I walk past her, heading for the stairs. I’m not going to make her cry. I’m going to hold her if she’ll let me. Listen. And find out who made her feel like this.
And make damn sure it doesn’t happen again.
twenty-three
SADIE
Taking a deep breath, I close my laptop and run to check my face in the mirror. God, I look a mess. My eyes are red from my earlier crying session, my skin is shiny from trying to wash off my smeared makeup, and the man I am trying seriously not to fall for is currently walking up the stairs, his footsteps strong and steady.
Okay. Breathe. It’s fine.
Nobody can hurt me. Not that Darien would hurt me physically, I know that. It’s just that there’s still a tiny piece of me deep inside that is afraid. Of becoming the girl who was so desperate for attention that she let the wrong man treat her like crap for years.
And pretty much paid him for the privilege.
Once I calmed down earlier, I sent an email to VINE – the victim support website that was supposed to let me know Darien had his parole granted. They should bereplying in the next twenty-four hours, according to the automated response I got a second after hitting send.
And then I spoke to my lawyer. Who says the no-contact order against Darien still stands. He cannot get anywhere near me. Apparently he shouldn’t have called me either, so my lawyer’s contacting his parole officer to find out what the terms of his release are.
And now, I guess I pretend it never happened. Or that I didn’t panic like I haven’t panicked in years after hearing his voice.
There’s a soft knock on the door and I grimace, because this is so not how I wanted him to see me for the first time after…
After he hunted me.
But I take a deep breath and open the door, because maybe it’s good not to feel so alone anymore.
My heart starts to race as I come face to face with Zach in the doorway. He almost fills the whole space, broad shouldered and tense, his lips pressed together as he takes in the redness of my eyes.
Before I can say a single word, he reaches for me, pulling me into his arms and kicking the door closed behind him in one, easy movement. My face presses to his strong, muscled chest as he holds me so tight I’m not sure I could escape if I wanted to.
And for a long minute, neither of us speaks. He just holds me, stroking my hair, and a single tear runs down my cheek. I’m not crying because of shock this time. It feels almost like relief. And something else. Something that pulls at every cell in my body, making it come to life with his touch.
When I look up at him, he has the strangest expression on his face.
“Wanna tell me who did this to you?” he asks, his voice low and thick.
I shake my head, mostly because I don’t know where to start. How do you explain about a thousand bad decisions that you regret so badly you can taste them. “It’s a long story,” I tell him.
“I’ve got all night,” he says.
“You didn’t need to come check on me. I’m okay.”
“Of course I did,” he says. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends take care of friends.”
For some reason that makes my chest ache. He’s being sweet. Too sweet. Thinking he owes me kindness because we had sex and it rocked my world in a way that hasn’t stopped.
Moving his hands up, he cups my face, his palms warm and soft. “Tell me,” he murmurs. “I’ll make them regret that they ever made you sad.”
I close my eyes, because if I keep looking at him I might tell him everything. About Darien. About the years I wasted. About the fear that still grips me, even now, even when I know I’m free.
His thumbs brush over my cheekbones, catching a fresh tear as it slips loose. And when he leans in, pressing the softest kiss to the corner of my eye, my breath catches in my throat. I don’t know how to do this, not when every part of me wants more and every scar tells me to hold back.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I whisper, because that’s the truth.
“Then what do you want to do?” he asks.
When I open my eyes, he’s looking straight into them, his blue irises so striking it takes my breath away.
