“I love you, Dove.”
The memory burns.
I grit my teeth, swing off my horse, and splash cold water onto sunburned skin.
The pond’s bite shocks my muscles awake and clears the grit from my head. A reset. The only way to shake Sarah loose—at least for now.
CHAPTER 18
sarah
Isit at my desk in the clinic, my phone cold against my palm.
Outside the window, the last light bleeds out of the sky, turning the glass dark so I see my own reflection staring back at me. I’m afraid.
I put my earbuds on and punch in the number on the card Marnie Evans gave me.
She answers on the second ring. “Marnie Evans here.”
“Hi, Marnie. This is Sarah Kirk.”
“Thank you for calling me back, Sarah.” She’s calm and at ease.
Her voice feels…trustworthy. Which is ridiculous, because I don’t know this woman at all. But I did my homework—Googled her, read everything I could find about her and written by her. She’s broken story after story about powerful men who victimized women. The latest one is about a Hollywood producer who raped young actors for years.
I read a few of the stories before I had to stop. The details clawed at me until I was curled in bed like a child, knees tucked tight, sobbing into the dark.
Triggered. Shaken. Broken all over again.
I called my therapist the next morning for an emergency session just to feel like I had my feet under me again. It helped—but only like duct tape over a cracked pipe.
Because the truth is, I don’t think I’ll ever be okay.
I’ll always be cautious.
Always scared to take a drink in public—just in case.
Always checking over my shoulder in a parking lot—just in case.
Always tense when a shadow moves too close.
Always waiting foritto happen again.
“I want to know how you found out about me,” I ask, already regretting the call.
What the hell am I doing talking to a stranger about this?
“I have a source. A reliable one.”
I know she won’t tell me, no matter how much I ask. I’ve watched enough movies and read enough news to know journalists would rather go to jail than disclose their sources.
“Am I…the first?” I blurt.
Pause.
“You mean, are you the first woman LandonMercer raped?”
My hand holding the phone starts to shake.
