21. Chapter Twenty-One

Rose

I change my position to cling to him head-on, to feel that hard cock nestle between my thighs. Instinctively, I widen my stance and let loose a little moan at the thrill of him pulsing against my clit.

"I won"t take no for an answer, Rip. You said it. We"ve waited forever for this. I don"t need years. Not even another day. I want you, and I know you want me."

To punctuate my words, I slide my hand between our melded bodies and fumble a bit before I grip his cock at the root. For a moment, a frisson of fear darts up my spine when I can"t for the life of me imagine anything that big penetrating me.

Then I think of my twelve siblings. If my mom could push thirteen children out of her channel, I can certainly tolerate one hard, thick cock. I vow to take that inside me or die trying.

Just as Rip lifts me into his arms, we"re interrupted by a fierce pounding on the front door.

"Rosie! Rosie! We know you"re in there!"

It"s unmistakably my father. His use of the word "we" suggests one or more of my brothers are with him.

I thought I"d come so far, but just hearing his voice has me trembling in fear.

"Let me go," I whisper urgently. "This could be bad."

Rip doesn"t move. He tightens his grip on me and looks into my eyes. His gaze is dark and unwavering as he speaks. "It"s going to be okay, Rose. Nobody is going to hurt you while I"m here. Do you trust me?"

I give a weak nod. My heart"s pounding so hard I feel like it will burst through my chest any second now. Rip releases me and takes one step toward the door, but I grab his arm in panic, feeling desperate not to let him go up against my father and brothers alone.

"You"ve had your taste of life away from us," my older brother Luke shouts through the door. "It"s time to come back now, Rosie."

I feel like I"m two different people. Here in Rip"s embrace, I take strength from him, but there"s still a five-year-old Rosie inside me who wants to run and hide, or worse—give in.

"Wilton Freeman has asked me for your hand in marriage, even though it"s common knowledge you"re no longer pure." Hearing those words from my father"s lips reminds me not only of everything wrong with my childhood, but also every single reason I never want to return.

"We'll get you married the day we get back and you can put all this foolishness behind you." That was my second-oldest brother, Caleb. Crap, there's three of them against Rip and me.

Rip grabs his pants and pulls them on as he whispers, "I"ll fight for you. I"ll protect you."

He will. Of that, I have no doubt. Something breaks apart inside me as I imagine him doing just that. I picture the four men fighting, screaming, threatening each other.

Like a lightning bolt, I have the stark realization that this isn"t about Luke or Caleb or Rip or my father.

It's about me. As a grown woman, it's time I act like one and take my life into my own hands. I've already done a lot of changing, an unbelievable amount of courageous growth. I'm here. I sued my parents and bought this house, but the fact is, I had to run away to do it. Until now, I've never stood up to them, never told them face to face that I'm my own person and am determined to live my life, making my own mistakes.

One glance at my phone tells me there"s still no cell service. No way to call the police.

Looking at Rip, I hope he sees the grit and determination on my face. "I can do this Rip. I know you want to fix this for me, but I have to deal with this head-on. On my own."

His face shows his reluctance to let me open the door. His fists open and close as he readies himself for a fight, but he takes a deep breath and nods to me.

"You're right, Rose. This fight is yours." He flashes me a supportive smile and adds, "Just say the word and I'll be the best backup a strong woman like you ever had."

After taking a deep breath and squaring my shoulders, I throw on a t-shirt and shorts, stalk to the door, and swing it wide open.

"I thought not answering my phone was a clear message," I say as they press through the door without permission.

I don't know what their plan was. Perhaps they were going to grab me and stuff me into the back seat of their car—or the trunk. One glance at Rip makes them rethink their plan.

"Who is he?" Luke seethes.

My mind is flying like the world's fastest computer. I could tell them the barest facts, but they don't deserve to know anything. They shouldn't be here and certainly had no right to barge in without my permission.

I need to break ties once and for all.

"My lover."

It's funny how those two words left my mouth. I didn't spit them out, nor did I say it with embarrassment. Instead, I heave them like a war lance.

Take that dad, Luke, Caleb, and anyone else who cares to know. I may still be a virgin, but I have a lover.

I lift my chin and spew out my truth, even though I know they not only don't want me to say it, but won't hear—really hear—a word I say.

"This is Rip. He loves me." I know I'm overstepping. Although he's never uttered those words, I know I can patch things up with him later.

"That's right." He steps closer and possessively slides his arm around my waist. I love how he doesn't take over the conversation, mansplain, over-talk me, or threaten them. He knows I'm strong and he will not steal my moment.

"See this house?" I motion toward the bookcase. "This is mine. I bought it outright and lay claim to everything inside it." A smile plays across my lips as the realization dawns that I just claimed Rip along with the books and furnishings. I hope he doesn't mind.

"I wake when I want, go to sleep when I want, and spend my time from morning to night doing exactly what I want."

My father's face is turning red and his mouth is working although no words are coming out. Good. It gives me more time to talk without interruption.

"I eat foods you'd never approve of and read books that would scandalize you. You know what? God hasn't struck me down."

My dad sputters and is working up a head of steam to give me one of those horrible never-ending sermons he forced me to listen to for my entire life. I cut him off with a forceful slash of my hand and continue my own tirade. It's been a long time coming. The words spill from my mouth.

"I worship in my own way and…" I pause for effect, knowing this is going to push their buttons, "I have my own beliefs about God."

"That's enough Rose Marie Bennett." My dad's harsh tone is full of warning.

"That's right. I have complete control over what happens here." I point to my temple. "You no longer take up space in my head. I've evicted you and your small, petty, unyielding ways."

I know my time is short. Any moment now, my father is going to start talking, lecturing in that way of his that prevents any interruption.

"I believe all people are created equal. I believe we're all entitled to the pursuit of happiness. I'm happy I'm not with you. And you know what? Your spiteful beliefs that have no foundation in the Bible are no longer ringing in my ears."

Quickly now, before he starts spewing, I add, "I miss you, Luke, Caleb. I miss all of you, but not enough to get close enough to absorb your poison. If you have it in your heart, you'll give my email address to my sisters and brothers. If they're still not allowed on the Internet, you have my physical address. I'd love their letters."

"Rose!" My dad takes a step toward me.

I know his expression. This is the face he wears right before he shows us what "spare the rod and spoil the child" means.

I feel every muscle in Rip's body tighten as he leans forward, clearly losing his ability to hold back.

"Get out! All of you!" My voice is shrill.

I ease away from Rip and easily lay my hand on the manilla folder tucked between two books on the shelf.

"This is a restraining order." I pull the sheet of paper, in its plastic protective sleeve, out of the envelope. "It prohibits you from coming within one hundred yards of me. I'm telling you to leave."

My brothers and father pause as their faces cloud with anger. I have distance now that I've been away from them. It's odd how I can read every expression on my father's face. I guess it's not so surprising. For my entire childhood being able to read his emotions meant the difference between safety and a beating.

He's assessing how much he can push the issue. Does he know how spotty my cell service is? That I couldn't call the sheriff right now if I wanted to?

I push that aside, wanting him to hear the confidence in my voice when I stand in my full power and say, "I know what it's like receiving an order I don't want to follow. All your children do."

I stare my father straight in the eyes. "Now I'm telling you: LEAVE!"

The tension in the air is thick as I stand firm, proud that I'm no longer living in a world where their rules are law.

My father's face flares so red I wonder if he's going to have a stroke. I don't know if I've ever seen him this angry.

For a moment, he looks as though he might start a fight. He seems to be assessing his options. Although Rip and I are outnumbered, he must think better of crossing the line into a physical altercation.

Rip's muscular arm around my waist, his physical and emotional support, lend me strength as I wait to see what my father is going to do next.

Finally, he turns his back on me and walks away.

"Come boys. We're going home and will tell your sisters and brothers that Rosie is dead. It's the truth. She's dead to us."

How many times have I played out this interaction, or something similar to it in my head? I did it for years before I gathered the nerve to leave, always believing it would devastate me, kill something deep in my soul if I was shunned.

Instead, I simply feel sad. Sad that it turned out this way.

"Luke! Caleb! You know where to find me. If you ever get the balls to leave, to have a life of your own out from under the thumb of a controlling madman, I'll help you in any way I can."

The last half of that sentence was lost to them, though I yelled it, because they had already crossed the threshold and slammed the door.