It had taken me more than a year to work up the courage to tell her. To go to her after it’d been happening for a long time—too long—and being certain that she’d help. That finally—finally—it’d be better. I hadn’t even been able to get everything out before she’d shut me down.
She hadn’t believed me.
My stomach churned, the possibility that Riley could say the same thing, that he might think I was a liar, settled heavy on my shoulders.
God, what if he didn’t believe me?
“You don’t have to tell me anything.” Riley’s voice cut through the silence as sure as a knife, though it was soft and tentative. “I want to know. I want to help. I don’t want to pry, but you know you can tell me anything. That’s never changed.”
I turned my head to look at him, and the pain reflecting back at me in his eyes gave me the courage to finally escape.
Taking a deep breath, I said, “It started when I was fifteen, a few months before I met you.”
Riley narrowed his eyes, his shoulders stiffening the slightest bit, but it was the only outward sign he showed. I turned away, focusing on my lap. I couldn’t look at him, look into his eyes, too afraid of what I’d see there. Doubt? I couldn’t take it. I’d handled my mother’s, but coming from him? That would truly break me.
“It started innocently enough. First it was just some looks. Inappropriate, for sure, but I wrote them off. And then there was the first time he touched me. He’d said it was an accident, that he hadn’t meant anything by it, and I’d believed him. I mean … why wouldn’t I? It was my dad, and nothing like that had ever, ever happened before. Not until he lost his job. Started drinking. And then my mom switched shifts, and it was just the two of us at home at night. And then pretty soon those ‘accidental’ touches weren’t enough.
“He…” I swallowed that lump of fear in my throat, praying I could say it without actually saying it. But then I realized that I was only giving power to the words by keeping them inside. By refusing to speak them aloud, it was like I was caged all over again, and I was so tired of being behind bars.
“I said no. I pushed him away. I fought. I didn’t want it. I never wanted it,” I said, because that was so important to me. So important that Riley knew that. I hadn’t been able to get away, hadn’t been able to stop it, but I’d never wanted it. “But it hadn’t mattered.”
I didn’t realize I’d started crying or that he’d touched me at all until I was suddenly in his lap, his thumbs stroking the wetness from my cheeks. And while I’d been scared of what I’d see in his eyes, terrified he’d think I was lying, when I finally allowed myself to look, when I stared into those bottomless pools, I didn’t see the doubt I feared. I saw anger and hurt, confusion and sadness. I saw every emotion currently swarming around inside me reflected back in his eyes.
Seeing all that gave me the reassurance I needed to finally give life to the four little words—five tiny syllables—that had been my shackles for so long.
And, finally, I breathed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
RILEY
I sat on the couch, spine straight as Evie’s head lay in my lap, her face turned toward me. I welcomed the cadence of her deep, even breathing, a soothing sound in my cluttered mind. Cluttered with that single sentence she’d uttered as it ran through my head over and over and over again.
My father raped me. My father raped me. My father raped me.
I looked down at her, her eyes fluttering under her lids, her lips parted, and she looked just like the same Evie I’d always known. Resilient and independent and strong. I just had no idea how much each of those descriptors truly fit her. Thinking about what she’d been through, what the past seven years had held for her, had me clenching my teeth, an ache spreading in my chest, filling every inch of my body until it was all I could think about. Until the rage I felt was all I could see.
I wanted someone to pay for this. I wanted redemption. For her, for the childhood she’d lost, for the sleepless nights and terrified days and nightmares that still haunted her. I wanted redemption for her because she’d been denied it. I wanted her asshole scum of a father to pay for what he did to her. And I wanted to be the one who brought the justice right to his fucking door.
I would’ve, too, would’ve left this apartment and done it a hundred times if it weren’t for Evie. I couldn’t leave, not now. Not when she was finally resting in my lap, not after what she’d shared with me.
I didn’t want to leave her alone.
In my mind, though, while she lay sleeping, I let myself fantasize. Let it play out a hundred times in my head … getting on my bike and driving hours until I pulled up at the door to her childhood home, the one I’d only seen once or twice in the two years we’d been together. The one I’d seen and had no idea what had been happening behind it. In my mind, I knocked on that door, stood in front of that fucker, and beat him until he couldn’t see. Until he couldn’t move. Pounded on him until he was the one huddled in the corner, bleeding and crying and begging for me to stop.
And I knew if I didn’t have her head in my lap, if I wasn’t running my fingers through her hair, a tangible reminder that she was here with me, in a place he could never get her, that I would. I’d go there, just like in the scenarios running through my mind, and I’d kill him.
I’d kill him.
I wasn’t sure that urge would ever lessen. That it’d ever go away.
It’d been hours since I’d pulled her into my lap, wiping away her near-constant tears as she’d recounted the hell she’d lived through. As she’d said the words that had filled me with a rage I’d never known. A rage that couldn’t be matched, not even what I’d felt when I’d found out she was dead.
The anger swarming inside me now far surpassed it, because it wasn’t just rage at what she’d gone through or who had done it to her. It also was rage directed at myself.
Through those two years we’d been together, the countless nights she’d stayed at my place just so she wouldn’t have to go home, I’d never once suspected. And all the while, it’d been happening right under my nose. She’d lived it, day in and day out, and I hadn’t done a damn thing. She’d endured hell, and I’d done nothing.
EVIE
I woke in the exact position I’d fallen asleep in, on the couch with my head in Riley’s lap. He was still playing with my hair, his fingers providing the soothing caresses that had eventually lulled me to sleep in the first place. I didn’t know how long I’d slept, but from the soft light coming into the loft, I’d guess I’d managed to crash through most of the day.
And I couldn’t remember a time when I’d had such a deep and peaceful sleep.
Was it because I’d been so exhausted, running on empty for days? Or had it been because I’d finally freed myself? I’d exposed all the secrets I’d kept buried deep, and I could finally exhale.
Remembering the words I’d said to him, remembering how I’d opened up and told him everything—that I’d even been able to—was still a shock. And through it all, he’d listened. As I’d recounted my worst nightmare, the nightmare that still haunted me, he hadn’t said a word, hadn’t interrupted or bombarded me with questions. He hadn’t called me a liar, hadn’t looked at me like I was someone else, someone he didn’t even know. He’d just sat there, stroking my back and listening, and it was the best gift he ever could’ve given me and he probably didn’t even realize it.
I rubbed my eyes, then turned my head to look up at him. He was staring at me, his eyes full of worry and apprehension, and I wanted to erase it. Wanted to reassure him that even after everything, I was okay. I was still me. He was just seeing all of me now, even the parts I’d been trying for so long to hide.
“Hi,” I said, my voice scratchy and rough from sleeping for so long and all the tears I’d shed before I’d fallen under.
“Hey. How’d you sleep?” He let his hand slip from my head as I sat up and twisted on the couch so I could face him.
Tucking my h
air behind my ear, I looked at his face, trying to get a read on him, on what he saw now when he looked at me. Did he see some broken girl? Someone who was tainted and dirty? Someone who was weak and scared?
Or did he see me? Did he see the same Evie he always had?
“Okay,” I answered. “How long was I out for?”
“A while … most of the day. It’s almost five.”
I stared at him, my mouth parted, quickly doing the calculations in my head of how long I’d been out. Ten hours. I’d slept, on this uncomfortable couch, a lap serving as my pillow, for ten hours. For longer than I usually slept in three nights combined.
“Do you want me to make you something to eat?” he asked, already pushing up from the couch and heading to the kitchen. “You must be hungry.”
He didn’t wait for me to answer before he started rummaging around in the cabinets. I stood and walked over to him, reaching up to grab his arm as he pulled out a box of cereal. He froze, looking down at me, and I realized then how tense he was. His shoulders were stiff, the muscles in his arm coiled and tight under my hand, his jaw set.
And while I’d always thought about what it’d mean to me to tell him, I hadn’t stopped to think about what it must’ve been like for him to hear it. To hear about it happening to a girl he’d once loved. To know it had been happening while he’d been there and that I hadn’t told him. That he hadn’t known. Hadn’t been able to stop it.
Stepping in front of him, I situated myself between him and the cabinets and leaned back against the counter. Placing my hands on his chest, I ran my fingers in small circles against the soft cotton clinging to his body, wanting to soothe him as much as he’d managed to soothe me earlier.
“I can’t imagine how hard that was for you to hear, Riley, but I want you to know that I’m okay.”
He gave a jerky nod, but he still studied me, his gaze appraising, and every bit of his body language said he wasn’t buying it. The heavy cast of his eyes spoke volumes and said he was worried about me, scared of how to act now, and I hated it. I hated that anything had situated itself between us like this, especially after we’d managed to somehow overcome the five years we’d been apart.
“I’m still me. You don’t have to be different around me now.”
“I know. I’m just…” He shook his head, his eyes closing, and it was clear he wasn’t going to say any more.
Wanting that connection back, the connection I’d always been able to feel when I was with him, I stood on my tiptoes and slid my hand up his chest until I rested it against his neck and tugged his face down to mine. He came, reluctantly, and I pressed my mouth to his, keeping my eyes open as I did so, watching him. His eyes were open, too, studying me, but his lips weren’t responding like they had … before. He wasn’t responding like he had.
It killed me that there was a possibility he saw me differently. That when he looked at me now, after I’d told him my secrets, he saw someone other than his Evie.
I pulled back, letting my grip loosen on his neck, my eyes darting between his. “You can kiss me, you know.”
He swallowed hard. “I know.”
“Do you? Because that wasn’t a kiss.”
He blew out a long breath, then groaned, reaching up and scrubbing a hand over his face. “I … I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to act.”
“I don’t want you to act at all. I want you to be Riley and I’ll be Evie and that’s it.”
“It’s not that simple,” he said in a strained voice.
“Why isn’t it?”
“I don’t want … I mean, what happens if I give you another panic attack?” His eyes darted between mine. “It fucking killed me last night to see you like that.”
“Have I ever had a panic attack around you?”
“Just the one.”
“So doesn’t that say that it’s not you? That it wasn’t a result of what you were doing?”
He breathed out a harsh laugh. “Really? That’s hard for me to believe, because I was the one trying to fuck you.”
“Riley, how many times have we slept together?” I didn’t let him answer, because it didn’t matter. “I’m still the same girl I was then. The same one I was yesterday and the day before. The same one you took up against the wall a few days ago.” He cringed at that, rubbing his thumb and forefinger over his clenched eyes. I reached up and grabbed his wrist, tugging his arm down. “You can kiss me and touch me. I’m not going to break.”
I leaned up again, standing on tiptoes as I rested my lips on his. “I want you to kiss me and touch me. I want to know that you don’t see me differently. That I’m still Evie to you. That I’m still worthy. I want to know you still think I’m beautiful.”
“Jesus, baby, of course I do. I always will. I’d never see you as anything different. I just don’t know what will be too much. I don’t want … I can’t cause you pain like that … Not again.”
“How about I tell you what I want you to do?”
He stared at me for a moment, then swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he nodded.
“Kiss me,” I breathed, tugging his face down to mine. It was slower than it usually was with him, more tentative, but it was something. It was more than he’d given me just a minute ago, so I’d take it. I opened my mouth to him, slipping my tongue out and licking against his bottom lip. Reaching down, I grabbed his hand and moved it toward me, guiding it around until it was pressed against the small of my back. And then I added pressure, pushing our lower halves together. “I’m not going to break,” I reminded him. “Please don’t act like I will.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
RILEY
With Evie’s hands on me, her lips under mine, soon I forgot to be careful. I forgot to be tentative and hesitant and let myself get lost in the feel of her skin under my hands, her lips against mine. And before long, it wasn’t enough. Just kissing her like this wasn’t enough. I needed to feel more of her … all of her.
Reaching down, I cupped her ass in my hands and hauled her up against me. She moaned into my mouth, kissing me harder, deeper, and despite wanting to be careful, I couldn’t wait anymore. I held her to me as I walked us over to the bed, then set her on her feet and peeled the clothes from her body before nudging her onto the mattress.
She lay back on the sheets, her hair a chaos of red against the white pillowcase, and I could only stare. She was looking back at me, her eyes open, a hint of vulnerability hidden in their depths. She was bare to me now, in more ways than one. I realized that for the first time in seven years, I was seeing the real Evie. Before, I’d only been given glimpses. But now, I was seeing all of her.
“You’ve always been gorgeous to me,” I said, my voice rough with my need. “Since that very first day I saw you. But now…” I shook my head and let my eyes get their fill of her. I swallowed down my anger, my sadness at her past, and continued, “Knowing what you’ve gone through and that you’re still standing? That you didn’t let any of it destroy you? It only makes you more beautiful. You came out on the other side. Strong and resilient and fucking perfect.”
“I’m glad you think so.” A soft smile tipped her lips, a flush brushing across her cheeks, and then she held her hand out for me, beckoning me closer.
“I know so.” I reached behind and yanked the neck of my shirt, pulling it over my head and tossing it to the side before I shed my pants and boxer briefs. Then I stood at the foot of the bed and braced my hands on the mattress on either side of her. Starting at her ankles, I let my lips trace every inch of her body, kissing a trail up her legs. Even though what she’d been through had happened so long ago, I had this overwhelming urge to erase the memories from her mind. I wanted them gone forever, and I wanted them replaced with something different, something better, something sweeter.
I wanted them filled with us. Only ever us.
“God, Riley.” She moaned when I slid my hands up her inner thighs and pushed her legs apart, running my thumbs along her pussy. And when
I bent to her, licking a line straight up her slit, her pleas turned into mumbled snippets of sound, not a word among them. I spread her open with my thumbs, then sucked her clit into my mouth, wanting to drive her crazy. Wanting her out of her mind in pleasure. I wanted to eradicate every bad memory she’d ever had.
When I slipped my fingers inside her, brushing against the part that always made her go off, she arched off the bed, pressing harder against my mouth. I continued to stroke her with my tongue, flicking her clit until her pussy clenched tighter and tighter, and then finally she was coming and moaning and pulsing around my fingers.
I slowed my tongue, stroking her softer, slower, until she was boneless on the bed. As much as I could do this all night, lick her pussy until she’d come a dozen times, I wanted to be inside her. And I wanted it right fucking now. I wanted to feel her skin to skin, wanted to be inside her with nothing between us, but still I reached over and fumbled for a condom, rolling it down my length and protecting us both. When I was fully sheathed, I shifted closer to her, still on my knees, and pulled her legs up and over mine.
She didn’t say anything, didn’t tell me to stop, didn’t utter a word of protest, but still, there was a stiffness in her body and a wariness in her eyes, an uncertainty, and I realized this was the first time she’d ever been under me like this. The first time she’d ever lain prone before me. So giving. So vulnerable.
Last night, when she’d had the panic attack, it’d been when I was pressing her into the couch, sandwiching her between my body and an unmoving object, and I wondered if that was what had set her off. If that had made everything worse. Because in all the times we’d ever been together, I’d never once been on her, holding her down. She’d always managed to make it so she was the one in control. So she was the one guiding, moving, the one deciding how far, how fast … deciding everything.
And I’d never minded. I’d never even really thought about it, too happy when I’d been a teenager to be getting pussy at all, and now … Now I’d been too happy to have her again, period.
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