by Kaylea Cross
“Chris, stop.” He got up, crossed the room to put an arm around her stiff shoulders. “Babe, I don’t care how inexperienced you are, and as for your ex, he was a selfish asshole who did a number on your self-esteem to stroke his own ego, and I can’t fucking believe you put up with him as long as you did.”
Yeah, well, looking back she had trouble believing it herself.
He squeezed her, reawakening all the nerve endings in her body by just touching her. “There’s nothing wrong with you, trust me. You damn near burned me alive when I kissed you, and we still had all our clothes on. And as for my past exploits as you call them, well, I’m a hell of a lot more grown up than I used to be.”
She disengaged herself and gave him a pointed look. “Oh, come on, Rayne, an escort paid you—”
He threw his hands in the air, eyes burning with frustration. “She meant it as a joke. I never touched her. You don’t know how sick I am of everyone throwing that one in my face when they don’t have a fucking clue what they’re talking about.”
She blinked at him while he hauled in a breath and continued. “Look, trust is earned, I know that, but I feel like I’m walking on eggshells all the time with you. Have I ever given you reason not to trust me?”
“No.” Never.
“I’m half afraid to touch you in case it triggers a bad memory. You said you cut your hair so no one could grab you by it again. So if I put my hands in your hair when I kiss you, will that scare you half to death?”
She was starting to see his point. “No—”
“Or what about your shoulder?”
She felt the blood drain out of her face, nearly swayed.
He nodded, still holding her gaze. “Yeah, I know what happened. Does it still hurt, or is it the memory of what he did that makes you flinch when I get too close to it?”
The mention of it sucked the air out of her lungs.
“See? You’re white as a sheet of paper because I even brought it up. I can’t read your mind, even though I wish the hell I could. If you’d just tell me what happened, I’d have a better idea of what you need from me. Help me out here, Chris.” He set his palm against her cheek, his hazel eyes earnest. “I care about you. I want this to work.”
The lump in her throat was so big it nearly choked her. She believed him, she did. How could she make him understand this wasn’t about him, it was her and she wasn’t ready? “It’s no good. I can’t talk about it yet, Rayne. It’s too soon, and I’m still trying to sort through it all in my head. I’m not shutting you out on purpose, really I’m not. I don’t have a clue how to deal with it, except that I’ve been trying to write it down in my journal, and that’s been hard but I think it’s helping a bit.” And she definitely didn’t want him to read that.
His gaze never wavered. “Chris, I’m a cop. I saw you in the hospital, and I saw your bedroom afterward, so I’ve already got a pretty good idea what he did to you.”
Her stomach twisted, her heart knocking against her ribs. He might have an idea of what she’d suffered, but he didn’t know the details. And he didn’t know the reason behind the attack. What he’d said during it. “Trust me, some of the things in the journal would really upset you.”
His expression tightened. “Chris—”
She shook her head, tension in every rigid line of her body. “Don’t. Please, Rayne. It was so awful, and I’m not ready to tell you about it yet. Okay?” She prayed he’d understand, give her a bit more time.
He stared at her for a long time, then gave in with a hard exhalation. “Okay.” He pulled her into his arms to hold her against his heart. “Okay. I guess it can wait a little longer.”
She slumped against him, feeling like she’d been given a stay of execution at the eleventh hour.
Chapter Fifteen
Next morning Rayne came through the front door into the cottage, still damp from the shower he’d taken at the gym. Christa was spending a few hours with Bryn, God help him, so he and Jake were fending for themselves. He peeled off his sweatshirt and shoes, headed into the kitchen for a glass of water, then stretched out on the living room floor. He pulled one knee to the opposite shoulder and held it there for thirty seconds, repeated the other side before sitting up to work out the stiffness in his hamstrings.
Holding the position, he noticed Christa had left her bag on the couch, her journal peeking out of it. Man, he’d love to read what was in that journal, her warnings aside. And dammit, he was tempted to do just that.
But no, he couldn’t betray her trust like that. She’d told him flat out she didn’t want him to know some of what she’d written, and he had to respect that, but that only worried him more. What did the journal contain that she thought was too horrible for him to know about? His imagination had been too good at conjuring up the sort of terrible realities he’d faced as a cop. How long could he wait for her to be ready for him to find out what had actually happened to her? It was slowly driving him insane.
Whatever was in there, he could handle it. He’d been a cop for long enough, and after watching her being examined in the hospital and puking in the aftermath of a nightmare, he could sure as hell deal with the rest of it.
His gaze went unerringly to the purple binding of the journal. It was like an elephant in the room with him. Christa would be gone awhile yet, the devil’s advocate in him whispered. He could read the damn thing and put it away without her ever knowing, and then at least he’d have some idea what he was dealing with.
He moved onto his quads, pushing out a breath at the soreness there. He knew he should wait for her to tell him, but what if she never did? Some victims never talked about their attack. Ever. Those questions, those imagined scenarios would always be lurking in his mind, and then what?
It would eventually drive him freaking crazy, that’s what.
****
Christa struggled with the key for a moment before pushing the door open. The house was quiet. “Rayne, you here?” she called, heading for the front room. “I was going to make some cook—”
The bag of chocolate chips fell from her suddenly nerveless fingers and hit the floor with a thud.
Rayne was sitting on the couch waiting for her. Her journal was lying on the coffee table in front of him.
Silence hovered.
“What’s that doing there?” Her voice shook.
He met her glare evenly. “I was hoping we could talk about it.”
He wouldn’t have read it, she told herself in panic. He wouldn’t have done that to her. She turned away, sucking in a shallow breath. “I told you I can’t.” God, didn’t he get it?
“I know, and I understand that. But we do need to discuss it. If we don’t, it’ll ruin whatever’s between us.”
He’s right, but it’s already too late. It’s already ruined. How could she have been stupid enough to think this could work? A second from breaking down, she spun around.
“Don’t!”
His command brought her up short, freezing her in place. The raw pain in his voice burned through her.
“Don’t you walk out on me now, Chris,” he challenged her hoarsely.
She stared back at him, thinking of what she’d written. He started to cut off my clothes and I turned away, so he forced my head around to look at the photo. Rayne must have sensed how fragile a hold she had on herself, because he whispered her name and started toward her.
She whirled to face him. “No. Don’t. Touch. Me.” She held out a hand to ward him off and wrapped her arms around herself. He reached for her again and she shrank from him, huddling there. Like a cornered animal with nowhere to go.
“Okay,” he said, backing up a step, his gaze tortured. “It’s all right, I won’t.”
It must have killed him to say those words to her, but he stayed where he was.
“I just want to help you,” he said.
“You can’t.” Didn’t he understand that she wanted to die right now? That he could never fathom how humiliated she felt? She was contamina
ted, her skin crawling with shame. She couldn’t stand the pity on his face, couldn’t stand the thought of Rayne touching her when she felt so dirty. Inside she was screaming, a hair’s breadth away from losing it and fracturing into a million pieces. No way did she want him to witness that final humiliation.
In the expanding silence his steadying breath sounded overly loud. “I’m sorry,” he rasped.
Sorry about what? She wanted to yell it at him. Sorry because he’d triggered this fallout, the volatility she’d been so determined to keep buried? Sorry she’d been attacked in the first place? Sorry because he pitied her? The one thing she couldn’t stomach was his pity.
Or was he sorry because...
Wait, had he read her journal? Her eyes narrowed, the blood pounding in her ears. No. No way would he betray her like that. She could barely form the words to ask him. “Tell me you didn’t...”
His gaze bored into hers. “What do you think?”
What did she think? Did she trust him enough to believe he hadn’t read a single word? She’d been out of the house and her journal had been right there. Throughout all of this he’d been her protector, her hero. So why did it feel easier to believe that he’d read it? Why couldn’t she give him the benefit of the doubt?
He dragged a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe you’re even asking yourself whether I’m capable of that.”
“What am I supposed to think? I come in and find you on the couch with my journal on the coffee table in front of you. It wasn’t much of a leap.”
“If you had any faith in me at all, you wouldn’t jump to that conclusion.” His voice vibrated with suppressed anger.
“So you didn’t read it?”
He slowly shook his head, and the look on his face told her how much it hurt him that he’d even have to answer that. Pain splintered through her.
He stared at her, his jaw clenched, his eyes bright. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Christa—” It didn’t even sound like his voice.
She couldn’t stand knowing she’d hurt him this badly. Had to tell him everything right now before she lost her nerve, and before her lack of courage ruined everything. “God, I didn’t want you to find out this way.” Her voice shook.
A spasm of pain crossed his face. “God damn it, Chris! Find out what? It’s driving me out of my frigging mind wondering what the hell he did to you.”
Letting out a fragile breath, she shook her head slowly, feeling cold and brittle. “It wasn’t your fault. You were just the excuse he was looking for.”
****
Rayne stared at her as he processed the whispered words. “The excuse he was looking for?” His stomach dropped. “Wait a minute—you think he did that to you because of me?”
She simply stared at him, unmoving. He didn’t need her to confirm it; he saw the answer in her eyes.
“Why?” He battled the need to either put his fist through the wall or haul her into his arms and never let go. He would have reached for her if she hadn’t looked so wary of him at that moment, like he was a man on the edge. He certainly felt like one. “Oh, Jesus.” Crushing guilt swamped him, closing over his head like quicksand.
“I’m sorry I assumed you’d read the journal,” she whispered, watching him carefully. “But you’re right. It’ll only come between us if you don’t. I can’t tell you everything myself yet, but I’ll let you read it if you want.”
“No, Chris.” He could barely speak. For fuck sake, he was the reason Sutherland had attacked her? “I’ll wait until you’re ready.”
She went to the coffee table and picked up the notebook, staring down at it a moment before coming back and holding it out to him. Her throat worked as she swallowed, the journal wobbling ever so slightly in her grasp. “Here. Take it.”
He took it from her but didn’t open it. Her courage humbled him, along with her readiness to forgive him, to believe he hadn’t read the journal behind her back.
She seemed more confident now. “Please, read it. It’s better this way.”
He held her gaze for a moment, in case she changed her mind. Now that he knew the reason for the attack, did he have the guts to find out the rest? “Are you sure? I mean totally sure? It might feel like the right thing to do now, but will you resent me for it or regret it later?”
“More than if I let you blame yourself for this for the rest of your life? No way.”
They settled on the sofa together, Jake jumping onto the cushion beside him.
After a long hesitation he opened the cover, his heart beating faster. He took a breath. Jake laid his chin on Rayne’s knee and looked up at him with worried brown eyes.
He rubbed the furry ears and turned the page. He’d already seen the crime scene, but experiencing the events through her eyes brought them to vivid life. The images ran together as if he were watching a movie. Her attacker grabbing the end of her braid, hauling her to the floor, tying her hands and dragging her kicking and screaming upstairs to her room, tying her face down on her own bed. He could almost feel the rope cutting into his own wrists and ankles as he read.
He had to swallow hard to force the lump down his throat. If she’d endured this, he told himself, then he could damn well read it without chickening out. He turned to the next page. The words seemed to jump out at him, slamming into him like fists. His stomach twisted.
He put the picture of Rayne and me beside the bed and made me look at it. When I tried to tell him Rayne wasn’t my boyfriend he called me a liar and choked me, then pulled out his knife and told me every time I closed my eyes or looked away from the picture, he would hurt me. He started to cut off my clothes and I turned my face away, so he forced my head around to look at the photo. I tried so hard not to show I was scared, but he knew I was. I screamed, I couldn’t help it. I thought he was going to kill me.
Oh, Chris. He ached for her. The sentences of neat handwriting flowed into each other, one after the other as he compelled himself to continue, to stay calm.
When I was naked he tried to force himself into me, but he couldn’t, and then he lost it. He kept screaming and swearing, hitting me. I turned away again because it hurt so much, and that’s when he sank his teeth into my shoulder...blood dripping down my back...
Goddamn bastard. His vision blurred and he gripped the edge of the couch. Breathe, breathe. His hands trembled in impotent fury, but he made himself read further.
...I was looking at Rayne in the picture because he’d threatened to take another chunk out of me if I didn’t. He said, “I can hurt you in so many ways, and I’m not even as big as your boyfriend. Imagine the damage a guy his size could do. Worse than this, sweetheart. And once he had you he’d throw you away like all the others.” That’s when I realized he’d come after me because he was jealous of Rayne...
“Fuck!” he exploded, surging to his feet, his hands raking through his hair. He wanted to break something. He panted, a red haze swimming in his eyes. She’d been looking into his smiling face in the picture frame while she’d been tortured and almost raped. He’d never felt so volatile in his whole life, a dozen conflicting emotions pounding at him, a chaotic mixture of rage and anguish so powerful it made him dizzy. His body screamed in primal rage for him to do something, to track the bastard down and rip him apart until this pain went away.
He swallowed hard, looked back to Christa frozen in place, eyes full of trepidation. Dammit, she should be afraid. The rage was building, pulsing and boiling under the surface of his skin. He couldn’t afford to lose control, to scare her even more. He loped around the room like a caged animal, unable to look at her, sucking in deep, shuddering breaths as he tried to clear his mind. Water flowing from a fountain. Snowflakes drifting. Rain falling on the roof.
He focused on the images until he’d calmed down enough to process it all, then sank onto the couch. He glanced up with hollow eyes and found Jake cowering behind the armchair, watching him skittishly.
Rayne made himself finish the journal. When he read the psycho
’s parting words to her, nausea churned.
Now every time you look at your cop boyfriend you’ll think of me.
****
Rayne looked like a shellshock victim, Christa thought sadly. The anguish, guilt, rage and pity, all swirling in an awful maelstrom in his hazel eyes made her want to bolt past him and run outside, onto the beach. But the pain radiating from him held her immobile. No way would she leave him to face this alone. Needing to ease him, she reached deep inside for the strength to face this once and for all.
The silence stretched out between them like an invisible barrier.
His devastated gaze bored into hers. “You weren’t ever going to tell me that last part, were you?” he asked hoarsely.
Pain lurked behind the accusation, but she kept her eyes on his. “I don’t know.”
“And all this time you’ve been carrying that around in your head? God, you should have hated me, been scared of me. Terrified—”
“No. You’ve never done anything but protect me. How could I be afraid of you, blame you?”
He gave a snort and turned away, but she shot out her hand and grabbed his forearm. The muscles under her fingers tensed like steel, so taut they were trembling.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she repeated quietly, unable to bear seeing him tear himself apart like this.
He aimed his tortured gaze at her. “Really?” Rage and self-disgust twisted his expression. “Because I just read what he did to you, and he seemed to think it was.”
Unable to reassure him with words, she slid her hand down his arm and twined her fingers around his.
He didn’t budge. “God, I’m so sorry.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Sorry...how pathetic is that?”
