Safe at Last (Slow Burn 3)

Had these so-called friends who’d raped her told her that he had asked them to? Who the hell asked someone to rape someone as a favor, for God’s sake? It sickened him. It was so abhorrent to him that nausea curled in his stomach at the very thought. And what sort of sick fuck did she think he was to have believed that shit?

He swiped his hand down over his face and stared down at the dishes he’d placed in the sink. Once they’d finished eating, Zack had broken the stony silence by telling Gracie that it was time for them to talk—really talk. And then he’d received a punch in the gut when panic had buzzed across her features.

After helping her into the living room, he’d returned to clear the table. Not that it was important at all, but Zack needed time to compose himself and bolster himself for the revelation of the demons that haunted Gracie’s past—her present. And to prepare himself for her assertion that he was the biggest demon of them all.

He’d racked his brain trying to figure out which of his hometown friends would have done something so despicable. And he kept drawing a blank. Gracie was such a sweetheart and people couldn’t help but love her on sight. He knew he certainly hadn’t escaped her infectious smile and laughter. He’d fallen and fallen hard the first time he laid eyes on her. He’d known without a doubt that she was it for him. And then he’d taken the necessary steps to ensure that she was his.

But again, who—and why, for God’s sake—would hurt Gracie? And blame him? It made no sense! Nothing made sense anymore. Not one thing in this entire fucked-up situation made a bit of goddamn sense.

He closed his eyes, braced his hands against the edge of the sink and breathed deeply for a few seconds in order to gather strength for the ordeal ahead. Sterling was staying put in his bedroom making business calls, at Zack’s behest. He’d absolutely planned that the moment he got Gracie established in a safe place, where they could have privacy, they would finally air out the past. He hadn’t been pleased that Sterling would be occupying the same quarters as him and Gracie, but if it gained Gracie’s cooperation, he’d get over it. But he’d made sure that Sterling was for the most part going to stay the hell out of the way.

Zack glanced over his shoulder into the living room, where Gracie sat like an ice sculpture on the couch and he knew he was merely delaying the inevitable when before he’d been frustrated as hell with the lack of information.

He slid his hand over his stomach and grimaced. The food he’d consumed was swirling in his gut like a goddamn Tilt-A-Whirl and his nerves were completely fried. So much rode on this conversation and whether or not she’d believe in his innocence. If she’d been convinced of his guilt for twelve years, what were the odds of her changing that belief anytime soon?

Man up and stop being a fucking pussy.

He sighed at the admonishment but paid heed nonetheless. Turning from the sink, he walked back to the living room where Gracie sat at the end of the couch leaned against the side, pillows surrounding her. Likely an intentional barrier or a protective wall.

He gave her the space she was demanding and he eased down on the same couch, but on the other end so they faced each other with an entire vacant spot between them. It went against every natural instinct for him not to be close enough to touch her. Hold her. Offer her comfort, something she would undoubtedly need when recounting such a traumatic event.

She wasn’t the only one who would need comfort, and he sincerely doubted he’d find any himself.

He locked gazes with her, observing the way she twisted her fingers in obvious agitation. His chest physically hurt for all she would soon reveal. He was still reeling from the bombshell Sterling had dropped on him. Grief had hovered incessantly over him, and he’d tortured himself endlessly, imagining her at the hands of three men who mercilessly violated her. Men that apparently he knew.

“Tell me what happened, Gracie,” he said quietly.

Even knowing the story already, he wanted—needed—to hear it directly from her. He wasn’t going to throw Sterling under the bus and hurt Gracie by revealing that someone she trusted had broken her confidence. She needed people she could trust. But goddamn it, he wanted to be one of them.

She was pale and strain was evident on her face. Her eyes were weary and pain filled, as though she were reliving hell. Guilt plagued him. He didn’t want her to have to recount the horror of what she’d endured, but it was the most important thing in the world for her to know he had nothing to do with it.

It was his only chance of ever making her love him again. And God help him, he wanted—needed—her love. If there had been any question of his feelings for her diminishing with time and distance, with him being older and very different from the idealistic college kid who thought he had it all, there wasn’t now. The moment he saw her again, even with her unexpected fear of him, he’d been overcome with the knowledge that there would never be another woman for him. He couldn’t lose her now. Not when he’d looked for her for so very long. He nearly hadn’t survived the first time he lost her. This time? It would destroy him.

He watched helplessly as she struggled to find the words. She looked utterly lost and so forlorn, and though he simmered with impatience, he didn’t rush her. But he could no longer tolerate the distance that separated them. He slid forward on the couch, steeling himself for her rejection but determined to show her he wasn’t a monster.

He reached for her hand and she visibly flinched and tried to pull free of his grasp. He didn’t let her tug it away, and gently, so as not to hurt her, he tightened his hold.

She shuddered, shame clouding her delicate features. “Don’t touch me,” she begged softly, her eyes awash with tears. “Please don’t touch me.”

Her aching plea tore at his heart. “Why, Gracie?”

She closed her eyes and then reopened them, her eyelashes sparkling with tears.

“Just . . . don’t.”

She rubbed her free hand up and down her arm as if trying to scrub away some invisible taint. As if being so close to him made her feel unclean.

“I make you feel dirty?” he asked hoarsely.

Even knowing the answer, he had to hear it from her. Somehow they had to navigate through a myriad of pain and betrayal and he had to convince her of his innocence. His entire life hinged on her somehow regaining her faith in him. He could wait for her to love him again. He’d wait forever if that was what it took. But he knew he didn’t have a chance in hell of getting her back if he couldn’t unravel this fucked-up mystery and convince her that he’d had no part in it.