Page 21 of Broken Saint

Yeah, it will. And I’ve got no idea if that is a good thing or not.

I need to be moving forward.

Finally putting the past behind me.

It took a while, but eventually, I managed to drift off to sleep in Letty’s incredibly comfortable guest bed, and when I wake, I must admit, I feel a little better.

My muscles are tender from even the short bit of yoga we did, letting me know that they still exist and are capable of doing exercise even if my brain has put a block on it.

I strip out of my clothes and step into the huge, powerful shower that awaited me in the connected bathroom. Just like in the bedroom, there are huge mirrors lining the walls.

It’s my idea of hell.

But I also can’t help wondering if I found myself here for a very good reason.

I needed to step back and take stock.

I’ve been allowing my insecurities and Chad’s control to run my life for too long now.

So what, I’m a little plumper than I used to be? So what, I have gnarly scars where my smooth, flawless skin used to be?

It doesn’t make me less of a person.

The people who love me, truly love me, don’t see all of these things as flaws. They’re just parts of me.

I scrub every inch of my body, keeping one eye on the mirror opposite me, desperately trying not to focus on the rolls of fat and the dents of cellulite that never used to be there.

You’re beautiful.

You’re funny.

You’re smart.

Men like curves. No…men love curves.

Curves are sexy.

I repeat that mantra over and over, and by the time I get out of the shower and wrap myself up in a huge, fluffy towel I’m beginning to feel better. A little more confident.

I blow-dry my hair and curl it in a way I haven’t done in…a long time before applying my makeup much more liberally than I usually would.

Letty is right. It’s time for a new me.

With smokey, dark-lined eyes and red lips, I toss my curls over my shoulder and march from the room to find something to wrap my body in that might keep the confidence coming.

I didn’t pack anything sexy. Hell, I don’t own anything sexy. But that doesn’t seem to matter, because the second I turn to the bed, I gasp, finding my best friend sitting there with something I’m not sure I want to acknowledge in her hands.

“You look hot,” she says.

“Thanks. I feel good. It’s been a while since I—” I wave my hand over my face.

“I bought this for the weekend in case you decided to come. I don’t want to pressure you into it, but I do think it would be good for you to get out, soak up some of the excitement and put everything you’ve just walked away from behind you. Even if just for the night. Hopefully, we’ll be celebrating and you can just…let go.”

Breathing in slowly, I take another step forward and hold my hand out for the jersey sitting on her lap.

A smile twitches at one side of her face, as if my interest alone equals my agreement.

Holding the navy-blue Seattle Saints jersey out in front of me, I think back to all the times we donned our purple Panthers ones over the years to support the guys. I think of the wins, the fun, the parties.