Safe at Last (Slow Burn 3)

“I love you, Gracie,” he whispered. “And if I ever hope to make you love me again, there’s something I must do. I have to leave you for a while, but I’ll be back. I swear.”

He turned his cheek, sliding it against her hair just enough so he could press his lips to her forehead. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, capturing the feel of her, soft and warm and so very precious.

He would carry this memory of her in his arms, when, for just one exquisite moment in time, everything was good and perfect. It would be all that sustained him until justice was served and he came back to her with the answers they both desperately needed—and deserved. Because while Gracie was the biggest victim in this tragedy, they were both victim to something all encompassing and completely life changing. And it would take time—and understanding from them both—to possibly right past wrongs and to move forward from a past that would haunt them both for the rest of their lives.

TWENTY-FOUR

GRACIE awoke with a heavy sense of lethargy. Her limbs felt heavy and slack and it took much effort to even turn over in bed. She felt exhausted, like she had lead in her veins, and her reflexes were dull and sluggish. It was as if she’d been drugged or heavily sedated.

She wrinkled her nose trying to remember if she’d taken any of the medication the doctor had prescribed when she’d been discharged, but no, she hadn’t had a chance. As soon as she and Zack had arrived at this place, things had been thrown into turmoil.

She went still as memories began sliding back into place, like pieces to a puzzle. Snapping together at a speed that momentarily disoriented her. Then some of the fuzziness dissipated and the fog lifted, revealing with painful clarity all that had transpired the night before.

Her hand tentatively reached out and she turned, wondering if Zack was still beside her in the bed. She didn’t remember him taking her to bed after her debilitating panic attack, but at some point in the night she’d briefly roused only to find herself firmly nestled against his body, his arms surrounding her like a protective wall. It had felt . . . nice. For the first time in years, she’d felt safe. And how screwed up was that? Nothing had been resolved. Nothing had changed. Or had it?

All her hand encountered was a bare space. Not even an indention or warmth to indicate that he’d recently vacated the bed. She frowned and was puzzled at the instant surge of disappointment upon finding him gone. All she wanted was to be next to him again, his arms around her, to experience just for a moment the reassurance that nothing could ever hurt her again.

But he had been the one who hurt her the most.

She couldn’t be swayed by words, no matter how persuasively they’d been rendered. But . . . what if . . . No, she wouldn’t go there. Her gift was infallible—when she still possessed the ability to read minds. But that was gone along with her innocence and belief in good.

She hadn’t been mistaken. There was no way all three rapists would have identical recollections of the same event.

And yet Zack had been utterly devastated by the revelation. No one could possibly feign that kind of reaction. He’d looked sick at heart and there was no faking the tears and anguish. Never had she seen such raw agony in another person.

She could make herself crazy trying to make sense of the insensible. There was no point in even attempting it. But she could make sure she was never again in a position of being betrayed by someone she trusted when the solution was so simple.

She wouldn’t give him—or anyone—the opportunity. And that was no way to live. Never allowing herself to get close to someone. Never having friendships, close relationships. Or sharing her life with someone she cared about. Hadn’t she already wasted too much of her life as it was? Living in a self-imposed void, carrying out the motions of each day, never dreaming of the future. Not having dreams at all?

The idea filled her with sadness, and, disgusted with herself for already weakening under his influence after only forty-eight hours, she shoved the covers back and gingerly sat up, sliding her legs around and over the edge of the bed.

Taking it slow, she eased up, holding on to the headboard so she didn’t end up in a heap on the floor. Her body groaned its protest. A hot flush washed through her body, and the stiffness and pain had her panting lightly as she weaved around like some drunk sorority girl. She paused a moment to gain her bearings, and after she steadied herself enough that she felt confident that she wouldn’t take a header, she took a purposeful step, pleased when she didn’t so much as wobble.

She was still dressed in the clothes she’d worn the day before. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she made her way to the closet. Zack had said Eliza had shopped for her and she was curious to see what the other woman had chosen.

If she had been worried, she needn’t have been. The clothing was a study in comfort. Soft—not stiff—denim jeans were folded neatly and arranged on the shelves. There was an array of tops to choose from as well as shoes, socks and, to her embarrassment, an assortment of panties and bras. It appeared as though Eliza had covered all the bases.

Bypassing the jeans, because she didn’t feel up to wrestling with the formfitting denim, she instead chose a pair of athletic pants and then selected one of the comfortable-looking shirts.

She’d kill for a hot bath and to soak for a couple of hours, but she knew she didn’t have a prayer of being able to get out of the tub once in, and she wasn’t about to ask Zack for help. Later she would attempt a shower and hope that she was steady enough not to slip and fall.

After brushing her teeth and taming her tangled hair into a much more manageable ponytail, she braved leaving the bedroom and carefully walked toward the living room. To her surprise, she saw Wade and Eliza—not Zack. Where was he? In the last few days, she hadn’t been able to move without him being no more than a foot away at most.

Eliza was cheerfully making a cup of coffee, and Wade . . . well, he didn’t look pleased by Eliza’s company. Anna-Grace wondered what that was all about. Wade certainly wasn’t immune to a pretty woman and Eliza was very attractive. Not to mention capable and self-sufficient. All the things Anna-Grace wished she was.

Wade turned down the coffee Eliza offered, and with a shrug, Eliza sank down onto the couch with her mug cupped in her palms as though she had a cup of ambrosia. The look of bliss on her face was comical.

Then Eliza glanced up and saw Anna-Grace in the doorway. Immediately she shot to her feet and set her coffee on the table in front of the couch and hurried over to where Anna-Grace stood.