by Jamie Beck
“What did she say?”
“She said that if I let what’s happened destroy everything we’ve rebuilt, then those men truly destroyed my life.” Steffi couldn’t look at Ryan. She might as well be naked standing there talking about those men. Talking about her hopes for their future. She kept her eyes down. “I hate the way you went about this, but I know you only did it to help. And you weren’t wrong about how my problem might end up hurting others. I clocked Benny with a bag of wood the other night by accident.”
Ryan winced. “I assume he’s okay?”
“It could’ve been much worse, but Benny’s head is harder than mine.” She flashed a weak smile when Ryan chuckled. “He’ll recover from it sooner than I will.”
“He’s always been tough.” Ryan narrowed his eyes. “I know that’s important to you—being tough. You overcame your mom’s death and held your own against endless teasing and testing from all those brothers. Even now, in the face of what you know, you’re pushing forward. But I’d never think less of you if you needed a shoulder to cry on, you know.”
“Good, because I can’t seem to stop crying lately.” Steffi covered her face and shook her head before looking at him. “You should know, I haven’t read the report.”
Ryan’s brows rose to his hairline. “Why not?”
She took a minute to compose her thoughts. Being confronted with it had been like getting smacked in the chest with a splitting maul. In the days since he’d left it at the bungalow, she’d stared at his name, written in some other man’s hand, and cursed. She could only guess that she’d gotten rid of the original report because her subconscious didn’t want it around. Her inability to remember any of it made her feel even more victimized.
“I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that it happened to me but I can’t remember it. I mean, the details must be so horrifyingly awful for me to have blocked them out.”
“I’ve done some research.” Ryan rocked back on his heels. “Turns out that, when under extreme stress and fear, the brain focuses on only those details needed for survival. The way it encodes information in those moments can misfire or fragment the memory. Add to that the trauma, which can cause PTSD and a host of other mental issues. In exceptional cases, people dissociate from the event and repress it completely. And like with you, being told of it or seeing photos won’t necessarily trigger the memory. It takes finding some kind of ‘access code’ that re-creates the circumstances, like a smell or something.”
“So I’m not a freak? Other people have had this kind of response?”
“Many rape victims’ memories are faulty; a few are repressed. Defense attorneys exploit those gaps to undermine the victim’s credibility.” He folded his arms across his chest. “That night you’d been drinking at a bar, feared for your life, been brutally violated, and got clocked with a gun. Any one of those things could impair your memory, but combined? No wonder you can’t recall everything.”
Steffi twined her hair in her fist and spun around to stare out the window while she considered that massive info dump. One thing he said had stuck out. Other victims had suffered like she had, yet they’d taken the stand to accuse their attackers. Unlike her, who couldn’t even read the file, those brave souls fought back.
Steffi turned back to face Ryan. “I want to go back to the alley.”
“Why?” His expression was pinched with doubt.
“I could accept the idea that some guys got away with mugging me. But I can’t let them get away with rape because I’m too afraid to even try to remember details that could lead to finding them. Maybe going back there will be my access code, and I’ll recall something about how they looked or things they said or an accent or anything at all that could ID them.” She then swallowed her pride. “Will you go with me?”
Ryan could not love this courageous woman more. “Of course. But maybe you should talk to a doctor before we put you in a situation that could make things worse.”
“I’ll think about that.” She breathed a relieved sigh.
“You know, even if you eventually remember some details, the cops might not ever catch those guys. Can you live with that?”
“I’ll have to, won’t I?”
He wanted to hold her again. To kiss her. To wrap her up in cotton and tuck her away where nothing bad would happen again. But that wasn’t life. Life was messy. Risks couldn’t be avoided. “Can I ask something else?”
“Sure.”
“Have you forgiven me? Can we pick up where we left off before I screwed up?” His heart stopped beating while he waited for her answer.
Her hesitation sank his hopes, leaving him cold despite the cozy temperature of the new room she’d built. “I want to, but I need to make sure I’m better. I don’t want to hurt you like I did Benny. And I won’t risk hurting Emmy.”
“Everything you’ve said tonight gives me confidence that won’t happen.”
“Then there’s the whole thing about sex. What if I can’t do it? I mean, I did beat up on you that night we started down that road. I doubt you want to be celibate forever.”
“I’m patient. Dr. Saxe can probably help us with that, too. In the meantime, we can cuddle a lot.” He grinned at her because, unlike him, she hadn’t been much of a cuddler.
“More threats?” she chuckled, then wrinkled her nose. “Too soon to joke?”
“It’s never too soon to joke. And whether or not we ever find those guys, you’ll recover, Steffi. I’d love it if you’d let me be part of the process.” He opened his arms, and she walked into them. Right where she belonged. “I meant it when I said love you. I want us to keep moving forward now, but as slowly as you need. No pressure.”
While he held her tight, he felt her wipe her eyes. He raised her chin and kissed her wet cheeks. “No more tears.”
“Please, God, I hope you’re right. I hate the waterworks,” she teased.
“On the upside, they do make your eyes sparkle.” He kissed her, savoring the hot sensation. “I’m glad you came here tonight. I couldn’t take another sleepless night. And the fact that you trust me . . . I can’t tell you how good that feels. Now I’ve got something to look forward to again. And thanks to Val, I’ll be completely free to make plans for our future soon.”
Steffi cocked her head. “Val’s signed off on divorce papers?”
“Better—she’s agreed to a settlement, for Emmy’s sake. It didn’t hurt that she and John plan to marry.”
“That was fast.”
He kissed her nose. “At our age, it doesn’t take forever to know what you want, does it?”
“I guess not.” She smiled, looking so much like the young girl he’d never quite let go of in his dreams.
Despite his long relationship with Val, Steffi Lockwood had always been his one true love. Technically, this marked their third chance, and he vowed not to do anything to blow it. “I’m glad you said that.”
Her face suddenly brightened. “So does this mean you can buy the bungalow?”
He shook his head. “Much as I love it, I don’t want to be house poor. It’ll be too expensive when you’re finished, and I’ll need money for other things.”
“What other things?” She scowled when he wouldn’t consider that purchase.
He closed one eye and glanced at the ceiling as he rattled off his ideas. “Dance lessons for Emmy. Maintenance for Knot So Fast. Maybe some jewelry for you.”
“Jewelry?” She pulled a face. “I don’t wear jewelry.”
He grabbed her left hand and kissed her ring finger. “Never say never.”
Epilogue
Three months later
Steffi woke to the warmth of Ryan’s arm and leg across her body. She smiled, curling herself deeper into his embrace. Thanks to Dr. Saxe’s help, she’d finally been able to make love with him last night. He’d been patient and tender and awkwardly sweet, exactly like the very first time they’d given themselves so completely on his boat all those years ago.
Even
if she never fully recovered all her memories, this alone made the weekly therapy sessions worthwhile. She might never tell Ryan or anyone else, but she didn’t hate talking to Dr. Saxe. Her brothers and dad would never let her live that down if they knew. Truthfully, she wished they’d all try a little talk therapy.
Ryan kissed the back of her head. “Are you awake?”
“Mm-hmm.” She twisted in his arms, grateful that Emmy was with her mother for the weekend. “I actually promised Claire I’d go with her this morning to the cottage to make some final decisions about the landscaping. Then I have to do a walk-through with the inspector at Hightop Road, so I can’t laze around.”
He kissed her shoulder and stroked her hip. “Not even a little while longer?”
“It’s already nine thirty. I haven’t slept in this late on a Saturday in eons.” She kissed him, threading her fingers through his hair. He yawned with a stretch like a giant dog enjoying a scratch behind the ears. “But I’m really excited to surprise you with something. Can you meet me at the bungalow later?”
“I like surprises.” He pulled her close again. “But don’t you have to see Dr. Saxe today?”
“She dropped me to twice a month because I’ve gone three consecutive weeks without any episodes.” It still surprised her to look back and realize just how often those episodes had stolen moments from each week.
“That’s great.” Ryan smiled. “But do you want to pare back before you remember enough details to help the cops identify the suspects?”
“It’d be great if that happens, but for now, this is enough. We’re together. The episodes aren’t interfering with my life and work anymore. I’m happy.” She kissed him again. “Actually, I’ve been thinking Claire needs to talk to someone. She’s getting more prickly in anticipation of Peyton’s imminent return.”
“When does that happen?”
“She’ll be done with the treatments at Sloan in a month, so anytime after that, I guess.” Steffi sighed, having found no solution to ease Claire’s anxiety. “I’m just trying to keep Claire busy with our projects. And on that note, I should get moving.”
He brushed his hand along her waist and cupped her breast. “Ten minutes?”
“Since when did you ever finish in ten minutes?” she teased with a quick kiss. Then she propped herself up on her elbow. “I promise I’ll make it up to you later. Meet me at the cottage at four, okay?”
“I’ll be there.”
Steffi heard Ryan enter the bungalow and call out her name.
“Back here!” she replied from the laundry room.
Ryan appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and the laundry room. “Man, every time I come here, I’m blown away by what you’ve done to the place.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the kitchen. “Gretta must be stunned.”
Everyone was stunned. Even Steffi couldn’t believe how gorgeous it had turned out. Silvery-gray Shaker-style cabinet doors, white quartzite counters, a farmhouse sink, and some open shelving lent a cozy yet modern vibe to the space. The refinished antique-wood floors provided warmth, and the new French door to the backyard allowed sunlight to flood the space and spill into the dining room through the wider archway she’d created.
“Just painted the second bedroom.” She rinsed her hands. “Go take a look.”
“Sure.” He wandered off while she finished organizing her things.
She tiptoed up the stairs to try to catch his reaction to the palette. “What do you think?”
He turned, his eyes wide. “Is this the Pink Panther’s den?”
Steffi slapped his chest. “It’s perfect for a certain young girl.”
His expression faltered. “Steffi, don’t get me wrong . . . this whole place is picture-perfect. It’d be a dream come true to move in here with Emmy and you, but I don’t make enough money to support us all here.”
“I know.” She hugged him, excited to share her surprise. A few days ago, Molly had secretly offered to “forgive” her loan in order to help Ryan afford the place. Steffi had then spoken to Claire about letting Ryan and her buy the house at less of a profit than they could net with a stranger. “But you’re in luck, because the current owners of the house are willing to sell it to you for a bargain price.”
“But—”
“Ah, ah, ah!” She pressed her finger against his lips to stop him. “I also have it on good authority that the lady in your life is a working stiff and can help pay the mortgage.”
He blinked at her, processing her suggestion. She removed her finger slowly, hoping he wouldn’t let his pride ruin this dream.
“You’re ready to take that step?” He smiled.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life, Ryan Quinn.”
He looked around the cotton candy–colored room again and smiled so wide his face nearly split in half. “Seriously?”
“I mean, I don’t want to presume anything, but we have talked about the future.”
He grabbed her hands and grimaced. “If I go in on this house with you, I won’t be able to buy you much of an engagement ring.”
“You know I don’t care about jewelry. You, Emmy, this house, and the sailboat. That’s my idea of heaven.”
He gathered her in his arms, lifting her off the ground and kissing her hard. “Guess we’ve finally built ourselves that dream life, haven’t we?”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Because of the fascinating complexity of the mind’s varied and incredible reactions to trauma, I wanted to share a bit more of my research with you. As I explain in light detail in the book, it is not at all uncommon for victims of trauma, especially sexual assault, to lose many if not all details of the incident. When in survival mode, the prefrontal cortex gets shut down by chemicals in the brain, and the amygdala takes over while the person fights to survive. Researchers still have much to learn about how and why some people might dissociate and repress traumatic memories, while others suffer PTSD, and still others remember details and move on without ongoing side effects.
While I’m far from an expert, as I understand it, most cases of dissociative identity disorder involve prolonged sexual abuse starting in childhood. On a lesser scale, there is dissociative amnesia (localized dissociation), which is rare but can occur from a single, extremely traumatic event in adulthood. While the person was conscious at the time of the event, her brain’s unconscious mind represses the painful memory. There are degrees of repression, but that is beyond the scope of this work. PTSD, on the other hand, is a severe anxiety disorder resulting from exposure to traumatic events that can also include an element of amnesia.
In the course of my research, I uncovered one personal account of a thirty-year-old woman who was drinking at a bar and met a man who offered her a ride home. He brutally raped her in his car and then tossed her onto the side of the road. She was found beaten and bruised, and then taken to her parents’ home. She had no memory of any of it, including the STI and HIV tests. Even the police didn’t tell her about the rape because they didn’t want to influence her official statement. This incredible incident provided the genesis for developing Steffi’s rape story.
Because my understanding of this complicated field of study is limited, I layered the elements of alcohol use and a history of concussions to further contribute to her memory issues in order to present a plausible, if not probable, story. If you’re interested in learning more about these topics, please see the list of reading materials I reviewed while writing this book.
SOURCES
Jules Spotts, PhD
Lisa Creane Hayden, PhD
http://www.psychiatrictimes.com/ptsd/posttraumatic-stress-disorder-and-memory
http://time.com/3625414/rape-trauma-brain-memory
https://www.wearyourvoicemag.com/body-politics/emily-doe-rape
https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2009/may/16/experience-rape
https://www.clevelandclinic.org/health/disease/9789-dissociative-amnesia
https://www.psycholo
gytoday.com/us/conditions/dissociative-amnesia
http://blog.souldoctors.com/rape-victims-fragmented-memories
https://thoughtcatalog.com/cj-hale/2013/06/12-things-no-one-told-me-about-sex-after-rape
https://www.mentalhelp.net/advice/relationship-between-dissociation-did-and-ptsd
https://www.rainn.org/articles/rape-kit
https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/post-traumatic-stress-disorder-ptsd/index.shtml
http://www.rrsonline.org/?page_id=944
http://www.human-memory.net/disorders_psychogenic.html
http://www.psychiatrictimes.com/ptsd/posttraumatic-stress-disorder-and-memory
https://www.lucidpages.com/rmem.html
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, I have many people to thank for helping me bring this book to all of you—not the least of which are my family and friends for their continued love, encouragement, and support.
Thanks, also, to my agent, Jill Marsal; as well as to my patient editors, Megan Mulder and Krista Stroever; and the entire Montlake family for believing in me and working so hard on my behalf.
A special thanks to Jules Spotts, PhD, and Lisa Creane, PhD, who educated me about PTSD, dissociative amnesia, head trauma, and postconcussion problems. Also, thank you to Jason W. Nascone, MD, for helping me structure and understand Claire’s hip injuries for this book and the next story in this series.
I couldn’t produce any of my work without the MTBs, who help me plot and keep my spirits up when doubt grabs hold.
And I can’t leave out the wonderful members of my CTRWA chapter. Year after year, all the CTRWA members provide endless hours of support, feedback, and guidance. I love and thank them for that.
Finally, and most important, thank you, readers, for making my work worthwhile. Considering all your options, I’m honored by your choice to spend your time with me.
AN EXCERPT FROM THE PROMISE OF US
(THE SECOND BOOK IN THE SANCTUARY SOUND SERIES)
EDITOR’S NOTE: THIS IS AN EARLY EXCERPT AND MAY NOT REFLECT THE FINISHED BOOK.
