I hesitate.Do I really want to know this?Because I’m certain there will be no holding back if the answer is yes.
I’ll kill the motherfucker.
Not that I don’t already want to bury this asshole where no one will ever find him for what he’s done to her. “Did he?” I struggle to push out the words. “I know he assaulted you. But, did he…” Try as I might, I can’t say it out loud. I swallow hard, knowing I need to just ask her already. The unanswered question will haunt me like a ghost filling the void between us otherwise. She must sense my turmoil, reading my mind as if we’re on the same wavelength.
“No,” she blurts. “I wasn’t sure…” She grows quiet. My jaw clenches so tight I’m surprised my molars don’t crack under the strain. “I wasn’t sure if he might have raped me after I blacked out. But I was checked thoroughly by a forensic nurse in the emergency room. And I have absolutely no memory of anything like that happening.” She pauses for a moment. “Replaying the assault is bad enough. Knowing what could’ve happened…”
A tear I didn’t know was forming falls from my cheek. This brave woman. The hell she’s endured.
“I’m okay. I’ve tried hard to focus on all of the positives in my life. Jenna, my guidance counselor, came to my side the moment they called her. She stayed with me until I could be placed in protective custody, even at risk to herself and her family.” She pauses. “There have been so many amazing people who have been there for me.
Once I was put in the witness protection program, I was assigned foster parents who moved me with them to Candy Cane Key. I met lifelong friends there, like Ellie, Matt, and Harrison. Liz, my foster mother, and her ex-sister-in-law, Margaret, have been like guardian angels. Sadly, my foster father, Frank, passed away a few years ago. But for a while, I knew what it felt like to have a real mother and father.”
“I wish I could’ve met him.”
“Oh, you would’ve loved him. He was New York Italian. From the Bronx. I just loved listening to him talk. The stories he’d tell.” Asmall, frail tinkle of a laugh falls from her lips. The sound like rain after a long drought.
She grabs my arm, her expression suddenly fierce. All of a sudden, my heart is in my throat. “Please don’t do anything stupid. The very last thing I want is for anyone I care about to suffer at the hands of that asshole. I’ve done enough of that for all of us.”
The chasm in my heart cracks a little wider at that.
I reach for her hand. “No more hiding in the dark,” I tell her quietly. “My goal is to spend as much time as you need, showing you that you can trust me. You deserve to be happy, Char. And you deserve to feel safe. And I’ll do whatever it takes to give you both.”
She smiles through tears, and hope shoots through my veins like adrenaline.
I scoop her into my arms, smothering the side of her neck with kisses as I carry her down the hall to my room. I have no plans to have sex with this woman tonight. Only to hold her close, reassuring her that she’s safe here with me. There will be plenty of time for more once she’s ready.
I decide to change the subject, hoping she realizes I’m only being playful. I’d die if she thought I was being insensitive after all she’s shared with me. “Do you want to go to my playroom?” I waggle my brows a bit cautiously.
She gasps. I stop in my tracks, worried she thinks I’m a heartless prick. “Wait! Did you watchFifty Shades?”
I belt out a laugh, relief flooding me. “All three movies,” I pronounce. “AndI took notes.”
She tosses her head back in a riot of giggles. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe.” I grin. “But you’re back here. Snowed in with me. My diabolical plan to wear you down with cheesy song lyrics worked.” I give a hearty, over-the-top laugh like a cartoon villain.
Her delight spills into the firelight. “You’ve officially lost it.”
“Maybe,” I say again, softer this time. “So… you care about me, huh?”
She rolls her eyes, trying to hide her smile. “I think you had me the moment you asked me to save the last dance for you.”
I beam at her. “Well played, Dave. Well played.”
Char
I waketo the smell of coffee and woodsmoke, and for one blissful second, I think I’m dreaming. Then the weight of a thick comforter, the sound of the wind sweeping against the cabin walls, and the rhythmic pop of the fire remind me where I am.
Dave’s place.
My heart does that little flip again. The one that feels like a snowflake melting midair.
The space beside me is empty, the sheets still warm. I pull on one of his flannel shirts that’s far too big and wander toward the kitchen, following the smell of coffee and pancakes. He’s standing at the stove in a faded T-shirt and flannel pajama pants, humming off-key to something on the radio. It’s so ordinary it almost makes me cry.
“Morning,” I say softly.
He turns, and the smile that spreads across his face is nothing short of dangerous. “Well, good morning, sleepyhead. Hope you like pancakes shaped like sad snowmen.”
