Page 95 of Get Me to the Starting Line
Wait, money? What money? Also, screw this guy. Leah is fucking brilliant all on her own.
“How dare you! I’ve changed, Lee. I want to be with you ...” He takes a step forward, reaching out to her. She flinches.
Flinches.
That’s it for me. I step out and stand protectively in front of her. Ian has the decency to look frightened as he backs away, hands up.
“Chill, dude, I’m not going to hurt her.”
“I’m not your dude,” I growl.
I feel Leah’s hand on my back and she steps out from behind me, glaring at Ian. “Leave, Ian.” Her voice is shaky. She’s starting to lose her composure.
“No.”
“She won’t ask you again,” I add, putting as much warning into my tone as I can.
Ian eyes flit from me to Leah, assessing. I see his hand twitch at his side, but I’ll go to prison before I let him touch her, not if she doesn’t want him to.
“This isn’t over, Leah.”
I see it then, the flash of anger in his eyes. It’s dark and dangerous.
“Leave,” I say through gritted teeth.
At least one of his brain cells is working because he turns and stalks out of the room.
When the door slams behind him, the loud sound echoes through the entire room, rattling the chalk on the chalkboard. Leah sucks in a sharp breath right before she crashes into my side.
Fuckthatmotherfucker.
Exhaustion drags my body into Julien. Even though the interaction was barely five minutes, I feel depleted. It’s why I don’t bother to think, I just sink right into him. He’s there, already catching me in his arms, holding me tight.
Not a bad way to go, being suffocated by these muscles. I don’t actually want to die, though, so I squirm to shift my head, resting my cheek against him instead.
He rubs my back in soothing strokes. It feels like heaven.
“I hate him,” I try to explain.
“I know.”
“I don’t—” I struggle for words. How can I explain how thoroughly Ian wrecked me? Stringing me along for years before and after he proposed, always postponing the wedding for some stupid reason or another, destroying my confidence in the process.
Maybe we should wait until you can fit into the dress you love.
Maybe it’ll be better when your hair is longer.
Maybe it’s because we’ve been together so long, we might be settling. We could each get a hall pass to make sure. He laughed it off like it was a joke.
Maybe once you feel more secure in your job and are more financially stable.
Maybe we should wait until you’re sure you can be successful. You don’t want to plan a wedding and find a new job at the same time.
Looking back after all the therapy and distance from him, I realize how fucking awful he was to me. All the red flags I was too blind to see. At the time, with the way he said these things, it came off as so caring and thoughtful.
Making sure I would be as happy as I could be when we finally got married. The delays were for me, not for him.
Bullshit.
