Not Since You

by Jared, Jenna

  Oh God. Carrie leaned back against the tub's slope.

  "After she scratched the paint all the way down the side of my new Lexus—"

  Oh…God. Carrie sank lower.

  "And destroyed not only my entire topiary garden, but my neighbor's picture window—"

  "Picture window?" Carrie's voice came out in a weak rasp.

  "When she tossed the chair off, it flew through the window. Then she fell into the Koi pond. She was so busy catching fish, we managed to catch her. She's in my neighbor's garden shed right now, and from the sounds of it, she's tearing it up something awful."

  "Can I call you right back? I'm…" Carrie dropped her phone onto the floor and sank into the tub, letting the water cover her face. Sunk.

  *****

  "Not bad, honey. Not bad at all." Zack pushed his chair back from the table and patted his mouth with his napkin.

  Samantha glowed under his compliments. She was a pretty girl, just like her mother had been. But where Sarah had been unsure of herself, Samantha was confident and assertive. Zack had made sure of it. No one would ever be able to hurt his daughter. She'd break his wrist first. Or the bridge of his nose.

  "And now, you get to do the dishes." She grinned.

  "What? I thought the cook cleaned up the mess."

  "Not when I'm the cook." Samantha laughed as she stood up. She pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Besides, I'm meeting Max at seven."

  "Max?" Zack ran through a mental list of Samantha's boyfriends, past and present. "Don't think I've met him."

  Her blue eyes twinkled. "He's five, Dad. I'm babysitting tonight."

  Zack laughed, to please her. It wasn't funny though. She thought he was overprotective, but she had no idea how men could be. Especially some men, who heard a "no" as a challenge instead of a rebuttal. Her mother was a perfect example of what could happen. Though, if it weren't for Mike, Samantha wouldn't be here. Always his conundrum. "Then I'd better get the dishes done," was all he told her.

  So when the doorbell rang five minutes later, he was up to his elbows in bubbles and Samantha had to answer the door.

  He heard a soft female voice and figured it was a friend of hers. When Carrie came into the kitchen, he nearly dropped a glass on the ceramic floor. "Carrie-da!" Damn. He needed to stop calling her that. She didn't consider herself his beloved anymore, and he couldn't blame her.

  But he wished she was. He'd never stopped thinking of her that way. He still loved her, damn it. Even now, here in the kitchen he'd shared with the woman he'd married, his heart leaped at the sight of her and his pulse quickened. He'd never stopped loving her.

  He'd also never expected to see her here, in his house, when he was wearing rubber gloves and had a dishtowel flung over his shoulder. "What are you doing here? Do you want coffee? Can I—is everything okay? Are you all right? Is…um. Hi."

  Over Carrie's shoulder, he could see Samantha, his matchmaking daughter, studying him with a grin on her face. Shit. She could see how he felt.

  Could Carrie? It was hard to tell. She met his gaze with her silvery eyes and smiled. Grimly. Politely. Not with the easy, full grin of her youth, but with a guarded, distant one.

  I shouldn't have kissed her, he thought. He should've stuck to his plan of small steps and gaining her trust. But he hadn't been able to help himself. How could he? He'd spent eighteen years thinking about her. And though he'd never physically cheated on his wife, he'd done so in his heart, with this very woman. This very beautiful, very beloved, very…distraught-looking woman.

  Oh, shit. "What's wrong? Is it… Where's your dog?"

  "She's out in the car." Carrie sighed. "I'm sorry to do a pop-in like this. I would have called you, but—she ate my cell."

  "You mean she chewed it."

  Carrie blinked at him; Zack realized she had the bleak look of a person in shock. Her face was pale, her eyes blank.

  "Carrie-da…"

  "Don't call me that," she said almost automatically, in a toneless voice. "No. While I was trying to calm the guy whose sprinkler system she dug up while I was paying the lady with the Koi pond, she reached into my purse and…she ate my cell. It had all my contacts in it…photos…my phone, Zack. She ate it."

  "You mean, she swallowed it? Completely? Oh. That's not good." Zack reached out and pulled Carrie to him; she barely struggled. Instead, she collapsed onto him, her fingers gripping his arms tightly. The sweet scent of her hair curled up and stroked his nose. Vanilla and flowers. He brushed his cheek against the top of her head. My Carrie, he thought and pulled her even tighter to him. She was warm and soft and fit against him like they were two pieces of the same puzzle.

  Carrie lifted her chin and peered into his face with those wide, silvery gray eyes. "Call my number and see if she rings."

  Zack tightened his grasp around her waist so she didn't escape. "Let's just take her to the vet's, instead."

  *****

  The surgery would take about an hour; they'd call his cell when the procedure was done. Zack led Carrie down the steps and opened the door of his pickup for her. She climbed in and stared straight ahead. "Fifteen hundred dollars," she moaned softly to herself. "And the cost of a new Smartphone."

  "You can use my phone if you need one."

  She turned and looked at him, still with that deer-in-the-headlights shocked kind of look. Maybe worse, now that she'd had to pay the vet. "I don't need to use your phone. I need…I need… Oh, God." She leaned back against the headrest. "My whole life was in that thing, Zack. Everything. And how are people going to reach me?" She closed her eyes. "At least the neighbors won't be able to contact me when she runs away and destroys something. That's a good thing…"

  "I know what you need." He put the truck into gear and started for the beach. It was a perfect summer's night, clear, with a cooling breeze coming in off the bay. The dusky sky was still pink with the promise of a hot day tomorrow, and he knew a walk on the cooled sand would be therapeutic for both of them. When he parked in the lot by the town beach, she didn't argue.

  Without speaking, they got out and before long walked in sync on the hard-packed sand on the water's edge, carefully avoiding the ebb and flow of the waves. They walked without speaking. The hiss and shush of the water meeting land filled his head with a soothing rhythm, while the dull thud and boom of the waves farther out was like a heartbeat.

  A dog raced by, barking happily as its owner tossed a stick into the water, bouncing out into the surf and practically dancing on the surface until it had to swim. Even then, the dog's goofy smile was visible. Zack thought it should close its mouth before it drowned, but it was too happy.

  "Too bad Ellie's not here," he mused.

  "Her fault. If she hadn't eaten my phone, she might have been. Then again, it's probably a good thing—I was ready to strangle her anyway."

  "I haven't dealt with many Irish wolfhounds, but the ones I've known have been great. Do you know they call them 'gentle giants'?"

  "Giant pains in the ass, if you ask me."

  "She's just untrained, that's all. She needs discipline. Generally, they're pretty calm. And they're patient. Great with small kids, small dogs… If they weren't so huge, I think more people would have them for pets." He stopped and watched the dog bring back the stick and run down the beach after its person. "Where did your grandmother get Ellie?"

  "The gates of Hell, probably."

  He turned to look at Carrie. She was so bitter. So different from the girl he'd known. Though, he supposed, she had a reason to hate him. And the dog.

  "An Irish wolfhound is an unusual choice for an elderly person."

  "Nana was unique," Carrie said. "She wasn't like most elderly people. Look at how she—died."

  "Still…" He bent and picked up a small conch shell, with a spiral in its center. He brushed the sand off it and handed it to her. She studied it, tracing the spiral with her fingertips.

  "I finally got in touch with her lawyer tonight. Before—before El Beast ate my phone. He said he
had no idea the dog existed. It was like she fell from the sky." Carrie sounded sad. "Or erupted from The Pit."

  "Come on, Carrie. She's not that bad. Is she?"

  Carrie fixed him with a hard stare; it showed her age. Not that she looked aged, but all her life's experiences were in those silver eyes. She wasn't the girl he'd known, any more than he was the boy she'd left. "We just dropped her off at the vet's because she ate my phone after destroying half the neighborhood. And you say she's not that bad?" She bent, picked up a rock and flung it into the waves. "Are we talking about the same dog?"

  "If we worked with her, she'd be fine."

  She shook her head. "I've used almost all of the money Nana left me, paying for the damage this dog has done in only two days. If she does anything else, I'll have to go into my savings to pay for it. I don't have that much to start with. I don't know if I'm going to have enough to get even a quarter of the work done." She shoved the shell into her shorts' pocket and started walking again.

  Zack fell into step beside her. "Do you like living in Texas, Carrie?"

  "It's all right. I've got friends, an apartment."

  "Anyone special?" He tried to keep his voice neutral, though a sharp flair of jealousy pierced his heart at the thought of Carrie with any other man.

  "No. Not really." She turned to look at him. "I'd rather not talk about that, if you don't mind."

  "Fair enough." He too picked up a rock and skipped it out over the water. "I've read the articles you wrote, you know. Sarah Googled them and printed them out, or tracked them down at the library and made a scrapbook."

  She stopped. "Sarah? Did that? Why?"

  He took a deep breath. "The night of the prom. I never got to tell you what happened—"

  "I'm not sure I want to know, Zack. I felt used and dirty. I thought you loved me, but I was wrong, and I felt stupid. But that's old news, now. I'm over it." She spun to face him, holding up her hand, palm out. But he'd waited eighteen years to discuss this with her, and he wasn't going to let one flat palm stop him. This might be the only chance he got.

  He reached out, grasped her hand with his and brought it to his lips. He nipped her knuckles gently before pulling her against him. She struggled—a bit—but not as much as he expected. Would it be possible for him to tell her what had happened without revealing everything? He owed that to Sarah.

  But he owed an explanation to Carrie, too. He took a deep breath. Sorry, Becks.

  Carrie didn't want to be leaning against Zack's long, lean body, pressing against him as intimately as if they were having sex with their clothes on. But she didn't not want to be, either. Damn you, Zack Mahoney, she thought. But she said nothing. She just leaned away from him. He let her move away—though he didn't release her hand.

  She started walking, his warm hand enveloping hers as neatly as she remembered. It felt right, even though she didn't want it to. It hurt so much to be so close to him; it hurt just as much to pull away. She sighed. "Okay. What? You and my best friend had a relationship, behind my back. What more do I need to know? You played us both, like the jock you were, because I was leaving to go to school in Texas. And you married her. So, tell me something I don't already know."

  His fingers tightened around hers, and he took a deep breath. "Okay. I will. The night of the prom, Mike O’Hare raped Sarah in the parking lot."

  Chapter Six

  Carrie had heard it said that a person could feel sideswiped, or that the ground could shift under their feet, but she hadn't ever experienced that for herself. Until now. Her knees sort of gave way, and she fell onto the sand; it was cold. So, so cold. Zack sat down beside her—he lifted her up, pulling her against him, with his arm around her. "You okay?"

  "Sarah was…raped?" She thought of how Sarah had been clinging to Zack in the hallway, how he'd sort of huddled over her, like he was protecting her. She'd run the scene through her head a million times already; it had seemed like he was shielding Sarah from her. But if she really had been raped, then it made sense. Except she couldn't quite believe it; it seemed too convenient. After all, Sarah was dead. She couldn't verify the story. "Why didn't anyone find out about it?" Always the journalist, she realized. Cynical. Asking questions. Looking for the hook, or the loophole. Even with this. Stop. Don't ask. Just listen.

  Beside her, Zack shifted. "I wanted to take her to the hospital right away. I suppose if I had, you and I wouldn't be having this conversation right now." He sighed. "We probably would have been married and…well, anyway. I did what she wanted instead of what I knew should be done. I took her to the motel—she was supposed to go to that after party. Remember that?" He shook his head. "Instead, I took her to the motel room I'd already rented as a surprise to share with you—and she took the longest shower I'd ever seen anyone take."

  We would have been married. Carrie couldn't get those words to stop revolving in her mind. She tried to listen to what Zack was saying, but it was as if she were watching her entire life—a different life—unfolding before her eyes. Married. To Zack. She'd have children. She'd have the family she'd always wanted but had shoved aside along with the rest of her childhood dreams, the night of the prom.

  Zack kept talking. "You know, my dad was a cop, my grandfather was a cop. I knew that we should report Mike, that Sarah's shower was washing away all the evidence. I also knew that she'd have to be poked and prodded and go through all kinds of invasive shit. It would probably go into the paper, and everyone would know. Don't forget—eighteen years ago, people weren't as sensitive to the rights of rape victims as they are now. She probably wouldn't have dealt with a female officer and a social worker. She would have been questioned by a middle-aged, jaded cop who would have made her feel like it was all her fault, saying shit like, 'Why'd you go out into the car with him if you didn't want sex?' I knew that.

  "I also knew that Sarah's parents didn't make a lot of money, but Mike's did. So who would have the better lawyers? The high school athlete whose father was the CEO of a corporation, the kid with the Ivy League college scholarship, or the pretty girl whose father worked in a local factory, the big-breasted blonde with plans for community college? You know people would have said she was doing it to get money out of Mike, seducing him with her looks and making up a lie, or some shit like that."

  Something struck Carrie—even though she'd told herself to listen and not be cynical. "You thought all that? A kid of eighteen?"

  His dark eyes met hers, boring deep. She knew then. He had. That was Zack. It had always been Zack. He had a cop's sense, the ability to put himself in other people's shoes and know what they were going to do. He had realized what was going to happen to Sarah, and he'd done what she wanted because he knew she couldn't handle it otherwise.

  He also had the willingness to take on others' problems as his own and try to help them. And try to save them.

  Even marry them, if necessary.

  Stupid bastard. Stupid, heroic bastard.

  Saving people and keeping them safe was as natural to him as breathing. Saving dogs, too. Saving anyone. It was who he was.

  A deep sense of shame engulfed her. Knowing that about Zack should have proved that he also would have been the last person to cheat on her, especially with Sarah. She should have realized and trusted him no matter how things appeared.

  Instead, she'd made things worse, running out, getting a ride home, making the gossip mill churn about what had happened. If she hadn't taken off, then no one would have noticed if Zack and Sarah never showed up for the after party, and people wouldn't have assumed he dumped Carrie for her. And he and Sarah would never have had to work to hide Sarah's secret.

  It was me. I was the one who failed. Not Zack, not Sarah. Me. I should have trusted him. Trusted them. I should have been there with her, too.

  Bile rose in her throat; she pushed her knuckles into her mouth, biting on them as tears filled her eyes.

  Selfish. I was selfish!

  "I'm sorry," she choked. "I'm so…I didn't…"


  "You don't have to say it," Zack said, and she realized that even now, he was saving her the way he saved everyone. Damn him for being such a hero!

  She wanted to hit him.

  She wanted to hug him and never let him go.

  "Oh, Zack," she whispered and put her arms around him with her cheek pressed against his shoulder, fitting up against him like the other half of a broken whole. Where she belonged.

  Maybe knowing he'd been married to Sarah had been her penance. If she'd done the right thing, she would have been married to him, and all would have been the way it was supposed to. But she hadn't, and—she wasn't.

  He'd married Sarah instead, only three short months after the prom.

  Three short months.

  Three months.

  Something nagged at her, poked at her mind, even though she tried hard to shut off the journalist in her head. Asking questions was as much a part of her personality as saving others was Zack's. She'd spent plenty of time wondering why people behaved the way they did. So why would Zack and Sarah get married so quickly after the prom and graduation when they both had plans for college?

  The truth hit her like a bug on a windshield, and she straightened. "Oh my God! Mike got Sarah pregnant!"

  Zack snapped his head up. Damn, she'd figured that out quickly. "How do you know that?"

  She shrugged. "If you said you loved me as much as you did, then why else would you have married her so fast?"

  "Good point." He let his shoulders slump. It felt good to let the secret out after all these years. It was something he and Sarah worked hard to cover up; thank God Samantha was all Sarah and no Mike at all. "Samantha doesn't know. And she's not going to."

  "You've never told her?" Carrie turned her silver eyes to his; they were wide, incredulous.

  "Why? All it would do is cause her pain. She doesn't need to know she's the product of rape. As far as she's concerned, I'm her dad, I knocked up her mom and that's that." He fixed her with his best pack-leader stare, the one he used with dogs and people who were about to go against him. Not that Carrie would go against him, but he wasn't about to chance it. Not about this. "And she's not going to find out the truth."