“What changed? Why did you come forward this week?”
“My application for law school was rejected at the request of the MacAllisters. It was their way of punishing me for placing a restraining order on Ben. Law school at the University of Oregon was my dream, and now it’s gone. I don’t think I should be punished for a crime Ben committed. I’m tired of being his victim.”
“How do you know the MacAllisters were behind your law school rejection?” she asked. “Applicants are rejected for many reasons.”
“My scores and qualifications are excellent. When I asked my advisor about the rejection, she told me the MacAllisters are the largest donors to the School of Law at the university.”
“Did she say the MacAllisters had requested your rejection?”
“No. I don’t think she dared to actually say so. But the implication was clear. Ben and his family were punishing me.”
The DA shook her head. “Legal cases are not won by implication, Ms. Larson. Jurors rely on factual evidence when determining guilt or innocence. Frankly, were we to bring up this unprovable theory of MacAllister involvement in your law school rejection, the defense would jump all over it, saying you were blaming the MacAllisters for your own failure to qualify.”
She got up, walked around her desk and leaned against the front of it, her artificial smile disappearing completely. “Here’s what I think, Ms. Larson. I think you waited six months before going to the police because you know your case is weak. You know it comes down to your word against his. You know his family has a whole team of lawyers who will pull out all the stops to defeat you in court. If not for the law school rejection, you would have let that whole alleged rape incident die of its own accord, right?”
I stared at her in shock. “You think I’m making this up? Ben’s assaults, the rape, the MacAllisters, everything? You think I’m just playing the victim here? I am a victim, and I deserve a chance to prove it.”
“How? How do you intend to prove it? According to Ben MacAllister, the so-called prior assaults were simply rough sex that you enjoyed and even encouraged, and the alleged rape on December 14th was another completely consensual episode of rough sex.”
“What about the rape kit exam—my external and internal injuries?”
“Detective Switzer questioned the nurse who conducted the rape kit exam. She went over the results of the exam and the DNA testing. She admitted your injuries could have been caused by consensual rough sex. Ben MacAllister’s DNA was found on your body in saliva, semen, fingernail scrapings and hair, which is consistent with his admission of rough sex. So the rape kit exam most likely won’t help us at all. The jury will believe the defendant’s claim that the sex was consensual.”
“Then why would I accuse him of rape? And I didn’t wait six months, you know. I applied for a restraining order in January because I was afraid of him. Why would I do that if everything was fine between us?”
She sighed. “According to Ben MacAllister, everything was not fine. He said you were interested in another man and wanted to break up with Ben but knew he’d protest, so you came up with the rape accusation as a means of keeping him away from you. Apparently it worked.”
I was stunned. “Ben was always jealous, but . . . what other man? Did he say?”
“Yes. Trey Larson.”
“Trey? My cousin? Ben thinks I wanted to have an affair with my cousin?”
“Yes. And his claim is supported by the fact that you’ve been living with Trey Larson since the night of the alleged rape.”
I looked at her and realized she did believe it, or at least enough of it to create reasonable doubt in her mind and in the minds of a judge and jury. I felt sick inside, knowing part of Ben’s story was true. Ben had sensed an attraction between Trey and me, which had partially triggered his rage that night. That didn’t justify his actions, but wasn’t I at least partly responsible?
The DA walked back to her chair and sat down. “Based on the evidence in this case, we do not have probable cause to believe a crime has been committed and cannot justify an arrest. Even more important, as a prosecutor I believe we cannot prove criminal conduct beyond a reasonable doubt. Therefore, I will not approve the application for an arrest warrant, and I will not file charges against Mr. MacAllister. This decision is final. You may, however, initiate a civil suit against Mr. MacAllister, though I doubt you would prevail.”
I felt like I’d been slapped. Not knowing what to say, I got up and moved toward the door. But I turned and looked at her, sitting there with that artificial smile back on her face. She hadn’t even bothered to stand up.
“I’m curious,” I said. “Did the MacAllisters call you, too?”
The smile disappeared as she rose. “I resent the implication, Ms. Larson. This interview is over.”
I left.
Chapter 10
T rey looked at me when I reached the waiting room, and he knew things had not gone well. I said nothing as he drove us back to his apartment, but when we got inside he wanted to know, so I paced around the living room while I related the whole miserable interview.
“She didn’t believe me,” I concluded. “She didn’t believe any of it—the assaults, the rape, what the MacAllisters did to me. I should have listened to you and called the police right away that night, when the evidence was obvious. I should have listened to Uncle Johnny when he told me to file a report two weeks later. Instead, I got a restraining order and waited six whole months to file. I was so stupid, Trey. So stupid!”
“You’re not stupid, Elise. You were scared, and you had a right to be. I was wrong to tell you to report this now, after all this time. I’m sorry I put you through all this. I should’ve known better.”
I stopped pacing and walked over to him. “It’s my fault for getting involved with Ben in the first place, and for staying with him when I learned what he was really like. I let him hurt me and I forgave him over and over until he thought he could do anything and get away with it. And he did.”
He took my chin and turned my head to look into his blue eyes, a perfect match for mine. “The fault is Ben’s. He’s a bully and an abuser. Eventually he’ll get what’s coming to him.”
“You really think so?”
“Yes. I really do.” He pulled me close and wrapped his arms around me. It felt so good. So right.
“Trey . . .”
“No more talk, Elise. Not now.”
He kissed my forehead and the tip of my nose and then my lips in the softest of kisses, the kind a cousin might give, just waiting for my reaction. He didn’t have to wait long. I opened my mouth to him and took him inside with all the need and hunger and wanting I’d denied for so long. He invaded and I accepted this exquisite forbidden pleasure until I forgot everything except my desire for this man.
He broke the kiss and brushed his thumb across my lips. “Let me love you,” he said. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”
I should stop this, I thought. But I can’t. Not now. Not today. So I simply nodded. He smiled and took me to his room, where I kicked off my shoes and joined him in the middle of his quilt-covered king size bed.
His mouth found mine and I was lost in a swirl of pleasure and need. My mind flashed back to a memory of sex with Ben: hot, demanding, urgent, rough. And then the pain. But this was not Ben. This was Trey.
Thoughts of Ben disappeared as Trey kissed my eyelids and my ears and my chin and down to the hollow of my throat. His fingers unbuttoned my blouse and unclasped my bra, and his mouth moved down my cleavage to lick each breast in turn, sucking the nipples into hard peaks. As his mouth pleasured my breasts, his fingers unzipped my skirt and slipped inside, moving past my navel to the top of my bikini panties. Then he stopped.
“What?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”
“What about protection?”
“I’m okay,” I said. “Don’t worry. I have an IUD.”
I sat up and helped him undress, admiring his magnificent athlete’s body, strong and firm a
nd perfectly proportioned, from his broad shoulders and muscled chest to his powerful runner’s legs. He pulled my skirt off and lay back down, leaving my panties on.
“Now,” he said. “Where were we?”
His mouth reclaimed my nipples while his hand skimmed along my panties to cup my mound. I lifted my hips to increase the pressure, wanting more. His middle finger moved past my clitoris to the groove of my opening but didn’t penetrate the silk fabric of my panties.
My hands clenched the quilt as I squirmed and pleaded. “Take them off. Just take them off!”
“Are you sure, Elise? Sure you want this?”
“Yes. I’m very sure.”
I felt the silk slide down my legs and then his hand was back, skin against skin, gently exploring my moist private place with his fingers, all around and then inside and I began to move, seeking release. He stopped.
“Trey . . .”
“If I do anything you don’t like, will you tell me?”
“Yes. Yes, I will. Just please . . .”
His mouth replaced his fingers and his tongue found my clitoris and I held my breath as I climbed to the peak, suspended there until he rose up and filled me with his sex and I shattered. He started to move, ever so slowly, and I came again in a cascade of rippling contractions that pulsed around him as he waited, watching me.
Then he moved again, harder and deeper, and I wrapped my legs around him and met his rhythm, thrust after joyous thrust, and there was no pain and no fear because this was Trey. We came together in perfect union, perfect completion, and perfect love.
He pulled out and lay beside me as our breathing returned to normal. “Did I hurt you?” he asked.
“No. You were wonderful. It’s odd.”
“What?”
“For months after the rape, I felt no desire for sex at all. Nothing. Which was strange for me because I usually . . . anyway, I guess I was just temporarily frigid.”
He laughed. “There’s nothing frigid about you, Elise. You just needed time to recover, physically and emotionally.”
He turned to me, kissing my breasts and playing with my long dark hair, the exact same color as his. The Larson genes were dominant in us, which explained our close physical likeness. But we also shared similar thoughts and feelings, emotions and passions. We’d always been best friends. And now we were so much more.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “I could whip up one of my specialties.”
“Sounds good,” I replied. “And then, for dessert, I’ll treat you to one of my specialties.”
He raised an eyebrow and I smiled. He’d made love to me, but I wanted to love him back—to show him I knew how to please a man. Ben had demanded certain techniques from me, but this time I would give the pleasure freely, out of love instead of duty. Because I could finally admit it: I was in love with my cousin.
We spent the entire weekend in the apartment, shut away from the world and its problems. Our phones and computers were turned off. We cared about nothing but us. Our wants, our needs, our desires. We ate, showered, slept off and on and made love in a delightful variety of ways and places: his bed, my bed, the shower, sofa and floor. We laughed and talked as we discovered all the little secret things we hadn’t known about each other, some silly and some serious.
With Ben, despite the sexual intimacy, I’d closed myself off emotionally, always afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing. With Trey I felt free to open myself completely, knowing he would not judge, punish or hurt me in any way. During those precious days and hours I became a liberated woman. It was a joyous feeling.
We ate dinner on the balcony on Sunday night, watching the sun move westward over the trees on campus. 18th Street was quiet, with no wild celebrations like the previous week. The graduates had moved on to new goals in life: careers or graduate school or military service. Even marriage and children. New challenges and possibilities. Open doors. But the door to my goal had been slammed in my face. Hard.
Sensing my pensive mood, Trey reached over and held my hand. “Care to share your thoughts?”
I shrugged. “I need to start thinking about my future. I had it all planned out, but now . . .”
“What do you want to do?”
“It’s not what I want to do, but what I have to do. I have to leave Eugene. And you.”
He tightened his grip on my hand. “Why?”
“I need to get away from Ben. And from my shattered dream. I can’t stay here while Ben and others in my class enroll in law school while I do what? Get a job at Walmart? No. I need to go home to Boise. I can work at my dad’s accounting firm while I apply to law schools for next year’s admission. The University of Idaho might be a good choice.”
“And what about me?”
“Leaving Eugene means leaving you, of course. You’ll stay here to complete your doctorate. And Kelly will be back this fall, which would make things awkward if I were still around.”
“So you have this all worked out. You leave, I stay, and we see each other at Grandma’s in Ontario for Christmas and an occasional birthday. Is that it? This weekend was just a ‘quick fling and goodbye’ sort of thing? Funny, but I had the impression it was more than that.”
He got up and strode to the balcony, his shoulders tense. He was angry, but I didn’t fear Trey’s anger. I knew he would never hurt me. I watched him for a minute as he stood there, his big hands gripping the railing while he looked over at Hayward Field, the home of his fame as a runner. Then I walked over and wrapped my arms around his waist, resting my head on his shoulder.
“It was more than that,” I said. “It was everything to me. Surely you know that. But we can’t be together. Not now. Maybe not ever. There are too many barriers, you see. Too many complications. Our family . . .”
He spun around and looked at me. “Forget the family! Forget this cousin thing you’re so hung up on. This isn’t about the family or the fact that our fathers are brothers. This is just about you and me, and our feelings for each other. Nothing else matters.”
“But it does, you see. It does matter. What would Grandma and Uncle Johnny think if we slept together in their house? What would my parents do if you made love to me in their home?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “I honestly don’t know. But if we were married . . .”
I stared at him. “Married? How could we be married? Not in Oregon or Idaho, where marriage between first cousins is illegal.”
“We’ll go somewhere else, then. California, maybe.”
“And what about children? I want to have children eventually, and children of first cousins have a greater risk of birth defects, mental retardation, genetic diseases . . .”
He put his hands on my shoulders. “Stop, Elise. You’re blowing this way out of proportion. Many first cousins marry, and the risk of birth defects is slight.”
“You’ve researched it?”
“Sure. Do you think the idea of marrying you just occurred to me today? I’ve thought about it for quite some time.”
“Really? Why?”
He touched my lips and smiled. “Because I love you. I’ve just been waiting for you to come to your senses and love me back.”
“I do love you.”
“As a cousin, or as a man?”
“Both. But most especially as a man.”
“Then forget your worries and show me. Show me how much you love me.”
So I did. We went inside as the sun set on that warm June evening, and in the darkness of his bedroom I let go of my fears and remaining inhibitions and showed him my love with my mouth and my hands and my body, and he did the same for me until total exhaustion claimed us.
Chapter 11
D reams usually end with the dawn, and so did ours. I was shocked when I turned on my cell phone and listened to my father’s frantic messages. My mother, who’d seemed perfectly fine at my graduation, had suffered a major stroke and was in critical condition in a Boise hospital.
Shaking with fear, I called my d
ad and listened to words like hemorrhagic stroke, aneurysm, massive brain bleed. He said my mother had complained of a severe headache on Sunday afternoon, which was quickly followed by garbled speech and paralysis of her right side. She was taken by ambulance to St. Luke’s Hospital, where at CT scan and MRI revealed a ruptured cerebral aneurysm and massive bleeding within her brain.
“What are they doing for her?” I asked. “Can they fix this? Will she be okay?” Trey put his arm around me as I started to panic.
“Surgeons performed a craniectomy to allow blood drainage and relieve brain swelling, but . . . honey, it doesn’t look good. I’ve tried to reach you many times, you and Trey both. Where have you been?”
“We . . .” I couldn’t tell him that Trey and I were making love for hours while my mother was . . .
“Elise, listen. You need to get here as quickly as possible. Both of you. I called Franklin. He’s arranged for a jet to fly you from Eugene to Boise. CJ will meet you in Boise and bring you to the hospital. Call Franklin right away. Hurry, sweetheart.”
“I will. Daddy, are you alone?”
“No. Our whole family is here. But I need you. Your mother needs you.”
“We’ll be there soon, Daddy. Tell Mom I love her.”
Trey was already in action, calling Granddad Quinn, getting dressed and packing our suitcases. I quickly dressed and we were at the airport thirty minutes later, where Granddad Quinn stood beside a private jet, waiting to accompany us to Boise.
CJ met us in Boise and took us to the hospital’s intensive care unit, where our family was gathered in the waiting room—except my dad, who refused to leave my mother’s bedside. Even Quinn was there, having flown in from Minneapolis a few hours earlier. Everyone hugged me and tried to sound encouraging, but the looks on their faces told a different story.
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