Ethan’s not a creep.
He’s about the only non-creep I know. But he’s going to be regulated to creep status if he doesn’t show up and soon.
“Come with me to the bar.” He’s completely unfazed. Like he doesn’t notice how I’m desperately trying to break free of his hold. “I’ll buy you a drink.”
“I don’t want a drink,” I start, but the guy lets go of my arm in an instant and drops to the ground with a resounding thud, landing at my feet.
I scream. I can’t help myself. It happened so fast, with barely a sound, and I glance up to see Ethan standing in front of me, his expression one of pure rage, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The man lies on the ground, clutching his face, and I gape at Ethan, unsure exactly where he hit the guy.
“Keep your hands off her,” Ethan says, giving the guy a kick in the legs. The man groans and rolls to his side, his hands falling from his face as he glares up at Ethan.
“Didn’t have to hit me, dude,” he wails, the sensitive skin beneath his eye already starting to swell.
“Then you should’ve respected the lady’s wishes. She told you to let go.” Ethan grabs my arm, his touch much gentler than my assailant’s, his voice low and full of concern. “Are you all right?”
I nod, unable to speak. I’m in shock. I can’t believe Ethan just ran to my defense again. Popped the guy in the face without hesitation, and did it so quickly, so quietly, I still can’t believe it happened.
“You want to go?” His thumb streaks across the bare skin of my arm and I shiver, offering him another nod. “Then let’s get out of here.”
Better words were never spoken.
Shock hits me full force during the ride, when we’re almost home. I start to shiver uncontrollably and I wrap myself up in my hoodie, but it’s no use. It doesn’t ward off the cold or the worry or the fear.
That man touched me. Said creepy things to me. He might have been harmless, but I’d been instantly assailed by fear. Yet again I put myself into a situation I found difficult to get out of, and I can’t expect Ethan to rescue me every single time.
I chance a look at him, see the way he’s gripping the steering wheel as he drives, his jaw like granite, his usually lush mouth drawn into a thin line. He looks mad. I hope he’s not mad at me.
An irrational thought, I know, but I can’t help it.
“I feel terrible, Katie,” he finally says. We’ve been silent most of the drive, making unnecessary small talk until finally I pretended to doze so I wouldn’t have to talk anymore. It’s not that I’m mad at him or blame him for what happened. I just don’t know how to react. How to behave.
Everything’s a big, jumbled mess and I feel like it’s my fault.
“Why?” I ask, my voice small.
“I should’ve never left you alone, not even for a minute.” His tone is grim, as is the set of his mouth. “That jerk pounced only because he thought you were by yourself.”
“I have to deal with the occasional jerk pouncing, Ethan,” I tell him. “It’s a part of life.”
“I put you into that situation.” He sounds tortured.
“No, you didn’t.”
“I brought you to the club. I left you alone.”
“I told you I would be all right,” I counter.
“But you weren’t,” he says, pointing out the obvious.
“I could’ve handled it,” I say, hating the uncertainty in my voice. Could I have handled it? I don’t know.
And I hate that. The doubt. It hangs over my head constantly.
“You really think so?” He sends me a look, full of skepticism.
My blood starts to boil. Now I’m mad. He has no faith in me. Though I shouldn’t be surprised, considering I have no faith in myself. “You can’t run in and be my hero every time, Ethan. I don’t always need to be rescued.”
“Could have fooled me,” he mutters.
Anger has me nearly sputtering. I clamp my lips shut and cross my arms in front of my chest, my mind a constant whirl as we remain silent for the rest of the drive. If he thinks I’m inviting him in after that particular discussion, he has another thing coming. I’m too angry, too upset at his doubt, at my own doubt.
As we draw closer to my house, I think of my therapy sessions with Sheila. How she believes I want a hero in my life. Is that true? Am I drawn to Ethan because he shares those same hero-type qualities with Will? Guilt engulfs me and I press the back of my head against my seat, closing my eyes. That’s not fair, comparing them. Feeling guilty over my feelings for Ethan. My lingering feelings for Will. Those lingering feelings mean nothing; they’re only based on old memories I should store away for good. I reach for my bracelet, then remember that I broke it, and disappointment crashes over me.
I think I’ve bitten off way more than I can chew.
The moment Ethan pulls his car in front of my house he turns it off, the warm engine ticking in the otherwise quiet of the night. I feel him watching me and I open my eyes to find his penetrating gaze seeming to see right through me. “You never did tell me what happened to you. In your past.”
I gawk at him. He’s going to bring this up now? Really? Well, maybe the truth will set us both free.
“You didn’t look me up?”
Ethan slowly shakes his head.
I’d half hoped he would, just so I wouldn’t have to say anything. But then again, with me in control of the information, I don’t have to tell him everything. He may search for more info later, but at least for this first conversation, I am in control. Taking a deep, shaky breath, I decide to be done with it. “When I was younger, I was—I was raped.”
The word falls into the air, settling between the two of us, and I press my lips together, thankful I just said it, that it’s out there. I wait for the repercussions, wait for him to say what everyone thinks are all the right things, but he says nothing.
Nothing at all.
He turns away from me, his jaw still tight, his hands resting loosely once more on the steering wheel. I decide to forge on.
“I was almost thirteen. It happened at the amusement park, where we met. That’s where he—he took me.” He turns then, his gaze on mine once more, and we just watch each other. “It was—it was awful, what he did.”
Pain flashes across his face and he releases the steering wheel, almost as if he wants to reach across the car and touch me. I lean back into my seat, not wanting to feel him, not wanting anything from him as I continue to talk.
“But I’m okay now. Mostly. I’m trying. To deal, to move forward. It’s been a long time, but it’s not an easy thing to get over.”
“I-I’m sure it’s not.” His voice is a croak, his gaze dark. “Katie, I—”
I hold up my hand, silencing him. “Don’t say anything. Don’t tell me you’re sorry, don’t think you need to offer me comfort or anything like that. It happened. There’s nothing we can do to change it. It’s in the past and I’m trying to focus on the future.”
“How are you doing with that?” When I look at him strangely he clarifies. “With moving on?”
“It’s a day-by-day process,” I admit. “Some days are good. Others, not so much.”
He nods, seemingly satisfied with my answer.
“Will this make you even more overprotective of me?” I ask, needing to know. Wondering at his reaction. I’ve never told a man what happened to me before. I’m treading in unfamiliar territory.
He stares at me, as if unsure how to answer.
“Because you’re already pretty overprotective. Always running in and saving me.”
“Is that a bad thing?” His brow furrows.
I shrug. “It is if I become too dependent on you.” He starts to say something but I cut him off yet again. “I’m scared this might be too much for you to deal with, Ethan.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” he says.
The relief that sweeps over me is fleeting. I don’t know if he really can handle this. I still don’t know if I can
handle this. A relationship after everything that happened to me seems so far-fetched, so hard to imagine.
“Maybe we need some . . . time. Some distance,” I suggest, hoping he’ll argue with me. Deny my wishes.
Stupid but true.
“Is that what you want, Katie?” He reaches for my hand and clasps it loosely in his. Too loosely. I want to feel his palm press against mine, our fingers intertwined. I want him to pull me in close and kiss me like he did against the wall in the club.
But he’ll treat me differently now. Like I’m a piece of fragile glass that could shatter at any moment.
“It might be best,” I say tentatively. “Just for a little while. I know you’re busy and you might need some time to wrap your head around this. What I told you.”
He stares at me, his lips parting, his fingers circling around mine. “I’ll give you all the time you need. Whatever you want.” As if he knows I might be the one who needs time, not him.
I think he might be right.
I hear Lisa Swanson’s voice on my television and it’s like a moment of déjà vu.
Exclusive interview with Aaron Monroe! Hear his side of the story.
Disgust fills me as I watch the commercial in a state of semi-shock. Flashes of old photos appear in rapid-fire succession. Ones of Katie, of my father, shit, a couple of me and my father together, and it ends with a photo of my dad now. I haven’t seen him in what feels like forever.
He looks old. Thin. Worn the fuck out.
“I have things to say.” He puffs out his chest, trying to look important but failing. He just looks like a ragged old man who’s been locked up for a long time. “No one has wanted to hear the truth. It’s time I set the record straight.”
I think I’m going to throw up.
Lisa appears in one last shot, that thoughtful expression on her face as she nods and listens to what my scumbag of a father has to say, as she does a voiceover telling us the date and time of this shit show she’s so proudly put together. She’s working it. Working it hard. I wonder if the network is going to give her a promotion for all of these exclusive interviews she’s nabbing. I bet she’d crap her pants if she heard from me, if I’d actually replied to that email she sent me. If she got me to tell my side of the story, which no one has ever heard.
Ever.
Can’t happen, though. William Monroe is dead and buried. I bet she’s given up on trying to find him, frustrated at her failure.
I get a little thrill out of that particular fact.
Seeing the commercial for the upcoming interview does spring me into action. I need to reach out to Katie and make sure she’s okay. I know I said I’d give her time, but fuck that. This news had to send her reeling. She could need me during this difficult moment.
If she needed you, don’t you think she would’ve reached out by now?
I ignore the shitty nagging voice in my head.
I’d backed off for her sake, granting her request, or so I tell myself. I’ve gone over that night at the club again and again, wondering if I came on too strong and scared her. Afraid my punching that guy who had his hands on her with no warning might have turned her off. She most likely abhors violence. Was probably disgusted by my primal behavior that night. I’d had my hands all over her, kissing her like I wanted to devour her whole.
I’d wanted to. My plan had been to get her back to her place and pick up where we left off. Until that asshole had to come along and ruin everything.
Maybe I’m the asshole who ruined everything. I truly thought I’d never know.
But now I’m an asshole who wants to make sure she’s all right. Forget all that we-need-time business. My father’s interview could hurt her. Devastate her completely, and I can’t have that. I vowed I would protect her all those years ago and I’m trying my damnedest to keep my promise.
I haven’t kept tabs on her in what feels like forever and I open up Google on my laptop to do a quick search, icy shock washing over me yet again when I read one of the first articles that comes up in the search for Katherine Watts.
Unauthorized Movie Planned Based on Katherine Watts’s Abduction
Shit.
Distance. I promised to keep my distance and I truly believed it was the right thing to do. She thought I would freak over what happened to her. I know she would freak if she knew who I really was. Our situation has gotten completely out of hand and I don’t know how I can fix it. I feel helpless.
But I can’t let this go on any longer. I need to make sure she’s all right.
Grabbing my phone, I send her a quick text asking if she’s okay, but she doesn’t reply.
Over two hours later and she still hasn’t replied. Which means she’s not okay and she most likely hates my guts. I should be happy with this. It’s what I wanted. What I should’ve done from the very start. I didn’t need to interfere with her life so much. But one touch and I was a goner. Spending time with her, making her smile, making her laugh . . . I wanted more of that. Learning her taste, finding out what makes her feel good, what gives her pleasure . . .
I want all of that.
But from the moment I walked into her life, I’ve brought her nothing but turmoil. I had nothing to do with the movie and my dad’s interview, but I feel like I did. It almost feels like I’m responsible. Yeah, she opened herself up to all sorts of scrutiny after the interview with Swanson . . .
Including scrutiny from me. Seeing her on TV broke open all the memories, all the forgotten longing and need. So much need. Having her in my life once more, the both of us consenting adults, I knew from the moment our gazes first met what I wanted from her. More than just friendship. More than just me watching over her and ensuring her safety.
I wanted her, body and soul, as much a part of me as breathing.
No matter how wrong my feelings are, I can’t resist them. Knowing all the potential consequences, knowing what I’m doing isn’t right, that if she found out the truth she’d be crushed, it doesn’t stop me. My intentions might be good.
My methods are horrible. Dishonest. And I hate liars.
Yet here I am lying my ass off to Katie. The one I want to protect. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s mine.
And despite how fucked up I am over this, I can never let her go.
Frustration rippling through me, I grab my phone once again and fire off another text, not caring how abrupt I sound. Hoping like hell she’ll do what I ask.
The coffee shop we first went to—meet me there tomorrow at 3.
If she doesn’t, I will have to let her go once and for all. I won’t have a choice. But if she responds—or even better, shows up—then I need to tell her the truth.
Even if it kills me.
“Don’t you dare go meet him at that coffee shop,” Brenna sniffs, leaning away from my phone after I show her the text. “Who does he think he is, anyway, bossing you around like that? Demanding that you meet him somewhere without a please or thank-you. Texting you out of the blue after you don’t hear from him for days, acting like the concerned, caring boyfriend. It’s a bunch of crap if you ask me.”
I stare at my phone, half listening to my sister’s tirade on my behalf as I contemplate whether I should answer Ethan or not. Everything inside of me is screaming to not say a word. Or to tell him I have other plans. After all, I’m the one who told him we should take some time apart. It’s my fault he hasn’t contacted me.
And I truly thought it best that he wasn’t a part of my life anymore. I was setting myself up for disappointment. Surely it would have ended sooner or later, so why not end it now? Before I can get too hurt?
But I’m already hurt. I miss him so much my body aches. I can’t move on with my life if he’s not in it. I just . . .
I can’t.
That secret, dark part that both wants and fears his touch is begging to see him, to hold him. Kiss him. To just go to that coffee shop, stare at his handsome face, and listen to what he has to say. Then dig up some courage and tell him I
miss him. That I need him in my life. That I can’t go on like this without him.
Would I, though? Was I brave enough to reveal my true feelings to him? I want to be, but I don’t know if I can. I hardly know him, yet he has this hold on me I can’t explain. I’m not ready to give him up, no matter how many times he pushes me away.
And that makes me feel weak. Yet pushing him away this time around doesn’t make me feel any stronger, either.
“You’d better not answer him,” Brenna says, her firm voice breaking through my conflicting thoughts.
With a sigh I set the phone down on the table between us, snatching it closer when Brenna makes like she’s going to take it away from me. “I won’t answer him, I swear.” At least, I won’t answer him at this very moment. Can’t promise I won’t answer him later, though . . .
Ugh. I sort of hate myself for even thinking that.
“Don’t go to that coffee shop to meet him, either.” Brenna reaches out and settles her hand over mine, making me flinch. Funny, how I pull away when someone casually touches me, even someone like my sister. That little whisper of panic washes over my skin, the one that makes me want to recoil and hide. Except with Ethan. With Ethan it’s been the exact opposite.
You’d think I wouldn’t have a problem with it after all this time, but every once in a while, an unexpected touch can almost make my skin crawl.
“I find it weird that after all the crazy stuff that came out over the last few days, he’s suddenly texting and asking if you’re okay. That he actually wants to meet with you,” Brenna continues.
“I don’t think it’s all that strange. I briefly told him what happened to me, and he has my full name. All it takes is a quick search and he can figure everything else out.” I shrug, trying to act like it’s no big deal, but inside I’m dying of curiosity. And fear. Lots and lots of nervous fear. Did Ethan Google me? And if so, how accepting will he be of my past? The details I gave him were completely glossed over. The truth of my abduction and rape is almost too much for anyone to deal with.
Never Tear Us Apart (Never Tear Us Apart #1) Page 26
