by Cecy Robson
My mind returns to that night, it was cold and I pulled on the sweater Ma had bought me for Christmas. A deep plum as soft as silk. He smiled when he saw me, and told me I looked hot in the skinny jeans I wore. I don’t bother sharing that much with Evan, because even then, Bryant didn’t make me feel good. Not anymore. I just never imagined he’d make me feel worse.
“What happened?” Evan presses, when I suddenly stop.
“He bought me a drink, and another one after that.”
“He got you drunk,” he says, his comment more of a blunt statement than an actual question.
“Not exactly,” I admit, my tone heavy with all the shit I tried to forget about that night.
Evan straightens while I shrink inward. “He drugged you,” he says, his tone and expression so lethal, I can barely hold his gaze.
“I don’t remember a lot about that night,” I confess. “Just enough to know I participated.” I glance at my entwined hands. “Very actively as you probably saw.”
He scrunches his eyes closed as if trying to erase the image of Bryant plowing into me. But it’s fixed into his memory as much as it’s fixed into mine.
With another wicked curse, he opens his eyes slowly. “It was not consensual,” he states. “You were not in your right frame of mind.”
It’s one thing to know, but it’s a whole different thing to hear the man you dream forever with say it. “No.”
“Christ,” he says. “Why didn’t you tell me—why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“Because this wasn’t supposed to happen to me!” I fire back, my voice rising. “I got into my first fight before I lost my first baby tooth. When I was fifteen, I fought off a grown man trying to drag me into an alley. I have six monstrous brothers at my beck and call, ready to defend me and I teach women self-defense.”
His breaths turn heavy and labored, but mine aren’t any better. “This wasn’t supposed to happen to me, Evan,” I repeat, my strength crumbling. “But it did because I trusted the wrong man to do the right thing.”
“We have to go to the police.”
“No,” I snap, anger burning like lava through my veins. “It’s been more than a year, and you saw the video. Did it look like I was fighting him off? No, I was begging him for it.”
Repulsion paints his face a vicious red, but I see the damage Bryant has caused flash across Evan’s features. He doesn’t answer me. He doesn’t have to. “If I go to the police, everyone will know, and everyone will put a name to the face on that screen.” I lift my arm, motioning toward his desk, but it feels so heavy. “Even if it goes to trial, the only thing a judge and jury will see is the slut he made me be.”
Evan storms from my reach, his fingers digging through his hair as he walks toward the conference table. He doesn’t take more than a few steps before he grips a chair and sends it flying.
“He can’t get away with this,” he hollers. “I won’t fucking let him.”
“He already did,” I remind him, my voice barely registering. Evan turns to face me, fury spreading along his frame. “In the morning when I woke, he was lying next to me. I knew what happened, I’d remembered enough. But the worst part was remembering that I’d enjoyed it.”
I sniff when those green eyes, the ones with specks of gold, mirror all the pain I feel. “He told me he knew I loved it by how I responded, and that it was the best fuck he ever had. It made me sick. But as much as I hated him then, I hated myself more.”
Evan shoots across the room, swooping me into his arms. In his strength, I lose what remains of mine. “I didn’t even finish getting dressed before I ran out of there. I blocked his call. I refused to see him. And when he showed up at my door with that sweater I wore that night, I threatened to go to the police. ‘You know you liked it,’ he told me, well-aware it was exactly what he needed to say to shut me up and guarantee I’d never breathe a word to anyone.” I force myself to speak. “And I never did.”
I don’t cry much. There are only a few times in my life I remember shedding more than a tear. Once, was when we learned what happened to Sofia. The other times involved my brother Finn, and more recently when Evan told me he loved me. I didn’t even cry when my own damn father died. I thought I should. You’re supposed to, right?—when you watch the man who gave you life lying in a casket. But I couldn’t. Not when he caused too many of my mother’s tears to fall.
Except I cry now. I cry for not leaving Bryant long before that moment—for believing he wasn’t the bad guy that I knew deep down inside he always was. Mostly, I cry over how much it must have hurt Evan seeing me do what I did.
Deep-seated pain lingers in his strong features. Strong. That’s who he is yet unbelievably gentle when it comes to me. Even now as he raises his hand, it’s not in anger. He strokes my cheek gingerly, like I’m the most important thing that’s ever walked this earth, despite that it’s far from how I feel.
“I’ll take care of it,” he whispers.
“I don’t want anyone to know,” I say, pushing the words out when they lodge in my throat.
“No one will know unless you disclose it. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to make him fucking pay.”
“What?” I ask, unable to understand.
His hands glide to my hips. “There are two things I won’t stand for,” he bites out, the rage from before surging. “Someone else touching you, the way I touch you, and someone hurting you. This piece of shit did both and I’m going to end him.”
“Evan?” Clifton calls. He stills at the door when he realizes he interrupted more than a simple moment.
I give him my back, swiping my cheeks. “One moment,” Evan tells him.
The door shuts quietly. I don’t have to look to know we’re alone.
Evan closes the small space separating us. He doesn’t touch me. Not this time. But I feel his presence directly behind me. “I have to go,” he tells me. “But you have my word, I’ll take care of this, and take care of you, always.” He presses a kiss against the back of my head. “This . . . all of it, changes nothing between us.”
The sound of his footsteps echo behind me until the door closes with a snap.
He says this changes nothing between us. That doesn’t mean I believe him.
Nor does it stop my tears from running faster.
CHAPTER 24
Wren
I didn’t see Evan for the rest of the day. He didn’t text me or call and he never reported back to his office.
He was supposed to meet with Anne and Clifton to follow up with an aggressive sales campaign he developed that could best be described as Guerilla marketing. Every rep we have was flown across the country, hitting over two hundred hospitals in ten days. We need close to fifty sales just to stay afloat. But Evan is expecting more. No, he’s demanding it, and has inspired his reps to make it happen.
I thought he’d tell me how the meeting went. But when he didn’t return, I couldn’t shake the feeling he didn’t want me anywhere near him. I know what he said, about nothing changing between us, but everything had.
My eyes dart across my computer screen, looking at everything and nothing at all. Between my office and his, this place is usually a beehive of activity, but although I can hear the buzz from the staff typing away on their keyboards, rushing to hand their reports to the courier stopping by their desks, and the constant ringing of phones, it’s like everyone is keeping their distance from me.
Ever get so emotionally bitch-slapped that if feels like a part of you has died? That’s how I feel, and when five o’clock hits. I’m done. It may sound like business as usual outside those clear glass doors, but inside my head and heart, it’s been a nightmare.
Curran called me back. He didn’t tell me anything that I didn’t already know: That I needed to file another report to create a paper trail, and that he and his partner planned to pay him another visit, but that it’s been too many months since I heard from him directly to substantiate harassment. The plate number I gave him wasn’t anything th
e police didn’t already have. They were looking for him for questioning, but they still don’t have anything solid. Aside from everything he’s done to me, there’s more tidbits linking him back to organized crime.
Curran is pissed. So is Declan. But they’re not alone.
I gather my purse and jacket, lifting a progress report in my hands so it looks like I’m doing something and not wallowing in my anger.
“Going home, Wren?” Dee-Dee asks when I pass her cubicle, her comment causing those working closest to her to glance up.
I lift the folder. “I have a lot to read through.”
My lie is believable enough and hides that awful dullness to my tone. Normally, Dee would be all over me, pressing me to tell her what’s wrong. But like everyone else surrounding her, she’s full speed ahead, working like she just arrived and raring to go.
She doesn’t so much as look up, too busy sorting through the pile of work on her desk. “In that case, let me add to your to-do list,” she says, passing me a folder shoved beneath at least six more. “It’s a progress report on the new hires.” She gives me a full smile. “You did good, Wren. The staff is kicking tail.”
“Thanks, Dee,” I reply, pretending to flip through the folder so I don’t have to meet her face.
“No problem,” she answers, returning to her computer. “See you tomorrow.”
I place the file on top of my folder. Will she see me tomorrow? I wish I knew myself.
I walk as casually as I can to the elevators. In all the months I’ve worked here, I’ve never left so early. The exception was when Bryant (or whoever the hell he manipulated) tossed that brick through my front window and I had to return home to gather my things. But even then, I came back and stayed late to make up for it.
Like Dee said the new hires, along with the workers we kept, are making a huge difference. I think I’m the first person to leave. It probably looks bad. But considering I’ve been torn between raging and crying since Evan left me this morning, I think I owe it to my sanity and his team to leave.
My stomach jerks into my throat as the elevator speeds down. I’m sure I’ll get sick. I haven’t eaten all day. Finding out your psycho ex turned you into an internet porn star tends to rob you of your appetite, along with your dignity and pride. I rummage through my purse and find a protein bar to munch on. My hands shake, not from lack of food, but from everything that comes with my life falling apart. I’m trying not to think about Evan and what he saw. But it’s so damn hard.
I don’t remember the drive back to our place. And I barely remember the progress report I started despite that I read the first paragraph about twelve times before setting it down. I don’t even remember sleeping. All I remember is waking to an empty bed.
I showered and changed out of the dress I slept in then headed back to Philly with every intention of going to work. Instead, I drove back to my old place. I’m not sure why, maybe because I don’t feel like I belong at iCronos anymore.
I accelerate as I go up the hill leading into my neighborhood, thinking about the text from Evan this morning.
Still working.
That was it. No, “I’ll be with you soon”, “I’m sorry I missed you”, or “I love you”. But then maybe the latter was too much to expect.
I’m not being overly dramatic. I needed to hear him say it. It’s proof that nothing has changed between us.
I park in front of the house, not bothering to pull in because maybe I don’t belong here either. For a fleeting moment, I want to run. Just leave. But as much as I think I should go in, all I manage is to stand on the walkway, staring at the way the shiny glass from the new picture window gleams in the sun.
The breeze picks up the longer I wait there. But I can’t seem to move forward and it doesn’t feel right to move back. Moving back means going to iCronos and facing Evan. I’m not ready to see him, scared out of my mind he’s reconsidered me and us.
The thing is, the longer I stare at that window, the more that anger replaces my fear. Bryant violated my home in tossing that brick and my place of work when he drove that truck through the dealership. Before that, he violated me and shared it with the world, using the worst thing that’s ever happened to me to ruin the best thing to come along.
I slip into my truck and pull onto the road.
The first call I make is to Curran. “What’s wrong?” he asks, answering right away.
I hate the way my voice shakes, but I hate what I have to say even more. “I need to talk to you and Declan.”
His pause lets me know he’s already pissed. “What the fuck happened? Did Bryant—”
“I can’t tell you on the phone,” I tell him, muttering a curse when my voice trembles more. “Meet me at his office, okay?”
“You sound like hell,” he says. “Where’s Evan?”
“He’s not around,” I answer quietly.
“What do you mean he’s not around?”
“He didn’t come last night.”
My tone reflects everything I’m feeling: worry, exhaustion, and most likely my fear. It hurts to admit that Evan never came home.
“Wren,” he says, his voice careful. “Tell me where you are and I’ll come get you.”
“I’m okay,” I say, lying through my teeth. “I’ll see you at Declan’s office.”
He doesn’t believe I’m all right, but for once doesn’t argue with me. “All right. I’ll be there,” he says.
I cut a hard left when he disconnects, stomping on the gas to make the next light. The D.A.’s office isn’t only fifteen minutes away, but I can’t seem to get there fast enough. It’s like if I don’t get there, and tell Curran and Declan what I need to say, I’ll run out of courage.
“Alfred, call Evan,” I say, my voice trembling so sporadically, I’m not sure he’ll understand the command.
But then Alfred’s the best on the market for a reason. “Calling Evan, Wren.”
The line rings. And rings. And rings. Each tone longer and more painful than the last. “Evan is unavailable, Wren. Leave message?”
In not answering every worst case scenario plays out in my head: he’s avoiding me, he’s pushing me away, and he hates me. But it’s the thought that he hates me that punctures my heart like a knife.
“Wren, Evan is unavailable. Leave message?” Alfred presses.
“Yes,” I reply, my voice going eerily still as my truck rolls through the first city block.
“Recording,” Alfred answers.
The beep that follows is like a death signal of sorts. That doesn’t stop me from spilling my soul and letting death take me. “Hey. It’s me,” I begin, speaking each word carefully. “Look, I know what happened yesterday was two kinds of fucked up, and I’m sorry. I never knew that was out there. If I had I would’ve . . . I would’ve done something.”
I want to mean as much, but remembering how bad Bryant made me look . . . Christ. How did this happen to me?
“I’m on my way to the D.A.’s office to meet with Curran and Declan,” I say, ignoring the humiliation wrapping around my throat like a noose. “As much I don’t want anyone to know what he did to me, I can’t let him get away with it.” I belt out a curse when I roll through an intersection and completely miss the stop sign. “I don’t want anyone to know about me,” I say again. “I don’t want anyone to see me like that. But I want this to end and I don’t know any other way.”
My eyes burn when the courthouse come into view. “I love you,” I say. “No matter what, I love you, Evan.”
I hit the “send” icon on the screen before Alfred can ask and pull into the underground parking deck closest to the D.A.’s office. I cross the street, forcing my legs to keep moving.
I’m not sure what to expect when I arrive, and I’ve never visited Declan at work. I find the right floor and step into the reception area, ready to ask the woman with black hair and streaks of gray if I can see Declan.
Tess appears behind her before I can spit out a single word out, her belly pr
essing against the light blue maternity dress she’s wearing. Her blond hair is pulled up in a clip and her black framed glasses magnify her large eyes. But it’s the concern behind them that keeps me in place. “Buzz her in please, Louise,” she says, hurrying to the other side.
The door clicks open and she’s suddenly there. At least six people are waiting to get in, but she tucks the legal folder in her grasp under her arm and leads me forward. “Curran called, he told me you were coming.”
She releases my hand as soon as we step inside the large office. “Is he here?” I ask, hurrying along beside her.
She knows I mean Curran and shakes her head. “No, but he’s on his way in and asked me to meet you. Declan just finished a meeting.” She grounds to a halt near a corner and shoots her hand out, keeping me in place. Two men in suits, along with four sheriff’s officers surround a guy in county jail orange and shackles. I’ve seen felons on T.V. before, hell, I grew up around plenty, but the crazy glazing this guy’s eyes gives me pause. Maybe because I recognize the look from Bryant.
“Declan’s new case,” she whispers as they step out of earshot. “The Kensington Strangler.”
The guy who murdered twelve young women over the course of five years. “Nice,” I say, not meaning a word of it.
The moment they round the corner, she leads me forward, shooting me a sideways glance. “Are you all right. You don’t look good.” I don’t bother to answer which I suppose is answer enough. “Wren,” she says, her expression as miserable as I probably feel.
“Don’t,” I reply, letting her know I’m ready to lose it.
She nods like she understands, probably because she does. She had her share of bad before Curran came into her life. But just like he saved her, she saved him.
We stop in front of a corner office, she knocks, opening it before Declan finishes asking who it is.
He straightens from where he’s leaning against his desk, the cuff links on his white shirt catching the light from his desk lamp. His short wavy blond hair is similar to Finn’s minus the ginger tones, but unlike Finnie, his is neat and styled to perfection just like the rest of him.