There was a lot of good in Wheeler. A person would have to be blind not to see it. He seemed like a nice guy, he respected my personal-space issue, he was ridiculously good-looking, and my libido that I thought was long gone lit up like Christmas lights around him. I genuinely didn’t mind being alone with him or being close to him, which felt like a mini-miracle at this point. I liked the way he looked at me and I liked the way I felt compelled to look at him. I didn’t want to hide around him.

The flip side of all of that was that I was smart enough now to not ignore the negative that was also circling around the attractive mechanic. He had a baby on the way that he clearly wasn’t ready for. Soon fatherhood was going to have to be his first priority, not calming a skittish girl that had an obvious crush on him. He had a tumultuous relationship with his ex and I wasn’t sure he was anywhere close to being over her, which had the potential to lead to a whole lot of heartache if I let him get any closer than he already was. Plus, there was the big unknown, the big what-ifs that kept me awake at night and made me wonder if I could ever actually let anyone get as close as they would need to be if I ever wanted to have a real relationship.

Oliver had hurt me in the worst ways a man could hurt a woman and it wasn’t the first time. Sex with him had never been particularly pleasant, it always felt like some kind of punishment for him not being my first. Before Oliver, my only sexual experience had been with the man that I convinced myself was my true love. Sex with him had been exciting, something new and forbidden, since I grew up in such a conservative household. I honestly couldn’t get enough of it. It made me feel free and far more in charge of my life than I had ever been … at least it had until I got pregnant at barely eighteen. At first, I thought it was meant to be. I was foolishly in love and had no problem spinning unrealistic fairy tales around the college football-star that told me whatever I needed to hear in order to get into my pants. I was picturing a life together, a happy little family, but all of that was painfully unrealistic and woefully naive. I told my knight who came clad in cleats and a jersey about the baby, expecting him to be as excited as I was, and was heartbroken and destroyed when he told me to get rid of it.

It was like a slap in the face. I thought college and this perfect boy were my way out, the escape I’d longed for from my father and his long-reaching influence, but in a heartbeat all those dreams were shattered. He told me I was nothing, just another stupid freshman girl that was willing to spread her legs for the campus golden boy. He laughed at me when I cried and scoffed at me when I told him I thought we were going to be together forever. He walked away still laughing but came back months later when I refused to terminate my pregnancy.

Even without him I was planning on keeping the baby. I was going to face my father’s wrath, stand up to his scorn, and suffer through his disownment if it meant I could be the best mom ever. I was convinced this baby was meant to be, that it was a sign that I had a bigger purpose in life than being the perfect daughter and proper little wife he’d trained me to be.

The baby’s dad convinced me to come over to his place with promises of reconciliation. He told me he was done sleeping around, that he only wanted me. He promised that he loved me. I was stupid. I was so desperate for it to be real that I forgot about his ugly, twisted reaction when I told him we were going to be parents. As soon as I knocked on the door, I knew I’d made the world’s biggest mistake.

He yanked me into his apartment and proceeded to beat me within an inch of my life. My dad was a dictator and a tyrant, but he used his words and withheld his love to secure obedience and submission. I’d never had anyone lay their hands on me before. It was terrible. To this day, I could still taste my own blood, blood I choked on as he hit me over and over again, making sure that his blows were focused on and around my still-flat stomach. He wanted to punish me for defying his wishes, but more than that he wanted to make sure there was no way I left that apartment still pregnant.

He got his wish. After fifteen minutes I passed out, and when I woke up I was back in my own dorm room and I knew something was seriously wrong. There was blood everywhere and I felt like my entire body was being turned inside out. I crawled to the tiny bathroom and it was there that my body did what it had no choice to after the football player was done with me. I lost the baby as I sat on the bathroom floor, bleeding, alone, and torn apart in too many ways to name.

Luckily, my childhood friend and the boy that had lived next door to me my entire life was at the same college. At the time I had no clue he’d followed me there, but when he found me hovering on the brink of death in my dorm room, I was so grateful that he did. That boy was Rowdy, who was now desperately in love with my sister and building the kind of family I’d always wanted. He took care of me and then he went and took care of his teammate who was responsible for my condition. The school had a mess on their hands with the three of us, but I was so heartbroken and mortified that I packed myself up and headed back to the only thing I knew without a backward glance. I didn’t stick around to press charges like I should have and I didn’t stick around to vouch for Rowdy like I should have. Because of me he lost his scholarship, got kicked out of school, and disappeared. It was a lucky twist of fate that his path had crossed with Salem’s after so many years.

So sex, even good sex, wasn’t something that I’d had a lot of success with and there were a lot of unanswered questions that were constantly floating around in my head now that I realized I might actually want to have it again. Every time I caught sight of that ink that scrawled across Wheeler’s stomach and across the back of his neck, I wondered where it all went. I wanted to know if it dropped below the tops of his jeans and I was curious if those freckles of his stopped at the bridge of his nose. I’d never been so physically aware of the way I reacted to a man before him but I wasn’t sure I could do anything with the way he made me feel.

The counselor’s light voice jerked me away from the mental scale, where I was weighing all the things that were swirling around in my head. “You have to stop blaming yourself for what happened to you. Those choices were not yours. Your judgment is not in question. All you could do was react to the situation the best you could have, given the circumstances. You were a victim, not an accomplice.” That was a common refrain, both here and during my private sessions with my therapist. I didn’t make the choice to go with Oliver willingly when he abducted me. He’d pulled a gun on my sister and threatened to shoot her if I didn’t go with him. I did what I had to do in order to keep her safe. At the time it seemed like the only option, but now I always wondered if there was another way. If I should have been smarter, stronger … better.