by Mariah Dietz
Joey smiles kindly, and I realize I’m smiling, too.
“When she was on a high, everything seemed possible to Grace. Nothing was out of reach or too difficult. Apparently, one night while on a high, she decided she wanted to paint her bedroom. So at one in the morning, she started driving around, looking for a place that was open and carried painting supplies.” I rake my nails across my forehead, thinking of her alone in that parking lot, like I have tens of thousands of times. “She found a hardware store and was waiting for it to open, and some guy who happened to be driving by noticed her. He invited her to go have a drink with him at his house, and she went. She went willingly, and he raped her.” I grit my teeth and shake my head. “He got away with it because Grace has a mental disorder and wasn’t taking her medications. Because she had chosen to trust him and go with him. He said she was into it—into him. She says she begged him to stop.” I release a shallow breath. “I don’t know why she went with him or what happened that night, but I do know that Grace isn’t crazy. She understands what’s happening during both her highs and her lows.
“But she doesn’t trust herself anymore. She doesn’t believe her emotions or what she’s feeling or seeing. She blames herself for being raped, and it’s made her paranoid. She won’t sleep with all the lights off, and she wears tennis shoes to bed because she believes if she had worn them that night, she would’ve been able to get away.”
Joey places an opened container of food that he’s yet to touch on the nightstand beside him. He stands and then kneels in front of me.
I keep going. “She tried to kill herself a month after it happened. She sat in her car in the same parking lot and overdosed on heroin. My sister, who had never touched drugs, tried to end her life with heroin.” Tears burn my eyes as I take a deep breath, and Joey reaches out, resting his hand on my bare knee. His touch is warm and strangely comforting, just like it is to share this with him. “She checked into a state psychiatric ward and was there for a month before we could find her. A month,” I repeat. “No one called my parents or even her boyfriend to tell them she’d been in the hospital, arrested, and sent to be evaluated. She lay in a bed with straps around her ankles and wrists for weeks, and after having been raped, you can imagine how that messed with her mind and emotions.”
I can tell he understands, that with his line of work, he’s likely heard a hundred other stories that are equally disturbing and horrifying. “How long ago did this happen?”
“Six years ago. She’s improved a lot—a lot.” I stress the word. “Before, she wouldn’t let anyone touch her or sit close to her—but couldn’t handle being alone, either. She’s overcome so much, but there’s a lot of fears and demons she still struggles with.”
Joey nods before tipping his head back and slowly scanning my face. “Trauma doesn’t happen to just the victim, it affects the whole family—especially when you’re close.”
My neck stiffens. I don’t know that I really agree with him. Sure, I graduated a year later than expected because I stopped going in order to help my sister and parents. Yes, I was up for shifts in the middle of the night with her and learned to sleep with lights on and chase invisible demons that consumed far too many of her thoughts. But the pain and trauma I’ve experienced is so slight in comparison to what she’s endured. From being called crazy—and believing those same allegations—to then being raped and living with the aftermath.
“I didn’t mean to unload on you! I’ve successfully trespassed, ruined your dinner, and have now aired all of my dirty laundry—welcome to Haven Point!” I smile, and strangely it feels genuine.
His chin dips. “It’s okay that you’re done talking about it for now. I totally understand how hard it can be to spend prolonged periods in dark thoughts like that, but if you want to talk about it more, you can always reach out to me.”
I look past him to one of the windows because it’s too hard to maintain his gaze right now when I feel so exposed after what I’ve just shared. I fear that if I do, I might be inclined to tell him everything about me, even things that aren’t important. “I appreciate that.”
“I have just one question.”
I press my lips together and look back at Joey when he doesn’t continue, wondering which stitch he’s going to pull loose.
“Is that why you hated me so much? You thought Ben Holden was getting off?”
My tears blur his face. I want to ask questions about the case, plead with him to verify Holden is in fact guilty, but I know that’s only for my own benefit and would be asking him to jeopardize his job and the oath he’s made. Instead, I nod and hope beyond measure that Joey is as good as he seems and that Ben Holden will eventually pay for the crimes he committed that took too much from his victims.
“I can’t talk much about it since it’s an active and open case, but I can assure you that if I were still leading it, there’s no way in hell I’d be anywhere but at the office.”
Joey’s fingers constrict around my knee. “Tell me about Violet.”
“You’re not going to ask me about Grace and whether she’s taking medications again or if she’s seeing a psychologist or anything?”
Joey sits back on his heels. His dark hair, which is always pushed back, falls forward, still wet from his shower. On impulse, I reach over and softly rake my nails against his scalp. His hair sifts between my fingers. With a single pass, I pull back, slightly mortified that I touched him with so little thought and complete lack of warning or invite. Joey’s eyes are closed, his chin raised. My fingers itch to make the same path, and when he doesn’t move for several seconds, I do.
The second time my fingers run through his hair, Joey’s shoulders drop like a wall of defense, and with the third pass his dark-brown eyes open. They’re more almond-shaped than round, and his eyelashes aren’t particularly long, but they’re full and the color of ink, making his eyes so distinctive. The hint of a five-o’clock shadow shades his jaw, and like I did the day I backed into him, I find myself staring at his lips for too long.
“You should eat,” I tell him, pulling my hand back. “Your dinner’s probably cold.”
“Wasn’t I told that the sun is God’s oven and keeps all food hot here during the summer months?” His hand slides just above my knee, and my heart races with hopes and fears and a million other emotions that are too small in comparison to label.
With a brief squeeze, Joey stands and reaches for the box he’d set upon the nightstand. “This Chinese restaurant is surprisingly good for being here in this small town.”
“Is it?”
He looks up at me through those jet-black eyelashes. “You haven’t tried it before?”
I shake my head. “It’s new. Believe it or not, this town has nearly doubled in size since I moved away.”
With stretched eyes, he looks at me. “How big was your graduating class in high school?”
“Ninety-seven.”
His head falls back as he laughs. “Ninety-seven? I can’t even imagine! I had over two thousand kids in my class.”
I chuckle. “It was nice, though. We all knew each other and were friends. Granted, I think I like it more now looking back than I did at the time.”
“Didn’t it feel like you were dating your cousins when you were growing up?”
I laugh harder, louder. “You don’t want to hear about the dating stories of small towns. It starts sounding a little like incest when you hear about a guy dating his ex’s best friend for the third time.”
Joey’s deep laughter mixes with mine—jovial and sincere.
“You can take your pick, chopsticks or the fork?” Joey grabs the utensils again. I opt for the chopsticks.
“I don’t have plates up here, so you’ll have to just dig in.”
Suddenly, the scents of chilies, peppers, and ginger have me starving—or possibly it’s Joey’s eager expression.
Chapter 16
Kennedy
“What was your childhood like in the city?” I ask.
“Can you speak Italian?”
He shrugs. “I can understand it a lot better than I speak it. But Italian isn’t just a language; it’s a culture—a way of life. We’re loud and bossy, and we’re super protective over each other. If someone messes with one of us”—he lifts his hand holding the fork and draws a circle in the air—“they mess with all of us. We live our lives unforgivably and do everything one hundred percent.”
“Isn’t that scary sometimes? I mean, don’t you ever worry you might make the wrong decision?”
Joey moves his head close to his shoulder, as though weighing my question. “Life is so short. If I consider every one of my actions, I won’t have time to do all of them.”
“I get that, but don’t you worry about getting hurt? Whether it’s your pride or your heart or even a physical pain, because you thought it sounded fun to do something dangerous.”
He swallows and looks up, attentive as he waits for me to meet his gaze. “Life isn’t about being comfortable. It’s supposed to hurt. If it were painless and easy, we’d forget why we fight so hard to live.”
I’m pretty certain my heart is soaring right now, looking for a landing place far outside of my own body. And the longer Joey continues staring at me—silently imploring me to understand and believe this foreign philosophy that is so inviting to me—the harder it is for me to focus on reeling it back in.
“You said Violet made it into town?”
Joey’s question has me thinking about Violet sitting in my parents’ living room with my family and Jackson. “I’m sure she’s missing Boston right now,” I say, laughing.
“This strange little town has a way of making me forget why I prefer living in the city. I don’t doubt she’s experiencing something similar.”
“What impacts how much longer you’re here?”
He sucks in a deep breath. “I’m here because I violated orders, which constitutes as insubordination. So Internal Affairs is involved, and they’re still reviewing my actions and deciding on what will happen.”
“Is that why you’ve been taken off the case?”
Joey swiftly shakes his head. He stops and then swallows. “It’s because I couldn’t back away from it.”
My eyes grow large with surprise. I never considered that to be the situation. “Will you be in trouble?”
“Likely. But who knows what that will look like. It’s my first black mark, but it’s a hefty one.”
“I can’t believe that! The guy is a monster! Why wouldn’t they want everyone focusing on him?” I ask.
“Because when you get really close to a case, it can be very difficult to see it objectively.”
“But you understand him. You’ve studied him.”
Joey shrugs. “I also believe he’s guilty, which has been impeding my ability to look for other answers.”
“How can you be so rational about this?”
His full lips tip into a smirk. “It’s taken some time and a lot of manual labor.” He winks. “I’ve told you, we aren’t known for being super rational. After all, punching a guy in the face is what ultimately led Coen to moving here.”
Joey has an intensity behind him that’s impossible to miss, making it easy for me to imagine him knocking a guy out, but Coen’s friendly demeanor and quick smile make it harder for me to picture him hitting someone.
“Don’t look so shocked. I told you, we’re Italian. If a person fucks with someone we love, there are no holds barred.” He doesn’t appear even slightly apologetic. Irrationally, it bestows a sense of safety and security in me, picturing Joey destroying any potential threats.
The wind howls again, followed closely by a loud crash that echoes and leaves the ground vibrating.
“I think that was a tree.” I stand from the bed and move closer to the window. The rain is too heavy, the skies too dark, but I remain frozen in place when Joey moves behind me. The citrusy scent of his soap and sharpness of his cologne invade my senses before his chest grazes my shoulder. “Hopefully it didn’t do much damage, but we’ll see in the morning.”
In.
The.
Morning.
He’s planning for me to spend the night.
My heart trips over itself, excited and fearful and shocked, but most of all happy. I’m happy to be trapped here in this small room with this man whom I really wanted to hate.
“Do you need something to put your contacts in?” Joey moves beside me, his heat traveling from my shoulder to my arm.
“No. They’ll be fine if I sleep in them.”
“Are you sure? I can go get a glass or something for you to put them in.”
“It’s okay, really.”
We both remain still.
“I have a confession to make,” Joey says.
I turn my head, my interest piqued.
“I didn’t forget my phone at your house.” He states the fact without following it up with a reason.
“You didn’t?”
He shakes his head.
“You made it up because you don’t trust Jackson?”
“Partly.”
“Why else?”
He shrugs. “I wasn’t ready for you to go.” He stares at me patiently, allowing his words to soak beneath the barrier I’ve constructed to keep him away that he’s worn so thin.
Several moments pass before I turn my attention back to the window for a moment before looking back at him. He peers at me with those dark eyes that make my heart race even faster. His lips part, and I lean forward.
Joey takes a deep breath and takes a step back, retreating back to the bed in four strides, where our mostly empty takeout cartons litter the space. Confusion mingles with rejection as I follow him, dumping the mostly empty boxes back into the plastic sack they’d come in. He carries it to the door and places it on the top step leading into the garage, then locks the door behind him.
“Sorry.” He moves to unlock it again. “I wasn’t insinuating anything with that. I just lock it out of habit.” He walks closer, stopping in front of me.
“You don’t have to,” I tell him. “I don’t think we’ve ever locked our doors.”
“Ever?” His gaze drops from my eyes to my mouth, jumping back and forth several times.
I shake my head.
His eyes focus on my lips as I lick them, waiting for him to kiss me. I can feel it. Know how badly he wants to kiss me by the way he stands so close, how his focus keeps landing on my mouth, and how his body keeps angling toward me. I know because I want to kiss him just as badly.
“You have a lot going on right now. I don’t want—”
Before he can continue, I lean forward and kiss him. I don’t want him to remind me that my emotions are high or that I’m confused about where I want to live or what I want to do with my life. All I’m certain of in this moment is that I want to kiss him. Feel him beneath my fingers, and stretch this night as far as it will go.
Joey’s lips don’t hold the same hesitancy his voice had. He slants his mouth over mine, patient and controlled, as he returns the kiss, following my lead.
I wrap my arms around the back of his neck, and he responds by placing his hands on my lower back, pulling me closer so my chest is flush against his. His touch is gentle, resting on the outside of his borrowed T-shirt I’m wearing, distracting me from how perfectly his lips are molded to mine. All I can focus on is feeling his to
uch.
He looks at me as I take a step back, his lids heavy with lust and his arms outstretched from where they were moments ago holding me.
With steady hands, I grip the hem of the T-shirt he lent me and tug it off, revealing my bathing suit top, which is still damp.
Joey studies my face before slowly lowering his gaze over me. “God, you’re gorgeous.”
“I thought you said I look like a librarian.”
He chuckles and reaches for one of the loops on my shorts, where he hooks his forefinger. “Don’t hate me, but I enjoy ruffling your feathers. Your lips purse, and your eyes get all fiery. It’s incredibly sexy.”
I shake my head, trying to stop my lips from pursing. “See? You cause my sour side.”
Joey laughs, pulling me close to him again. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want you to stop. I want you to touch me.”
“Where?” His lips brush mine so lightly, it’s a tease. “Tell me where you want me to touch you, Kennedy.”
“Everywhere.”
Joey’s hand falls from my waist, cupping my ass, and his other weaves into my hair, still tied back in a braid. His chin grazes mine as his lips slide over my mouth, creating a contrast in textures with the roughness of his five-o’clock shadow.
His shirt is cool and soft against my torso, making my skin itch. I reach for the bottom of his tee and pull it up several inches before his hands slowly slide loose from their hold on me and he grabs the bunched fabric, yanking it off with a quick swipe. His skin is bronzed, a dark richness from his heritage that mine can’t reach even in the peak of summer. Muscles carve wide paths to the waist of his gym shorts that I want to run my hands and tongue over. I reach around my back, freeing the small clasp that’s securing my bathing suit. It slides down my arms and falls with a nearly silent hush.
“I’m going to apologize now,” Joey says, running his palm down the center of my body.
