That weight on her soul was horrible.
Yet the alternative—the rehashing, the victim blaming, the guilt, the shame, the humiliation of being accused of lying about something so horrific—she couldn’t face it. So she’d run as far as she could from that night. But it had only chased her.
Lost in her litany of defensive thoughts, she was slow to realize that Sean hadn’t reprimanded or questioned her decision or asked for details or explanations. He simply held her, and eventually she relaxed into his embrace.
“You’re the strongest person I know,” he murmured into her hair.
She cringed at that sentiment. It seemed misplaced, for all the reasons she’d listed in her head and more. She had to tell him.
“I came to Portland to run away.” She’d opted to go with the abbreviated version.
“You came here to rebuild. Someone tried to break you and you picked up what you had left, came here and built yourself back up. Do you know how brave that is?” He caressed her face, skimming her jaw, his hand settling around the back of her neck. “You always impressed me with your endurance and determination. I knew something had happened, but—Ivy, you’re an overcomer.”
That undid her. She never thought of herself that way. She believed she was a coward for not pressing charges. Weak for not being able to fight her attackers off herself. She’d never seen herself as strong in this situation. But Sean made her want to believe it. Made her think that she could believe in herself.
“I want to go home,” she told him.
And he nodded, carefully unfolding them from where they’d sat pretzeled together in the center of the ring. He lifted her, cradling her in his arms with great reverence, like she was precious.
* * *
He held her hand the whole drive home. After everything she’d told him, a burning need to never let her go again consumed him. Christ, who was he kidding? He’d had this burning need for months, maybe even years, but now, knowing the truth, the details of what had happened, knowing something he could never un-know, it compelled him more than ever to never let her out of his sight. His protective instincts were raging, and mixed up in it was a deep regret he hadn’t been there when she’d needed him most.
Which was illogical, since they hadn’t known each other back then. But the guilt remained. He couldn’t take away her past, but he could make damned sure no harm ever came her way again. He’d give his last breath making sure of that.
He kept his hand at the small of her back as they walked up the steps to their apartments, took her keys from her trembling hands and opened her door for her. Her body shook as if she were in shock. The events of the night had taken a serious toll.
“Bed,” he told her, shutting her door behind them. “I’ll stay the night.” He planned to stay every night from here on in, but he wasn’t telling her that now. He didn’t want to overwhelm her, even if she looked relieved when he’d said he’d stay.
“I need a shower first,” she told him in a small voice.
Were her teeth chattering?
Pausing on her way to the bathroom, she turned toward him without making eye contact. “Whenever I talk about it, or even think about it too much, I feel—yucky. Like little bits of what he did are stuck all over me, and I need to scrub them off.” She inhaled a shuddering breath. “What he left behind, it’s ugly.” She hunched into herself like she was trying to make herself smaller.
Fuck.This was so fucking hard. Her suffering, the kind he couldn’t put a dent in, might be the thing that finally drove him mad.
He wanted to howl and rage. He wanted to stick those pigs on a stake and roast them alive. He wanted to worship her until she saw how clean and beautiful she was inside and out. But those were his desires, not hers.
So instead, he did what he’d been doing all night. He didn’t say anything.
Maybe this could be a show, instead of tell, scenario. He went to her, took her hand, which was freezing (double fuck) and led her to the bathroom where he turned on the water in the tub. When it was hot, he helped her undress.
She didn’t raise her gaze as he pulled her shirt up her torso and the arms she lifted for him. With her creamy smooth skin revealed, he glided his hands over her shoulders and down her back to unclasp her bra. He gently guided the straps down until she was naked from the waste up.
Then he turned her toward the steam-fogged mirror. “Look up, Ivy.”
Her eyes drifted upward and widened as she took in the image of her blurred figure in the mirror. Sean towered behind her. They were a striking contrast. His image was tall and dark and muscular. Hers was small and light and lean. In the dimly lit bathroom, reflected in the foggy mirror, she looked exquisitely exposed and a little shell-shocked.
“Beautiful,” he said in a hoarse whisper against her ear, stating the word like the fact that it was. “Understand.” It wasn’t a question. He brushed his lips along the side of her neck, reveling in the shiver of pleasure that ran up her body. “You are beautiful.”
This was the one thing he had on the past. He made her feel good, and he’d continue to make her feel good until she could remember nothing but the pleasure they brought each other.
When she was completely naked, he helped her into the shower. She hissed when the water hit her back.
“Too hot?”
“No, it’s perfect.” She crossed her arms over her breasts, hugging herself. “Are you coming in?”
