The only sound she made was a whimper.
Hard hands came up, wrapped around her throat. Choking, struggling to breathe, she swung out.
“Hey!”
She jerked away, tears stinging her eyes and panic crowding her throat. Confused, still tripped up by the fear, she tried to pull away, but firm hands held her in place.
Through her tears, she saw Luke’s face. Her heart skipped a beat or two. Then her mind started to work, and she saw the concern, the worry in his gray eyes. The hands holding her in place were strong but not cruel. His grip was firm but not tight, and as she stared at him, his thumbs started a slow, gentle sweep along the inside of her wrists. “It’s just me,” he said quietly. Slowly, he sat up, pulling back and holding up his hands.
Her mouth trembled. She tried to keep from crying, but the sobs burned in her throat, and when she opened her lips to try to get a breath, they spilled out of her. Deep, ugly sobs and tears that burned like acid spilled out of her. Without realizing it, she reached for him.
Luke’s arms, warm, protective, came around her, and she buried her face against his chest. Pent up for too long, the storm inside her raged on for what seemed like hours, and when the tears finally passed, her throat was raw from crying, and her head ached.
Luke still held her. Under her cheek, the soft, worn fabric of his T-shirt was soaked with tears. She sniffled and pushed against him gently. Without meeting his eyes, she sat up. Still sniffling, she looked for a box of tissues.
They appeared in front of her eyes, Luke holding them out in silence. Taking one, she mumbled a thanks under her breath and blew her nose. She scooted off his lap, but when she would have stood up, Luke reached out. Gently, almost carefully, he stopped her, his fingers wrapped loosely around her wrist. “This has gone on long enough, hasn’t it?” he asked quietly.
Yes. Yes, it had.
Swallowing the knot in her throat, she glanced back at him over her shoulder. He watched her with those amazing eyes, that beautiful face of his etched with worry and exhaustion. This isn’t fair to him, her mind whispered.
Devon licked her lips and wondered just where she should start. She was so tired of being scared all the time. Scared when he wasn’t there, but scared when he was.
You’re not always afraid of him.
No. But a lot of the time, I am.
Until she could work past that . . . Oh, God, I’m not thinking . . .
But as she shifted around on the couch, turning to face him, she knew she was. She had to get away from him, had to, before she ended up hurting him more than she’d already done.
He won’t leave . . . It was a sad, certain truth that he wouldn’t leave for that. Not for him. He’d take whatever pain she heaped on him and never let it show when she hurt him; he’d keep taking it and taking it, and knowing him, even if he ended up hating her for it, he wouldn’t leave.
Not for him.
Then make him think it’s for you. If she told him she wanted him gone for her sake, not for his, he’d do it. That would hurt him, too. She didn’t doubt that, but better to get it over and done quick than to just keep torturing him like she had been.
Her throat burned, and although nothing touched her, she could all but feel an invisible hand wrapped around her neck, squeezing . . . squeezing . . .
He could see her turmoil. It was written on his face, in the compassionate, loving depths of his gaze, in the way he reached out, cupped her cheek. “What’s going on, Devon?”
Her mouth had gone dry, and it took two tries before she could even put words together. “I think I need some time by myself, Luke.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw, but that was the only reaction. The hand cupping her cheek remained gentle, and his eyes were unreadable. “Where’s this coming from?”
She turned her head, pressed a kiss to his palm, and then slowly curled her fingers around his wrist, tugging until he was no longer touching her. He watched with wary eyes as she stood and started to pace. Words were a jumbled mess in her head, and she couldn’t focus on any one word in particular. “I don’t know, Luke. Everywhere. Nowhere. I just . . .” Stopping in midsentence, she turned and stared at him, tears blurring her vision. Desperate not to cry anymore, she blinked them away.
“I’m scared. All the time, I’m scared, and I’m tired of it. I don’t even know who I am, what I want; half the time I can’t tell if I want you with me or not.”
He flinched, the color draining from his face. Devon pressed her lips together and spun away. I didn’t just say that! But she had. The words were out there, and she couldn’t take them back. “I’m sorry,” she whispered in a reed-thin voice. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I do want you with me. I love you. But . . .”
“But what?” he asked woodenly.
“But . . .”
“Look at me.” His voice was flat, but the command came through loud and clear. “If you’re throwing me out of your life, the least you can do is look at me and tell me why.”
She turned on stiff legs. When she met his gaze, he shoved up off the couch and shoved his hands into his pockets. Staring at her with turbulent eyes, he demanded, “But what?”
Devon shook her head. “I can’t explain this very well, Luke. I feel like I’m going crazy. I need to get my head on straight. I have these dreams, crazy dreams—dreams where you look like you, but . . . well, you aren’t. Your voice sounds the same, but it isn’t. When you touch me, your hands feel like yours, but they aren’t. And you hurt me.”
Licking her lips, she turned away from him so she didn’t have to see the pain in his eyes. So she didn’t throw herself at him and hold on to him, beg him to just stay right next to her. Always. Couldn’t do that—had to get him away, before she hurt him more.
Even though the words burned in her throat like acid, she didn’t mention the rest of it, the bizarre, terrifying sensation of being watched . . . followed. He’d worry, and he’d stay. If he stayed . . .
“Look, I just need some space. Some time. I don’t even know who I am right now, Luke.”
“And you think getting rid of me is going to clear that up for you?”
“I’m not getting rid of you.” When her voice broke, Devon closed her eyes and turned away. She took a deep breath. You have to do this. Get it over. Get it done. “Luke, I’m not getting rid of you. I love you. But . . . I can’t breathe anymore. I can’t think. I never sleep. I need to get myself together and deal with this.”
“And you can’t do it with me here?”
Devon gave a watery laugh. “Don’t you think I’ve been trying?”
For the longest time, all Luke did was stare at her. Her breath froze in her chest as he took one step toward her. He saw it, that tiny, imperceptible action, and Devon watched as a look flitted across his face. There, then gone, but she’d seen it; she’d seen the pain she caused him, and she hated herself for it.
He took another step, and another, watching her face, and Devon forced herself to hold still, to not look away from him, not even allowing herself to blink as he lifted a hand and cupped her chin, arching her face up to his. His voice was hoarse as he whispered, “I love you.” Then, his touch as gentle as a breeze, he kissed her.
The tears she’d been fighting to hold in check spilled over as he lifted his head. He brushed one away with his thumb. Devon swallowed, the knot in her throat huge and painful. He moved away in utter silence, and Devon, unable to watch him go, turned away.
She didn’t even hear the front door open or close, and she hadn’t heard the sound of his car starting, but she knew in her heart when he left anyway. It was like the light had just gone out of her world.
And she was the one responsible.
Numb, she sank to her knees in the middle of the floor, staring off into the distance. Now that he was gone, she wanted to cry, wanted to throw herself down on the floor and scream, rail, and curse at the sucker punch that fate had sent her way.
But she couldn’t. All she could do
was sit there and ask herself, “What in the hell did I just do?”
FOURTEEN
LUKE wanted to call her. That first day, he found himself reaching for the phone almost every twenty minutes, from the time he left her house a little before nine, to one o’clock, when he finally fell into a restless sleep. For two hours, he catnapped on the couch in his old condo, and when he awoke, he was stiff, sore, and mad as hell.
It was his Saturday to work, and he was as enthusiastic about dealing with people as he was about moving off the damn couch. A glance at the clock told him he had less than forty-five minutes to shower, get dressed, and get something to eat if he wanted to get to work on time.
His black mood wasn’t improved by the fact that there was nothing to eat, nothing to drink in the whole damned place. Up until a few weeks ago, dealing with the condo had totally slipped his mind.
Now he had somebody interested in subletting it from him, Luke was going to have to call the mess off. He took a shower and got ready for work, leaving just in time to avoid being late. But there was no time to grab a sandwich or even a damn cup of coffee. Eyes gritty with fatigue and his head hurting like a bitch, he made it halfway through his shift before he let himself slow down for more than five minutes.
But five seconds was all it took to start thinking about Devon. Locking himself in an empty office, he dropped down behind a desk and found himself staring at the phone. He’d finally managed to grab a few cups of lousy coffee, and the strong brew had left a nasty, bitter taste in his mouth. Between the headache and the heartburn, it was a wonder he could even feel the pain in his chest.
But the heartache was worse than the other two combined, hitting him with an intensity that had him staggering from the pain.
She didn’t want him around.
She was afraid of him. Having nightmares where he was the one who hurt her.
She’d shoved him out of her life and hadn’t so much as said good-bye when he left. He’d seen the look in her eyes when he went to kiss her, and he’d almost left without touching her. That look, it was one he’d seen in her eyes too many times, one he hadn’t let himself acknowledge.
Fear. And it was of him, not just left over from the attack, and not out of some deep, hidden instinct. But fear of him.
“You fucked it up,” he told himself, tearing his gaze away from the phone and propping his feet on the edge of the desk. Where he’d messed up, when, how, none of those were questions he had any answers for, but somehow, he’d messed up.
A slimy, insidious voice inside him whispered, You know damn well where you fucked up, Rafferty. You didn’t protect her.
He’d tried to deal with the guilt over that, and he’d thought maybe he’d even started to manage it. But that ugly reminder undermined all of it, and the guilt came crashing down on him.
Memories of how she’d looked that night were forever burned on his mind, and now they played before him in a sickening display. Devon strapped to a stretcher as they loaded her into the ambulance, bruised, battered, and struggling to breathe on her own. Her pale face splattered with blood. Lying on a narrow hospital bed as a monitor ticked away every beat of her heart.
Yeah, he’d fucked up, all right. Fucked up in the worst way possible, failing to protect his woman. Maybe this was right. Maybe this was fitting that she kick him out on his sorry ass.
She sure as hell deserved better.
MINUTES turned into hours, which turned into days. By the time Monday rolled around, and Luke had a few days off, he was still fighting the urge to call her every few days, and as five o’clock approached, he found himself sliding into his Jeep and heading toward her office.
He wasn’t going to talk to her or even let her see him.
He just needed to see her. Needed to make sure she was okay. He turned into the parking lot of the government building where Social Services was located, riding the bumper of the blue sedan in front of him. Impatience ate at him, and when the sedan finally turned left, Luke laid on the gas and sped down around the building until he came to the part of the building where Devon worked.
Her car was still there. Parking a few rows down, he turned off the ignition and leaned back in the driver’s seat, prepared to wait all night if he had to. He just wanted to see her.
That was all.
He’d just do it today.
And maybe tomorrow.
AFTER Luke had left her house in silence, Devon felt like she spent the weekend in hell. The walls seemed to close in her. She couldn’t eat. What little sleep she’d gotten happened in front of the TV, wearing one of Luke’s shirts and breathing in his scent, pretending he was there with her.
By Monday morning, she was so damn eager to get out of the house, she got to work more than an hour early. It ended up being one of those days, too. Missed appointments, a runaway, bureaucratic bullshit that was going to delay the medical treatment that a disabled foster child desperately needed. Still, she wasn’t ready to go home, and she made the drive from work to home in a state of dread.
As she pulled into her driveway, her cell went off, and one look at the display had her backing out of the driveway and stifling the urge to sigh in relief.
Getting called to the emergency department at University wasn’t an escape, and she shouldn’t see it as one. While she listened to the doctor explain why Social Services had been called, guilt darkened her mind. She rounded out her night by taking three children, all under the age of five, away from their mother. The mom, restrained to the hospital bed, had been shouting and spitting, half out of her mind from whatever drug cocktail she’d taken before she took a header down the stairs in her apartment building.
All three of the kids showed signs of neglect and abuse, and Devon knew she’d be talking to a judge about temporary placement for the kids while the mom made an attempt to get her act together.
By the time she was back home, it was after midnight. Too tired to even try to eat, she’d listened to her messages—and the one from Luke had damn near broken her.
She wanted to grab the phone, wanted to call him, screw how late it was. But she couldn’t make herself pick up the phone. Couldn’t make herself call him.
Instead, she went to the closet and grabbed his coat. He’d left it behind, and although she knew he probably needed it, she couldn’t make herself take it to him. Burying her face in it, she breathed in the scent of Luke and leather. She slid it on, held it closed across her chest, and the warmth of it surrounded her.
Pretending it was Luke, she went to the couch and settled down, prepared for another long, sleepless night . . . or worse, one filled with those damn dreams. Surprisingly, she fell asleep easily enough. She even managed a couple hours of deep, dreamless sleep before waking in stark, utter terror. Uncertain of what had woken her, she’d sat there in the darkness, so scared she didn’t even want to breathe. From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw something move, a darker shadow lost among the shadows, and then a sound, almost like a sigh.
Vaulting out of the chair, she grabbed a poker from the fireplace and turned on the lamp—to find the room completely and utterly empty. Going through the house room by room, she turned on every light, searching behind doors, inside closets, even under her bed.
Feeling very much the fool and very much in doubt of her sanity, she’d turned to leave her room when something caught her eye. Not in her room, but outside, across the street. A light on in Danielle’s still-empty house.
But when she’d gotten to the window and peered through it, Danielle’s house was dark, and the curtains were drawn.
Icy chills wrapped around her like a shroud. Even after drinking nearly a pot of coffee, and one very long, hot shower, taking the poker into the stall with her, she still couldn’t dispel the chill.
Tuesday morning dawned to find her dressed and bleary-eyed as she brewed a second pot of coffee and forced herself to swallow a couple bites of bagel. And yet again, she left home so early, she got to work an hour before she was
scheduled to clock in.
Working off the clock—a big no-no—and hoping her boss didn’t show up, she finished up the paperwork from the previous day.
Devon spent the day buried in work, getting the approval for temporary placement for her three newest charges, busting her tail to find a decent set of foster parents who could take on not one new child but three.
Midafternoon, she finally forced herself to do what she’d been dreading, and that was make a quick visit to see Tim, riding along with his newly assigned caseworker. It was every bit as awkward as she’d expected.
Most of the visit, she stood off to the side, staring anywhere and everywhere but at Tim. Near the end of the brief visit, Tim finally blurted out, “Don’t you hate me?”
If her heart hadn’t already been broken, that would have done it. Turning her head, she looked at him, tried to smile.
It fell flat, though. Instead of trying again, or looking for some trite line, she said, “What happened wasn’t your fault, Tim.”
“Isn’t it? He did it because of me.”
“No.” Sighing, Devon reached up and rubbed the back of her neck, trying to ward off the tension headache. “He did it because he was a sick man, Tim. It’s the same reason he hurt you. None of it, and I mean none of it, is your fault.”
She saw the doubt in his eyes, but Devon knew there was nothing else she could do or say, not at this point. With one more forced smile, she excused herself and spent the rest of the visit huddling in her coat out on the wraparound porch.
Near the end of the day, she had an appearance in court where she got to witness the formal adoption of Ellie by the Parkers.
As the judge signed off on the adoption, Ellie had launched herself at her new mom, and Devon found herself sniffling and blinking back tears of happiness. The one highlight in her day. Seeing Ellie reminded her of Luke, but Devon shoved it out of her mind, determined not to let her own depression darken that moment.
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