down flash in my mind.

“Get off me!” I scream.

“Baylee, calm down.”

“Get off me. Get off.”

“Baylee ...”

“Get off!” I scream so loudly his weight instantly removes itself from me.

I push to my hands and knees, and crawl forward, sobbing, horrified that he’s seeing this. That he’s witnessing this pathetic, broken side to me.

“Hey.”

His voice is so soft. So gentle.

“Baylee, sweetheart, look at me.”

I don’t, I keep my head hung, my body panting, my eyes on the sand.

“Please, honey,” he murmurs.

I lift my head and look over at him, sitting on the sand, his eyes upset and hurt.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you,” he says, his voice careful, gentle.

“I ... I ... I’m sorry,” I croak. “I’m sorry.”

“Can I come over there?” he asks. “I swear I won’t hurt you. I won’t even touch you if you don’t want.”

But I want him to touch me. I need him to touch me.

I nod.

He moves closer, and I shift so I’m sitting on the sand. I lower my head, my blonde hair falling over my face, and I just stare at the sand.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want,” he says carefully. “But what happened to you?”

Can I tell him?

Should I tell him?

I’m so tired of living with it inside, living with this broken, pathetic mess that is constantly in my chest.

I know I can trust Jack. I know it with every piece of myself.

So, I tell him ... some of it.

“I was with a man for a few years,” I say softly. “At first, he was good to me. He was so good, Jack. And then he started taking drugs. I don’t know why. I didn’t want to believe it at first. I didn’t want to see it. So I put my blinders on, and acted like nothing was wrong. But he started getting aggressive when he came down from those highs. I should have run then, I should have, but I didn’t ...”

“It’s okay,” Jack says, his voice husky. “Take your time.”

“Rae is his sister. He was hurting her, too. He got her addicted to drugs and then punished her for it. He broke me. He was abusive. I couldn’t go out without him losing it, thinking I was seeing other men. He was the worst human I’ve ever known, but I couldn’t run. I was so pathetic. So fucking broken. I just stayed. Too afraid to do anything about it.”

“You’re not weak, or pathetic. Don’t ever say that again.”

I look to him. “I should have taken Rae, and I should have left. I didn’t. I was just ... cracked. It took him nearly ending my life for me to finally part from him.”

“What did he do?”

Jack’s voice is tight, but I know he’s not angry at me.

“I ran away from him one night, and he caught up to me and dragged me back to the house.” I swallow as memories assault me. “He thought I was trying to sneak off to see other men. He was swinging this knife around, and I tried to run again but ...”

“Hey,” Jack says, reaching over and taking my hand. “Hey, it’s okay. When you’re ready.”

“He just started using it on me, on my s-s-s-stomach and lower. He wanted to make sure no man could ever touch me again, that no man would ever want me. Rae came out, she lost it, and it freaked him out enough to stop. He left me there on the ground, bloody, broken, nearly dead, and he disappeared. Rae called the police and I was taken to the hospital. I never heard from him again. Because of what he did, it’s highly unlikely I’ll ever have children. He did so much damage. The doctors said I have less than a five percent chance...”