It’s quiet. She tries to pull her hand from mine, but I tighten my grip.
Moving my chair closer, shadows from the firelight skip across her face and catch strands of her hair, making it shine and, softening the edges she prides herself on keeping sharp. She appears to be in control, but she’s not. I can see it in the way she opens her mouth to say what needs to be said. She drops her gaze like she can’t quite hold onto me while she spills her secrets.
She looks tired. Not her actual appearance—something deeper is weighing on her mind.
Moments pass into minutes before she says, “My father…” Another sigh. “He was my hockey coach on the under 16 team and I was only fourteen. He… he…”
“Spit it out. Whatever you want to tell me, I’m here for you.”
“He touched me. Over and over. He…” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
I’ve never heard her voice so small, but her words hit hard. I don’t move. Or speak. I just wait. Partially because I’m afraid I’ll explode over someone hurting this woman. Inside, I know I need to wait for her. This moment is about her, and I just need to listen even though I am desperate to find her father and beat the shit out of him.
As I wipe her tears, she says, “I pretended it didn’t happen. I told myself it wasn’t… what it was.” Her voice splinters into pieces. “At first I thought I misunderstood and it didn’t matter.”
This time our eyes collide and a film of tears glimmers in her eyes, ready to fall. She tents her hands over her face, slowly letting them slide over her cheeks and then they drop.
She can’t control the tears.
Just the truth.
Her shoulders shake as she tries to calm herself. Seeing her in pain is more than I can handle without holding her close, so I stand up and pull her up with me. My arms are wrapped tight around her. “You’re safe with me,” I whisper over her ear.
I stroke her hair until she stops trembling, then I sit down and bring her with me. The whole time I’m wondering what he did to her. Did he only touch the outside?
Only? What the fuck am I saying only for? He’s her dad.
Did he penetrate her with—God, I can’t even imagine it and wish I couldn’t, but I can and every outcome makes my stomach turn.
It takes every ounce of strength I have to keep my tone steady and supportive because deep down I want to punch her dad in the face.
“You can trust me,” I say. And when I saytrusther lids open a little wider.
“I wouldn’t trust me, Parker. I’m selfish, the worst kind of person.”
Guilt.
Survivor’s guilt.
I know it well. Witt has it. The rest of my siblings have it. It’s something we share even though it’s not the same situation. Still, I don’t understand what this has to do with the creepy note. Does someone know she was molested and is mad she didn’t go to the police?
She looks at the fire while she continues, “I thought if I became someone else… the past would stay where it belonged… half-a-world away.”
And for the first time since I met her, I don’t see thewoman that’s five steps ahead. I see a woman whose feet are buried in the past.
She lays her head on my shoulder and her hand on my chest. I twist my head to press a kiss to her forehead. I whisper again, “You’re safe with me.”
Sniffling, she looks up and her pale blue eyes are red-rimmed and glossy. “I haven’t felt safe in a long time.”
“Do you feel safe with me?” My words are careful not to scare her away. Annika chose flight over fight, and I need to proceed with caution.
She shakes her head up and down. “But I should have reported it. Something.”
“You were a kid,” I say gently and my hand skims her arm.
“I wasn’t that young. A teenager. And it doesn’t make it okay.”
“No, it makes you human,” I agree.
