***Thanks again for the reads and reviews! It means SO much to me! This is one of my favorite chapters, so I hope y'all enjoy it! Lots of emotion. Also, don't forget to follow me on twitter! ThsBabeNmedReba, or just type in Reba Fanfiction! Thanks, babes! :) ***

-Chapter 10-

I put down my phone, and decided not to call Brock back. I know I should have, but I was sobbing so hard it would only concern him more. I didn't want that, right? Well, for the most part. I don't need him worrying about me, and I can do just fine on my own. I know that. It's just… A small, small part of me is so broken and so fragile that all I want to do is pour my heart out to him and allow him to hold me again.

I was speeding down the road with tears filling up my eyes when I realized what I was allowing myself to think. Hold me again? No. No, no. I don't want that. Not from him. And even if I did, I wasn't allowed to think about it. That kind of thinking is dangerous for a woman. But with as dangerous as I'd been the night before, it almost seemed natural.

I pulled into the house and my heart stung at the familiarity and the comfort of my home. I saw Brock's truck, and not too far behind Barbra Jean's car. But instead of feeling anxiety knowing what I was about to face, I was comforted. Van's football in the front yard, Barbra Jean's car parked 3 feet off of the drive way, and Elizabeth's toys scattered across the yard brought back comfort that I thought wasn't possible to feel after waking up with John.

I walked in the house, and before I could take a breath in my living room, all of it was knocked out of me by a big blonde monster.

"Reba, there you are! Where were you? Oh gosh I missed you my crazy redhead!" She screamed in my ear. She held me so tight I couldn't breathe until I pushed her off of me.

"Barbra Jean, I was just gone one night." I stated, annoyed.

"Yeah, I know. But you? Out on a Friday night? All night long?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I really don't want to talk about it." I could tell she was surprised when I didn't come up with some witty comeback. Her face softened, and for the first time she looked me up and down. She looked like she had seen a ghost instead.

"Wait… You're okay. Right?" She sounded like a child.

"Yes." Was all I could say. I pushed past her to find Cheyenne on the couch staring up at me. "Hi honey! I'm ready to see those clothes!" I tried to sound excited. But when Cheyenne continued to stare at me, with a look close to fear in her eyes, and when Barbra Jean walked over staring at me the same way, I could tell they didn't buy it.

It was one thing if Brock had an idea about John, but there was no way I was going to let Cheyenne know. I'm her mother, and I'm supposed to be her rock. If she knew how weak I had been, even for just a night, it could crush her. So, I forced a smile. "What's wrong you guys? You wanted me to see the clothes, right? Well, I'm here!" I threw my arms up in the air.

"You look awful, mom." Cheyenne almost whispered. I didn't know what she was talking about until I thought about the drinking last night and the sobbing this morning. I'm sure I looked like a hammered mess. But how could I explain that to them? The bloodshot eyes, the pale face, the mascara smeared down my cheeks? Right as I was thinking of an excuse, the silence of the room was filled with the sound of boots walking out of the kitchen. We all turned to see Brock walking in the living room. As soon as he saw me, his jaw dropped and he rushed towards us.

"I told you to tell me as soon as she got here!" He practically yelled at Barbra Jean, which caught me off guard. "Reba, where have you-" He stopped mid-sentence and looked down at Cheyenne. I followed his gaze to find her looking up at me with concern.

"What's going on?" She quickly stood up from the couch. "Mom, are you alright? What happened to you?" I shot a frantic look to Brock, who always knew I never wanted the kids worrying about me, no matter the circumstances. My throat went dry and I couldn't speak. Thank God Brock noticed.

"Everything is alright, honey. I'm just going to talk to your mom in the kitchen for a second." Brock led the way out of the room and I automatically followed. I turned over my shoulder and saw that Cheyenne's face looked more relaxed than before. But then, I looked to Barbra Jean. One look at her face and I felt as if she knew everything. The fear and concern she expressed made me ache, and somehow, if only for a second, made me gain a lot of respect for her.

I followed Brock as he walked to the fridge, a safe distance from Barbra Jean and Cheyenne. I was focusing on his boots and trying to see straight when he stopped and turned around, making me run into him. I pulled back, even more distraught than before, and stumbled a second before he grabbed my hand to steady me. When I found my balance, I stared at the ground, working up the courage to look at him. I felt like a kid again. Finally, I slowly looked up at him, and silently thanked God for the sight I saw.

I saw my Brock. Not the emotionless, manly Brock everyone else saw. Not the cheating, bone-headed Brock I've been seeing the last 6 years. No, I saw the Brock that I spent the majority of my life in love with. His blue eyes looked down at me with such sincerity and concern it made my knees weak. The crows-feet around his eyes gave them a gentle, caring look. I was reminded of all the times I've seen him like that. I remembered all the times I've broken down in his arms, and allowed myself to completely lose it. I would look up, and see those eyes staring down at me, and everything would be okay again. I spent my life being strong for other people, and he was the only person I could be weak with. Knowing that is probably what made me start hysterically sobbing the way I did. I tried to hold back my tears, but they came so quickly I could hardly think. Brock pulled me close to him, and I tried to muffle my sobs so Cheyenne and Barbra Jean wouldn't hear me.

"Shhh, it's okay." He coaxed while rubbing my hair with his calloused hand. It's funny, this whole time those were the only words we had shared. And yet, I felt more comfortable with him than I had ever felt with anyone else.

Cheyenne and B.J. must had gone upstairs or left, because as much as I tried to hold it in, gasps escaped my mouth and I couldn't force myself to cry silently. Had one of them heard me, they would have come running in a second.

Finally, when I could collect myself again, I pulled back from Brock's white shirt to see black stains where my face had been buried. "I'm sorry." I whispered.

"Don't worry about it." He said, continuing to look at me with those eyes that almost made me lose it all over again. But I had let out what I needed to, and I knew I could control myself now. We stood in the kitchen quietly for a few seconds. The silence was so overwhelming I knew Cheyenne and B.J. must have left the house all together. There's no way those two could be that quiet.

I stared down at my feet. Brock was expecting me to talk, but I'm sure he knew from the look on my face that I wasn't going to be the first to speak. So finally, he drew a deep breath.

"Reba, what's going on?" He asked in a gentle voice.

"I'm okay." Was all I could think to say.

"No you're not. Please… Please talk to me." His voice cracked. I knew Brock wasn't crying, so I didn't bother to look up to check. But still, his voice showed just how much he cared.

"I don't want to." He knew my stubbornness, so I could tell he wasn't shocked that I wasn't cooperating. It was quiet for a while, and I finally looked up at him.

He looked into my eyes for a second, and then closed his eyes tightly. "Who was that man?" He asked, and then looked down keeping his eyes shut. I could tell he knew he needed to ask, but didn't want to hear the answer.

"Brock, I really don't want to talk-"

"Reba, please." He looked at me. "I know you're not okay. Who was he?" He asked, regaining his composure. He straightened his back and looked down at me. "Please talk to me. Please."

"Brock I can't! I don't want to. I can't." Why wasn't I telling him? Because I didn't want to? Or because I couldn't? I said both, but which did I mean?

"You know you can trust me." He grabbed my arms, right where John had squeezed me earlier. I gasped in pain, and jumped back, shocked at how bad it hurt. Brock jumped back as well. "What did I do?" He asked in shock. It wasn't until I looked at the ground fighting back tears that he realized he hadn't done anything. It had already been done. Brock took a step forward, and I felt as if my feet were stuck in cement. I stood holding my arms across my chest as he lifted my left sleeve slightly. I heard his breath catch in his throat, and I knew I had bruised. I remained like a statue, staring at the ground and trying not to shake, as he gently stoked my arm with his free hand. He pulled back, and then spoke in a stern, yet tender voice. "Did he hurt you?"

"No."

"Don't you lie to me." I didn't respond. I was still in the same position as before. "Reba, did he," He stopped, trying to steady the anger I could hear rising in his voice. "What did he do to you?" Brock was shaking, yet trying to be gentle with me.

What did he do to you? The question rung in my ears, and brought back a whiskey blurred memory I had tried so hard to forget.

It was after our third night together. That was all me and John had- Nights. We had gotten into an argument, and before I knew it he was throwing things and cursing in my face. I knew he was a dangerous man, but that was the first time I had actually seen it. It was too much for me, and actually scared me. I tried to leave, but he told me I couldn't. So, I waited until he calmed down, and told him we were out of beer, which we actually were. I told him I'd be right back, and he let me go. But instead of going to the beer store, I went home and flopped down on the couch. About an hour had past, and I actually thought I was off the hook. But as I was sinking into the comfort of my surroundings, the phone rang.

"Where are you?" I didn't even have a chance to say hello before his slurred, evil voice came on the line.

"I'm at home." I snapped back.

"Why the hell are you there? You said you were getting beer!" He was screaming.

"I'm not going to let you treat me like that." I stated calmly.

"Like what? Like you deserve to be treated?" His voice was raspy and mean.

"I don't deserve to be treated like that, you asshole. Now leave me alone." I hung up the phone, and ignored the rest of his calls, thinking I had solved the problem.

Then, about 40 minutes later, I heard a hard bang at my door. Surely not… I thought as I stood up on shaky legs and walked to the door. looked through the peep-hole to see John. I began to sweat as my heart beat like a drum.

"Open up, darling. I'm sorry, okay? I just want to make things better." Back then, I couldn't have known better. "I promise I'll make it up to you." It did sound awful tempting at the time.

I slowly opened the door and let him in. He smiled, and kissed me on the top of my head as he walked past me.

"Nice place." He noted.

"Thank you." I said dryly, trying to show how hurt I still was. I fumbled for a second with the lock, which had been sticking lately, when I felt John walk up behind me. I thought he was going to do his usual seductive-hug-from-behind, so I didn't think twice about it. He bent down, wrapped his strong arms around my waist, a little too tight, and propped his head on my shoulder.

"I have a question." He whispered in my ear, squeezing a little tighter.

"Yes?"

"Where did you tell me you were going?"

I swallowed hard, not sure what he was doing. "To get beer?" I mumbled.

He chuckled. "Then why are you here?" He started progressively squeezing tighter, causing me more and more pain with each second. I tried to wiggle away from him, but was paralyzed by his strong grip.

"John, let go!" He jerked me around to face him, causing my whole body to shake. He grabbed under my arms and pulled me up in the air. I was screaming, trying to get him to let go, when he threw me down on the couch.

The couch wasn't so soft when my body was slung down on it, and it sent shocks of pain into my back. The pain made it unable for me to move, and when I finally could, John sat down on the space next to where I was lying. He leaned over me and used his left arm to push my chest down, and his right arm to cover my mouth. I bit down hard on his hand, and he cursed at me and slapped me immediately across my face. My face stung, and I tried to scream, but the pressure on my chest made it impossible.

"Hey, hey. Calm down. There's no use getting all worked up." I hated the calmness in his voice as I twisted and turned underneath his grasp trying to escape. "Stop." He said more sternly. When that didn't work, and I continued to kick and moan, he slapped me even harder, making me reside. "No more." He commanded. I looked up at him with fear in my tear rimmed eyes. "Are your kids here?" He asked. I didn't answer, simply because thinking of them made me long to be with them, especially since they were at their dads. It turned out to be a good thing that they weren't there, because he didn't ask again when I remained silent. Instead, he moved his heavy hand slowly off of my mouth and drug it down my neck, stopping at my breast. He used both of his hands to cup them, and then squeezed hard enough to make my whimper.

And from that moment on, I was defenseless against him as he had his way with me on the couch. I cried and begged him to stop, but he acted as if he didn't hear me. When he was done, he raised his body over mine and looked into my eyes.

"You're a sonofabitch." I spit at him. He pulled me up from the couch and flung me on to the floor like I was a piece of paper. He stood up and kicked me hard in the stomach. I leaned over and tried not to vomit.

"Don't you act like I'm the bad guy. You little whore." He put his clothes on, and I grabbed a blanket off of the chair to wrap myself up in. I silently watched him as he put his wallet in his pocket and fixed his collar. Then he leaned down to where I was on the floor.

He stroked my bare shoulder, and I jerked back from his touch. He grabbed my hair, and yanked so hard it brought my whole head back. He looked at me, and his eyes told me not to do that again. There was a knot in my throat as I forced myself to relax while he stroked my shoulder again. Then, he leaned down and softly kissed my delicate skin.

"Don't think you can just get away from me like that." He whispered. And then, he walked out the door, leaving me naked and scared on the floor.

"Did he hurt you Reba?" Brock's voice interrupted my thoughts as I came back to reality.

"No, he didn't. Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere I need to be."

"Reba-"

"Brock! I didn't stop you when you left. Don't you dare stop me." I said through clinched teeth and blurry eyes. His arms fell to his sides as he stared at me. And then I walked back out to the car, finally realizing what I had done. B.J's Car was gone, so I knew her and Cheyenne probably went somewhere.

In a daze, I started my car and headed back to John's house, clutching the wheel so hard my knuckles were white.