Page 75 of Embracing the Beat
“He-he-he was going to-to-to r-r-r—” I can’t bring myself to say the word, and West takes pity on me.
“But you got away?”
I nod, my cheek dragging along the damp fabric. “Your shirt.”
“Don’t worry about my shirt. You got away. You’re safe. I’m here. He’s not going to do anything else to you.”
“You told me to think,” I tell him.
“What?”
“That night. I heard your voice in my head. Telling me to think.”
“Michaela.” My name is a pained whisper on his lips, and he crushes me to him, imbuing me with a security I haven’t felt all day. “I promise you. He’s never going to touch you again. I swear to God.”
“But…but I lied,” I say, hating to admit to something that he despises so much.
“You haven’t lied about anything else, right?”
"No, nothing,” I tell him quickly.
“Will you make me a promise?”
I lift my head and meet his eyes.
“What?”
“No more lies. Tell me. Anything you tell me will always be better than not being honest.”
“I promise.”
“Nothing you can tell me will drive me away. I’m here.”
I let out a breath, the tension loosening but not disappearing completely. For the first time since I signed the record contract, since that first picture in Chicago with Jax, I can breathe.
I’m not alone.
