by M. S. Parker
I turned toward the sound. He was on his knees next to me, his expression pained beyond concern or worry. One hand was stretched out toward me, but he didn't touch me. I could see in his eyes how much he wanted to. I nodded, not trusting my voice.
His fingers brushed across my cheek and I felt them slide across the blood. “Oh, love, what did he do to you?”
My eyes burned with unshed tears. His lip was swollen and there was blood smeared next to his mouth. One cheek was red and already swelling. But it was me he was worried about.
His thumb traced under my bottom lip and I winced as he touched one of the tender spots. Anger blazed for a moment in his eyes and then faded behind other emotions.
“I want...” He stopped and shook his head.
“What?” I put my hand over his.
“What do you need me to do?”
Love swelled inside me. I couldn't call it anything else. That's what it was. Love. I knew it as well as I knew anything.
“What do you want?” I asked. My fingers tightened around his. “Tell me.”
“I want to hold you.” The need was there, raw on his face. “But after...” His mouth twitched. “I don't want to touch you in any way that would–”
I practically threw myself against him, burying my face against his chest so he wouldn't see the tears that I couldn't hold back anymore. The pain in my face was still there, but as his arms wrapped around me, they were all I could feel. He was all I could feel.
“I'm so sorry,” he said. “I didn't know. I thought you were safe. You should've been safe.”
One hand moved up and down my arm. The other made circles on my back. I began to shiver, unaware that I'd been cold until the heat from Rylan's body began to seep into me.
“You didn't do anything wrong.” My voice was muffled.
“How could I not know what kind of man he was?” Rylan shifted. His finger hooked under my chin and tilted my face up until I was looking at him. “I should've done a better job. I should've protected you.”
“You couldn't have known,” I said. It hurt my heart that he was blaming himself. Hurt my heart, but also made me love him even more. I knew that there were plenty of men who would've blamed me. They would've asked what I'd done to deserve this, how I'd led Christophe on.
I opened my mouth to tell Rylan everything, but stopped when a pair of police officers came through the broken door, guns in hand.
Chapter Thirty-One
The cops wanted to break us up to question us, but something about the way Rylan's arm had tightened around me and the look in his eyes must've told them that it wasn't a good idea to press the issue. The problem was, I didn't want Rylan to be here when I had to answer certain questions.
Like when I had to tell the police about the video, or the real reason why Christophe came after me. That wasn’t the way for Rylan to learn what happened.
“It's okay,” I said. I hated the thought of going through this without him, but I hated the thought of him finding out the truth about my past this way even more. I would tell him, I promised myself, but not here and now. Not like this.
He gave me a doubtful look.
“Let them do their job,” I said. “I'll be okay.”
“They should talk to you at the hospital,” he argued, giving the detectives a dirty look. The paramedic who was checking my vitals ducked his head to try to hide a smile.
“I don't need to go to the hospital,” I protested.
“I'll tell you what,” Rylan said. “I'll go with Detective Charles here to answer questions if, once Detective Walters is done with the preliminaries, you go to the hospital.”
Dammit. I scowled, then winced. His expression softened. “Fine,” I said. I squeezed his hand. “Deal.”
“Right this way.” The dark-haired detective motioned for Rylan to step out into the hallway. “Let's start with how you knew Miss Lang was in trouble.”
“She was late for work,” Rylan began, his voice fading as he left the apartment. I only caught part of the rest of what he said, “So I called her twice and she didn't answer...”
“Miss Lang.” Detective Walters caught my attention. He had lighter hair and a nicer face. It made sense that he was the one who was going to talk to me. I was the victim here, after all, even if Christophe was the one who was already in an ambulance and on the way to the hospital.
“Yes.” I forced myself to focus. My head was still a bit fuzzy.
“How about you start at the beginning. Tell me what happened and if I have any questions after, I'll ask them.”
I nodded. “I work with Christophe Constantine at Archer Enterprises, but that's not why he came after me. I didn't know it when I met him, but he'd seen me before. When I was a kid.” I took a deep breath and said the words I'd never thought I'd have to say again. “Back when my mother pimped me out to pedophiles.”
I knew the detective had spent his professional career using blank face, but I saw the flicker of surprise in his eyes.
“Among other things, I was forced to make films that were then sold to other pedophiles around the world,” I continued. “When I was thirteen, I was rescued and a lot of people were arrested. They couldn't get them all though. Apparently, Christophe was one of them.” I gestured toward my television. “You'll find proof in my DVD player.”
This time, Detective Walters couldn't completely hide his surprise.
“I left work at five-thirty yesterday,” I said. “I came home, grabbed a bite to eat, changed my clothes and headed to the gym. I thought I felt someone watching me, but I didn't see anyone. I honestly don't know if it was Christophe then, or just me being paranoid.” I sucked in a breath as the paramedic began looking at the hand I'd used to hit Christophe twice. “I came home from the gym, took a shower and went to bed.”
I went on from there, telling him how I'd woken up because I thought I'd heard something and then everything that followed. I wanted to keep my voice flat, unemotional, but I knew that the detective wasn't just taking my statement. He was watching me, taking mental notes of how I was behaving, my reactions to what had happened. I had to let at least some of my emotions through, enough that I didn't sound like a robot. If I had to testify, a defense attorney would try to take this moment apart.
When I finished, the detective was silent for a moment, scribbling something on his notepad. Then he looked up and asked, “Did Mr. Constantine have a key to your place?”
I shook my head. “Not to my knowledge.”
“The door was locked when Mr. Archer arrived?”
“I assume so. He tried to get in and couldn't until he kicked the door open.”
“Did you lock the door before you went to bed?”
“Yes.”
“Were you and Mr. Constantine romantically involved?”
I bit back the smart retort that wanted to ask if he was a complete moron considering what I'd told him, but I controlled my temper. He was only doing his job. “No. We worked together. That was it.”
“So if we ask around, no one's going to say that the two of you were overly friendly?”
I rubbed my temples. The dizziness was going away, but a headache was replacing it. I had a choice here. I could tell him the truth without talking to Rylan about it or I could leave it out of the conversation and then get accused of hiding it later.
“I was friendly with Christophe at work because he was friendly with me,” I said. “He never demonstrated anything inappropriate.” I looked up at him. “The two of us are not nor have we ever been in a relationship other than in his twisted fantasies.”
“Do you have a boyfriend, Ms Lang?”
Well, there went the vague. It was pretty black and white now.
“Yes,” I said. “I do.” I glanced toward the door. “Rylan and I are keeping it quiet because he's my boss, but the two of us have recently become involved.”
Obviously, this wasn't a surprise to the detective. I had a feeling that he'd asked to see if I'd tell the truth.
<
br /> “No one at work knows,” I added.
“And you want us to be discreet?”
Again, I sensed a test question. “Please do whatever you need to do to make sure that Christophe goes away for a long time. I just thought you'd need to know that no one at work will know that Rylan and I are together.”
Judging by the approving light in his eyes, my confession had been the right thing to do.
“We've done everything we can here.”
I'd forgotten about the paramedic.
“I think I've gotten what I need,” Detective Walters said. He gave me a kinder look than I'd ever gotten from an authority figure other than Lily. “If we have any other questions, we'll be in touch.”
The moment we moved into the hallway, Rylan was there. I wasn't sure if he was supposed to be done with his questioning, but I wasn't going to argue as he followed me into the ambulance.
Neither one of us spoke on the ride, but when the doctors tried to separate us at the hospital, he flat-out refused. This time, there was no deal to be made. I told the doctors that he stayed or I went, and they let him stay. The exam wasn't pleasant, but I'd endured much worse. The bruises on my face would heal with time. The cut was superficial enough that it only needed a bandage, no stitches, though the doctor said she couldn't promise it wouldn't scar.
“Her insurance is excellent,” Rylan said from where he stood at my side. “It'll cover any necessary plastic surgery.”
I glanced up at him. “I keep my scars,” I said, reaching for his hand.
The doctor smiled at me, the expression in her eyes warm. I thought she might say something, but she continued with her recitation. “The x-rays show no broken bones in the face or hand, but you're going to want to take it easy for a couple days.”
The look in her eyes changed and I knew what she wasn't saying. There were no new breaks. I hadn't gone to the hospital much as a child, but I'd heard the report of my initial exam after being rescued. I'd been fortunate that the doctors my mom actually had called had done a good job setting the broken bones I'd had, including three fingers and my wrist.
“I'm a little concerned about the contusions,” she continued. “Multiple blows to the head aren't something to be taken lightly.” She gave Rylan a stern look. “And that goes for you too, young man.”
His eyebrows went up and I smiled. I had little doubt that anyone talked to him like that, let alone a doctor who looked like she was barely ten years older than him.
“I don't want either of you two spending the night alone. I didn't see any signs of a concussion, but I'd feel a lot better if I knew you had another person around just in case something happened.” She looked from Rylan to me. “Will you both have someone around tonight?”
“I think we can make that happen,” Rylan answered before I did.
Even though I normally hated when people tried to talk for me, I was glad he'd done it this time. I didn't want to make any assumptions, but I also didn't want to be alone tonight.
“Good.” The doctor scribbled something down and handed the paper to me. “That's a prescription for a mild painkiller if you need it.”
“Does that mean we're done?” I asked. I was grateful for the prescription since I knew I'd probably need it tomorrow, but I cared more about getting discharged.
Her smile was understanding. “Yes, it does. I just have a couple things I need to have you sign.”
I held out my hand.
“I'll be back with the papers in a moment,” she said. “You can change back into your street clothes.”
Shit.
I'd agreed to change into a gown for the exam because I wanted out of the dress. Then it hit me. I gave Rylan a puzzled look. “I thought the dress was evidence.”
“It is,” he said. He reached down and picked up a bag I hadn't noticed. “I paid one of the orderlies to get some clothes. I'm not guaranteeing they'll even match...”
“Thank you.” I squeezed his hand, then raised it to brush my lips across his knuckles. “For everything.”
“I meant it, you know,” he said. “That we'd work something out so you wouldn't be alone tonight.”
“She meant that for you too,” I said as I released his hand and started digging into the bag. There were no undergarments, but I was fine with that. The idea of a stranger picking out a bra and panties weirded me out. I quickly pulled on the sweatpants under the hospital gown, and the sweatshirt came next. They were both baggy, but at least the guy had picked gray rather than some outlandish color.
“Your apartment's going to be off limits for at least a day or two,” he said. “And it'll be another day before a cleaning crew can get everything fixed up.”
“A cleaning crew?”
“No arguing, please.” He gently touched my uninjured cheek. “I don't want a single thing left in your apartment to remind you of what happened.”
I didn't tell him that the memories would still be there, no matter how much cleaning was done. I knew that from experience. Still, I appreciated the fact that he wanted to do that for me.
“Whatever you want to do is what we'll do,” he continued. “Whatever you need to make you feel safe.”
My heart did a little skip. “You make me feel safe.”
He shook his head, his eyes sad. “I shouldn't...”
I put my finger on his lips. “We're going to talk about that, but not here.”
His gaze locked with mine for a moment and then he nodded. “Do you want to stay at a hotel? Call in a friend to stay with you?” He lifted my hand and rolled up my sleeve so my hand was free, his head staying down as he spoke again, “Or you can stay with me.”
“At your house?” I tried to make my voice nonchalant.
“No strings. No expectations,” he said. “You can stay in the guest room for as long as you like.”
“Thank you.” I looked away and told myself not to feel disappointed that he'd specified guest room. I didn't want this to confuse things between us, and I definitely didn't want him thinking I was trying to take advantage of what had happened.
“Jenna.” His voice was soft.
I turned back toward him. My emotions were close to the surface, but I managed to keep them back.
He cupped the side of my face and I leaned into the touch. Better than any painkiller.
“I'll understand if you want to stay in one of the guest rooms, if you need your space, but I would also love for you to stay with me.”
I inhaled sharply.
As if he knew I needed him to say the words, he clarified, “In my room. In my bed.” His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth. “In my arms.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Rylan called a car to take us to his house. He'd driven to mine but said he'd call someone to pick it up later. All he cared about right now was getting us home. Warmth coiled in my stomach at the word. Home. I knew he didn't mean it like that. It was his home, not mine, but for now, I wouldn't overthink it. I'd let myself feel safe, feel love, feel home.
It was already heading toward evening so we'd have all weekend, just the two of us, and I was looking forward to not doing much of anything that didn't involve a bed, couch or good food.
I stayed in the sweat suit as we went through the kitchen, picking at food here and there. Neither one of us said much of anything, but in a way, I found that comforting. I had a lot I was planning to say, but I appreciated the break.
After eating, Rylan held out his hand. I took it and the two of us went upstairs. We got into the shower together, and while there were definitely some lingering touches and looks, things didn't become sexual. I knew Rylan wanted me. He made no effort to hide the way his body reacted to mine, but I knew he wouldn't make the first move. Not after what had happened.
I wanted him too, wanted to feel the safety and comfort of his arms around me. Wanted him to make me forget. But first, it was time for me to tell him everything.
There were soft, fluffy robes for us both after we were done drying o
ff and then he looked at me, waiting for me to make my decision about where I wanted to go.
“We need to talk.”
His eyes widened slightly, but the rest of his face went blank.
“Nothing bad,” I said quickly. Then I amended my statement. “It's not a break-up or a where are we going speech. It's about what really happened this morning, and how it connects to all of those things about my past that I haven't told you.”
“Jenna, I meant what I said. You don't have to tell me anything.”
“I'm ready.” I stopped him before he could say anything else. “And I need to tell you. I need you to know.”
He studied my face for a moment, probably searching it to see if I was serious or just saying it because it was what I thought he wanted to hear. Finally, he nodded.
“Okay. Where do you want to talk?”
I thought about it. Did I want to go back down to the living room and sit while I shared all of the shit from my past? No, what I wanted was to feel safe while I talked, and while I felt safe in the entire house, there were three rooms where that was the most true. One, I wanted to use later. The other was through that door.
“Can we sit on your bed?” I asked. I stuck my hands in my pockets. They were already starting to get cold. “This isn't going to be pleasant.”
He reached out and put his arms around me, pulling me toward him. He didn't try to cop a feel or even kiss me. This was an embrace of pure comfort and I let myself enjoy it. I took the strength he offered me and stepped back only when I was sure I could do this. Once I started, I didn't want to stop. I only wanted to do this once.
After a few minutes, we moved into the room and settled on the bed, not touching, but close enough that we could if either of us wanted to.
“None of this will be easy for you to hear,” I began. “And it's not easy for me to say, but it needs to be said. If there's any hope of this.” I gestured between the two of us. “Any chance for us to work, you need to know.”
My eyes met his and in those blue-violet depths was an array of emotions. Anxiety over what was to come. Concern for me. A hint of anger that I knew would grow. And hope. A hope I understood because I had been fighting it for a while. Hope that we would become something more.
