by Tracy Wolff
“I’m not afraid of you, Ethan.”
“Chloe—”
“I’m not.” I lean back so he can see my eyes, judge my sincerity. “I swear. It’s not you I’m afraid of. It’s the past.”
His face clouds over and he starts to speak, but I put two fingers on his lips to silence him. “I know they say that the past isn’t supposed to be able to hurt you unless you let it, but that’s bullshit. I mean, think about it. Even people with normal pasts are affected by them, people who have parents or spouses or children die. That hurts them years later, whether they want it to or not.”
Ethan closes his eyes, at that, bows his head, and for a second I’m confused at his reaction—until I remember his father, the special ops military man who died in combat when Ethan was just a child.
“Shit,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around him and pulling him close. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.” It seems like we’re destined to always pick at each other’s weak spots.
“It’s fine. You just caught me off guard. But I guess that proves your point, doesn’t it?”
It kind of does, but I’m not callous enough to say that. So instead, I concentrate on my own past. On the two-ton elephant in the room that just won’t go away. “My past—the rape—” I force myself to say it. “It was bad. It was really bad, Ethan, for a really long time.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
“That’s the thing, you don’t.” I slide off of his lap, kneel next to him on the carpet. “You can’t. You weren’t there when it happened. You weren’t there afterward when my parents made me feel like a bargaining chip. Like a—” My voice breaks, but I swallow the emotion down.
Ethan wanted to talk about this, so we’re going to talk about it. Right here, right now. And when this discussion is over, I’m going to lock this shit down deep and I am never, never, going to talk about the rape, or what came after, ever again.
I make myself the promise, hold it tight inside myself as I struggle for the control I need to get through this one last time. “You weren’t there when Brandon spent the next year making my life a living hell. When he called me a whore and talked all his friends into groping me and touching me and trying to fuck me. You weren’t there for any of that.”
Ethan looks sick. “Jesus Christ, Chloe. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry that you had to go through that.”
“But that’s the thing. Your apology doesn’t mean shit to me, Ethan. It doesn’t make what Brandon did any less awful. It doesn’t make my parents any better people. It doesn’t change a goddamned thing.
“And that’s why I don’t want to talk about it. Because when I do, I get angry.” Tears press against the backs of my eyes, but I blink them away. I’ve cried enough over this, cried enough over a monster who doesn’t deserve it. I’m done with tears and I’m done with him.
“I get so goddamned angry. And sad. And confused. And hurt. I get totally and completely fucked up. And I don’t like being like that.
“I spent years of my life like that, just going through the motions. Barely living because I was so caught up in the past that I couldn’t see the present. I don’t want to live like that anymore, Ethan. I don’t want to be that girl for one more day. For one more second.
“Because when I’m her, I’m ruined.”
“You’re not—”
“I am. And if you don’t believe me, all you have to do is see how I was after your bro—after Brandon—showed up here. It—it wasn’t a good two weeks, okay?”
Ethan’s face crumples then. His shoulders hunch and his whole body sags. For the first time since I’ve known him, he looks as ruined as I feel. “Chloe. Chloe, I’m—”
“Don’t tell me you’re sorry!” I throw his words back at him, albeit louder and more shrilly than he ever said them to me. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault any more than it’s mine and I don’t want your fucking apology. Got it?”
He looks like he wants to argue, but in the end he just shoves his hands through his hair, and nods slowly. “Yeah.”
“I love you, Ethan. More than I ever thought I’d be able to love anyone.”
“I love you, too, Chloe.”
“I know you do. Which is why I’m doing this. There’s no one else on this earth I would rip myself open like this for, not once but twice. I want to be with you. I want a real chance to make things work. But you need to understand that I can’t do that if the past is constantly there between us. I can’t do that if I’m constantly thinking about Brandon or my family or how many pieces inside me just don’t fit together right.
“I’ve survived this long because I locked the past up deep inside of me. I don’t think about it, I don’t bring it out and poke at it when I need something to do. I don’t acknowledge it at all.
“And before you say anything, I know that’s not healthy. More than one shrink has told me that repression isn’t acceptance. But you know what, I can’t accept this. I will never accept it. And I can guarantee that if I dwell on it, if I let myself really understand what it means that Brandon is your brother, and that the woman who paid my parents all that money to get him out of trouble is your mother, then we will never be together. Never.”
Ethan blanches, looks sicker than I’ve ever seen him. “Chloe, that’s not—There’s something—”
“Stop!” I shout it at him then. “Just stop. I’ve never been one to give ultimatums, Ethan, and I know you’ve never been one to follow them. But I can’t see this going any other way. If you want to be with me—”
“I do.”
“Then be with me. With me, how I am now, not how I used to be. I don’t want to talk about the rape. I don’t want to talk about Brandon. I don’t want to meet your family. I can’t handle that. Not now. Maybe not ever, but certainly, not right now.
“And I’m sorry that I’m so messed up. I’m sorry that I have all this baggage, and that if you take me on that it becomes your baggage, too. And I’m sorry that one day I might wake up and not be able to take any of this for one second longer. And that I will never be normal. You deserve normal.
“But I love you. I love you, Ethan, and I want to try to make it work. Because life without you … it isn’t good. It isn’t—”
I don’t finish because Ethan’s yanking me against him then, burying his hands in my hair and devouring my mouth with his own.
I can taste the salty remnants of tears I didn’t know he was shedding, can hear the ragged exhale of a breath I didn’t know he was holding. Fine tremors wrack his long, lean surfer’s body and his arms are locked around me like he’s never, never going to let me go.
They ground me as nothing else could have, give me tangible proof that this thing between us is as important to him as it is to me.
Brandon or no Brandon, I can’t ask for more than that.
He kisses me and kisses me and kisses me and it feels so good, so right. Like the specter of the past has been banished forever. That’s all I want, all I can ever ask for.
I wrap my arms around him then, kiss him back with every ounce of love and need and strength I have inside of me. And pray that it’s enough.
“I love you,” he tells me in between long, lingering kisses. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“I never doubted that, Chloe. If I had, I would have gone insane.”
He turns us around and then somehow we’re back on the bed. Only this time I’m lying facedown across it and Ethan is stretched out on top of me, his mouth at my neck and his hands … his hands are everywhere else.
“It’s my turn to talk,” he tells me, yanking the sheet from between us. He’s licking my spine now, long, lazy forays of his tongue that send splinters of heat racing through me.
“I’m sorry that that happened to you,” he tells me in between wet, open-mouthed kisses and gentle, sharp-toothed nibbles across my back.
“I told you—”
“No.” He puts one calloused hand over
my mouth. “You don’t get to contribute right now. This is my turn.”
He takes his hand away, but the warning look in his eyes remains. He’s serious about this. I had my chance to speak, now he wants his. I press my lips together, letting the protest die away. After everything I said to him, it’s only fair that he gets a shot, too.
“I’m allowed to be sorry that the woman I love has been through hell. I’m allowed to be fucking furious that my brother is the one who hurt you. And I’m damn sure allowed to want to make things better for you. Not because you need me—because you don’t. You’re the strongest woman I know, Chloe, and you would be just fine without me.”
I’m not so sure he’s right. I was fine before I knew him. But now? Now that I’ve been held and cared for and loved by Ethan? I don’t know that I’ll ever be okay without him again. On one level, the thought terrifies me. But on another, more primitive level? It soothes me, makes me feel safe. Because Ethan is here and he’s mine and when I do fall, when I do mess up, he’ll be here to catch me—just like I’ll catch him.
“But I do need you,” he continues, turning me over so that we’re face-to-face. “More than I’ve ever needed anyone in my life. I tried to let you go when you asked, but here we are, right back where we started. It’s too late now—you had your chance before. Now—now, I don’t think I could let you go if I tried.
“You’re in my blood. You’re in my heart, in my brain, in the very fabric of my soul. You’re an addiction, one I’ll never get enough of. I love you, Chloe Girard. I love you more than you could ever possibly imagine.
“And if you don’t want to talk about the past, then we won’t talk about it. At least not right now, when everything is still so raw. But you need to understand something—I have some ultimatums of my own and they all revolve around making sure that you’re okay. That you’re as healthy and happy and whole as you possibly can be.
“I respect you, as a woman and as a human being. I respect your right to handle things your own way and in your own time. It’s your body and it’s your life.
“But you also need to know that you’re mine now and I take care of what’s mine. Which means I’m not going to stand by and watch you hurting over something that I can fix. I’m not going to let you beat yourself up over the very things that you should be proudest of. And no one, no one, is going to hurt you and get away with it. Not now. Not ever again.
“You’re mine, Chloe, and you need to know that I will do whatever I have to, to keep you safe.”
His words arrow straight through me, past the hard shell of my defenses and the slightly softer layers of my hurt and resistance. They arrow straight to the soft and secret core of me, the small, defenseless part that has always wanted someone to lean on. Someone to trust. Someone to shoulder the burden with me.
And though on the surface, the brother of the man who raped me isn’t a wise choice for that role, looking into Ethan’s eyes, seeing the love and devotion reflected there, I know I’ll never find anyone better.
“I get it,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss.
“Do you?”
“Absolutely. We’re both completely neurotic. It’s a good thing we found each other because no one else would have us.”
He does laugh then. “You’re probably right. Good thing I plan on keeping you.”
“Yeah. It’s a good thing.”
He reaches over to the bedside drawer and pulls something out even as he captures my mouth in a kiss that leaves me breathless and horny and hopeful all at the same time.
My head is still spinning from it when I feel something cool brush against my stomach. I recognize it instantly, and look down just in time to watch Ethan refasten the belly chain around my waist.
He looks at the chain in obvious satisfaction before scooting down to press kisses along its length. “Don’t take it off again.”
There’s something about the tone of his voice that sends frissons of arousal down my spine. “Ethan—”
“Don’t. Take. It. Off. Again,” he repeats, and this time there’s no mistaking the order in the low gravel of his voice.
There’s a part of me that thinks I should argue on general principle—there’s no mistaking the fact that he’s giving me an order. And yet, there doesn’t seem to be a point.
He wants me to wear the chain. I want to wear the chain. His sexy growl turns me on like few things ever have. That’s more than good enough for now. Everything else can take care of itself.
Chapter Twelve
“What is that?” I demand, staring at the huge box Ethan is carting into my apartment the following Saturday morning. He’s here early because we’re supposed to be going to the VA hospital today to visit some of the soldiers, and then on to a museum or two at Balboa Park. I thought we’d leave right after he got here, but by the look of that box, now I’m not so sure.
“It’s a Vitamix,” he says with a grin, all blinding white teeth and innocent blue eyes. “I noticed when I was here the other day that yours had gone MIA.”
“MIA. I suppose that’s one way to put it,” Tori calls from her spot on the couch.
“Stop!” I hiss at her behind Ethan’s back, but he turns at the last minute and catches me glaring at her with narrowed eyes.
“Am I missing something?” he asks, eyebrows arched.
“Just about four hundred dollars, I’d say.” Tori smirks. “Are those things insurable?”
“Umm, probably. Why?”
“No reason,” I tell him, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he plops the box down on the counter, then does the same with the three Whole Foods bags he has dangling from his wrists. “Tori’s just super clumsy, so she has an obsession with insuring everything.”
My roommate chokes on her orange juice. “Yeah, that’s what did the Vitamix in. My clumsiness. Not, say, your prowess with a hammer.”
Ethan glances at me in amusement. “Do I even want to know what happened to that poor blender?”
I think about it for a second, then shake my head. “No, probably not.”
“That’s what I figured.”
He starts unpacking the groceries, and it’s my turn to be amused as he piles fruit, vegetables and a couple of nice cheeses on the counter.
“Tori and I are capable of feeding ourselves, you know.”
“Hey, speak for yourself.” Tori wanders in and grabs an apple from one of the bags. “If a handsome man wants to bring me food, I am more than happy to let him. Oh, and, Ethan, for future reference, Gala apples are my favorite.”
He grins at her. “I’ll remember that.”
“Please do.”
I roll my eyes. “He’s not going to be buying us any more groceries, Tori.”
“Why not? It makes him feel good and it saves us the trouble of going to the store and having to cart a bunch of bags up to the apartment. I say it’s a win-win situation for everyone.”
“You would.”
“So, who wants a smoothie?” Ethan asks, unpacking the new blender and rinsing it out in the sink as Tori wanders back to her spot on the couch.
“Are we seriously going to do this again?” I ask him, wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing kisses between his shoulder blades.
“Do what?” he asks innocently, as if he doesn’t know.
“Fight about this totally extravagant gift that you insist on giving me a second time.”
“Tori, please explain to your roommate that a blender is not an extravagant gift. It’s actually quite practical—a good breakfast is very important.”
“I can have a good breakfast without making it in a very extravagant, four hundred dollar blender!” I tell him, completely exasperated.
“Again. Not extravagant, Chloe. A car is an extravagant gift. A trip to Paris is an extravagant gift. A—”
“Forty thousand dollar platinum and diamond belly chain from Tiffany’s is an extravagant gift,” Tori continues for him.
“But not
a blender, Chloe. Geez, you need to chill out.” But the blender is now the least of my worries. “Forty thousand dollars?” I squawk, my hands going to the jewelry I haven’t taken off since the night we had our talk. “My belly chain cost forty thousand dollars?”
Ethan shoots my roommate a dirty look. “Thanks a lot, Tori.”
She shrugs, then takes a bite of her apple. “At least she’s not bitching about the blender anymore. Perspective, man. Perspective.”
“What the hell, Ethan? Are you kidding me with this?”
“I don’t see what the big deal is—”
“Forty thousand dollars is the big deal. My car didn’t cost that much.”
“Believe me, I am well aware of that fact.” His look says he’s far from being impressed by the knowledge.
“Hey! My car is fine.”
“I didn’t say otherwise.” He pulls a large basket of strawberries out of one of the bags and starts washing them carefully.
“You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your face.” I reach over and snatch a strawberry, biting it all the way down to the stem. “And don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Oh, yeah? What am I supposedly doing?” He’s cleaning a pineapple now, slicing off the thick, spiky skin before cutting the fruit into cubes.
“Picking on my car to distract me from the fact that the cost of this chain is completely insane.”
“Give the guy a break,” Tori tells me from behind the fashion magazine her head has been stuck in for most of the last half an hour. “You had to know it was expensive. It came in a Tiffany’s box, for God’s sake. You can barely get a piece of glass there for under a thousand dollars, let alone what has to be easily five carats in diamonds.”
“Eight,” Ethan interjects as he chops up a couple of bananas and dumps them in the blender.
“Nice. Eight carats definitely makes a statement.”
“What statement?” I demand, my voice still much too shrill. “What statement could eight carats possibly make? Besides that the person who bought it has way too much money?”