Page 117 of Resist

“You should have said something to me when I called. I wouldn’t have been so harsh. I wouldn’t have been—”

“Yes, you would have,” I say with a soft chuckle. “How were you to know? And what was I supposed to say, ‘Oh, sorry, I think my uncle molested me’?”

“Something, anything.”

“Well, I couldn’t remember anything. All my memories and dreams went black at a certain point . . . up until the night we were at your place. We had sex—you made me . . . Christ, Ryker, you made me realize what an orgasm really feels like. You were giving when I expected you to be selfish. You were gentle when I thought you’d be callous. You . . . you . . . I don’t know what it was—maybe the fact that you treated me well, that you made me feel . . . whatever it was unlocked the memory for me.”

“Christ,” he swears, and I realize he thinks it was a bad thing.

“No. No. The memory, it . . . he never laid a hand on me. My uncle . . . he tried to, and Samantha came in and . . .” I retell the story to him. Every part of it. From my sister’s ferocious and protective love for me, to my grandmother’s refusal to believe the ugly truth about her son. To the guilt over what she endured to save me, to our move and time in Atlantic City. To the night Ryker paid me the money and Lucy had a meltdown I wasn’t there for.

Every last detail.

Well, except for the part that I’ve fallen for him. That part isn’t going to be so easy to confess.

And it definitely isn’t going to happen right now because I need more time to digest that.

He listens to it all without judgment. He comments here and there to let me know he’s paying attention, that he cares, but without interrupting so I know that he knows it’s my story to tell.

And when I finish, when I explain why I left that morning without telling him and why I’ve pushed him away because I didn’t feel like I was worthy of his attention, he says, “Can I look at you now?”

I chuckle. “Yes.”

He shifts in the bed and sits beside me so that we can look at each other. I’m still thankful for the darkened room, though, still feeling vulnerable some. “A few things.”

“Uh-oh, I sense the lawyer coming out.”

“Obviously,” he says playfully. “I understand why you left, but you didn’t have to. You could have told me. I wouldn’t have judged then, just like I’m not judging now. I’d figured there was something in your past that was affecting you, but it wasn’t my place to ask or assume. Second, I understand the guilt, Vaughn. I understand why you feel it and felt it, but you were kids. She loved you so much she wanted to protect you. To keep protecting you. Just like you continually tried to help and protect her. You both reciprocated the best you could. I’m sure in both of your eyes, it wasn’t enough, when it was. You need to know it was.”

“Thank you.” His words bring tears to my eyes.

“And as for Lucy, she’s lucky to have you. She’s lucky to have your determination and fierce love. But that doesn’t mean you don’t get to have a life too. Parents are far from perfect. Fuck, my mom is case in point . . . and I’m sure it’s highly debatable, but I think I turned out all right. You can’t let your loyalty to her rob you or make you feel guilty to live and be you.”

I stare at him for a beat as thoughts and emotions storm inside me, the loudest one being something I’ve never had before: someone believes me.

It sounds so stupid, so juvenile, but sitting here staring at him, listening to him, it’s never been more apparent than now how weird it feels to have someone listen to my past, hear my words, and believe me without question.

Empowered.

That single emotion is how Ryker Lockhart just made me feel without even knowing it.

I’ve lived a life where everyone with power over me has brushed my feelings aside—my uncle James, Priscilla when it comes to Lucy’s dad—but then there’s Ryker, a man who’s powerful in his own right. Not once does he tell me I’m ridiculous or it didn’t happen or anything of the sort. Instead he looks me in the eye, squeezes my hand in reassurance, and believes me without any further explanation.

He believes me.

I stare at our hands where they are linked and know that this man has changed me in the most unexpected of ways.

“Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.” He lifts our hands to his lips.

I chuckle. “Well, nothing like putting a damper on some incredible sex, huh?” I say, suddenly nervous with all of the attention on me.

“I did catch one thing you said,” he murmurs, shifting to his knees so that my eyes are drawn down to where his cock lies thick and heavy against his thigh. He quiets, and when I look back up, I know I’ve been caught staring. His eyes are on me, one eyebrow quirked up, an arrogant smirk on his lips.

“I’m sorry.” I shrug unapologetically. “I was distracted.”

“You were, were you?”

“Mm-hmm,” I say, so thankful we can fall back into this easy banter despite the gravity of the past I just divulged. “You were saying?”