Warnings and Wildfires

“It’s just stuff. I’m more worried about you. I’m completely in the dark here.”

She sniffles and swipes at her damp cheeks. “I wanted to tell you. I should’ve warned you.”

“So tell me now.” I stand and pull her up off the couch. “But not here.”

“Okay.” Her gaze roams over me. “Did Liam really spray you?”

“Yes,” I grumble. “Come on. We’ll go somewhere and talk.” I stop mid-step. Just because I’ve come to my senses, doesn’t mean she’s going to forgive me for acting like such a jackass. “If you want, I’ll bring you back here when we’re done. If this is where you want to stay.”

She shakes her head, but says, “Thank you.”

Bree and Liam are walking up the driveway with Kimber when we come out of the house.

“Everything all right?” Bree asks.

“We’re going to talk,” Aubrey says.

Bree gives her an encouraging hug and whispers something in her ear I can’t make out. Aubrey nods. “I’ll be okay.”

“I leave for my shift at 3:30, but Bree will be back around six if you’re still staying over,” Liam says.

Yeah, I kind of want to punch him for that, but I’m also glad he’s willing to help Aubrey out, so I restrain myself.

Once we’re on the road, Aubrey reaches over and touches my leg. “You should really take me to the sheriff’s department, so I can give my statement today.”

“Celia said she gave them a name.”

“You must have so much to do…”

“Jake’s taking care of it. Right now, the only thing that matters is you.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Silence whispers between us as I steer the Jeep into the parking area next to the Empire International Airport. The exact spot where we watched the planes take off the other night is open, and I slip into it.

I kill the engine. Send Jake a short text, then shut off my cell phone.

“Sully, you can’t. What if Jake needs to reach you?” she protests.

Right now I haven’t earned the right to kiss her, but I do it anyway. “It’s fine.”

Heaving myself out of my seat, I climb into the back and hold out my hand to her. “Come here.”

“It’s not really the time for a backseat make-out session.”

I don’t laugh. “Just talking.”

A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth and she takes my hand, allowing me to pull her into the back with me.

I wrap an arm around her and she curls into my side, resting her hand on my still-damp chest.

Our breathing fills the silence as I wait for her to begin. When she’s ready.

“I met him when I was fifteen.” Her words are cautious and slow at first. As if she doesn’t dwell on these memories often and doesn’t want to dredge them up now.

“My friends and I went to this big music festival,” she continues. “It was one of those outdoor-all-day-into-the-night concerts. We had tickets for lawn seats and one of my friends thought we could sneak in and grab some empty seats closer to the stage.”

“Typical teen antics.”

She snorts. “I guess. We got caught. But the security guard said he’d let us stay.”

“I sense he slapped a condition on it?”

Anger twists her features as she nods. “If I gave him a kiss.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “He was older. Good-looking. All my friends kept flirting with him, but he was only interested in me. It…I had never had that happen before.”

Sounds like a first-rate predator to me.

She swallows hard. “I lied about my age. So, getting involved with him, that’s on me. My fault.”

“Bullshit.” She’s twenty-two now and barely looks eighteen. I highly doubt she passed for anything resembling legal back then. But since I’ve learned that’s a sore subject for her, I keep the observation to myself.

Ignoring my outburst, she continues.

“He knew all the hiding places. During intermission, he took me downstairs, beneath the venue.”

A sick feeling rolls through my gut at where she’s headed.

My body must tense or betray my thoughts in some way, because she sits up. “We didn’t…not that night. But we did more than kiss.”

Jealousy, that I have no right to, burns my throat. “Go on.”

“We kept seeing each other after that. Secretly. I knew my parents would freak out.”

“Exactly how old was he?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“It gets better,” she says with no humor behind the words. “When I started school in the fall…he was one of my teachers.”

I sit up, turning to face her. “Are you fucking serious?”

Her teeth sink into her lower lip and she drops her gaze. “Yeah, he was my English teacher. We just sort of stood there and stared at each other. I told him I was in college. And he never explained the security work was a his summer job.”

“What happened?”

“I was more upset about it than he was. I’d never…I’d never thought about any of my teachers that way before…It was weird.”

No kidding.

“After class, he asked me to stay and laid into me for lying about my age. He had just started teaching there and he was scared of losing his job.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have been trolling for teenagers at concerts if he was so worried about his job and reputation.

“Didn’t any of your friends recognize him?”

“No. These were friends from junior high. My parents sent me to a private high school.”

“Go on.”

She licks her lips and averts her eyes. “It was so awkward and uncomfortable to be in his class that I tried to transfer out of it. He was furious when he found out.” She rolls her eyes. “He gave me this sad sob story about how he was so in love with me that he needed to be able to see me every day if he couldn’t be with me. And I—stupid, gullible teenager that I was, fell for every line.”

Predator. Slimy, manipulative, cunning fucking predator dressed up as a teacher.

I cup her cheek and force her to look at me. “Aubrey,” I say as calmly as possible. “You were a kid and he was your teacher. He was the adult in the situation. He knew better.”

“I don’t want to sound like a pathetic cliché, but I think I’ve mentioned my parents weren’t the super-loving type.”

My thumb twitches over her soft cheek as I wait.

“My mother’s emotions ranged from cold to indifferent.” She blows out a breath. “Having this man declare how much he loved me and how beautiful I was, how he couldn’t stop thinking about me. It was all…”

“Seductive.”

Her cheeks burn red. “Yes.” Her fists clench and unclench. “I told him I was sorry and I wouldn’t leave his class.”

I struggle to keep my face neutral. “What happened?”

“Nothing for a little while. He always praised my work. I loved poetry and spent a lot of time writing my own in my journal. Typical angsty teenage stuff.”

I try to smile to break some of the tension. “I didn’t know you’re a poet.”

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nbsp; She stares right into my eyes. “I’m not. Not anymore.”

Wrong thing for me to say.

“We ran into each other outside of school one afternoon and things…ignited.” Her gaze drops and she whispers, “He took me back to his apartment.”

Hot rage consumes me, and I struggle to get my breathing under control.

“After that, we snuck around and saw each other on the sly. He told me how I was so much more mature than women his age and loved how smart I was and how much we had in common.”

I barely restrain my eye roll. “That’s the same load of shit every predator uses.”

She stares at me.

Mimicking the sharp, whiny tone I’ve heard one too many times from pathetic men, I list their tired excuses, “‘She came on to me. What was I supposed to do? She dressed provocatively. She acted older than her age. How could I possibly know she was underage? How could I resist?” I pin her with a sharp look. “Those excuses are bullshit attempts to shift the blame to their victims.”

I stop and take a breath and find a gentler tone of voice. “I don’t care how ‘mature’ you were, it’s not the same as being an actual adult. Teachers go through all sorts of training. He knew better.”

She seems to consider my words. Christ, I can’t believe she’s been living with the weight of all this guilt for so long.

“How long did that go on?” I finally ask.

“All through my sophomore year.”

“Seriously?” No one in her life noticed the fucking pedophile hanging around her?

“Beginning of my junior year.” She licks her lips and moves away from me. “I thought I was pregnant.”

You’ve got to be kidding.

“My parents found a used test stick and flipped their shit. They badgered me until I cracked and confessed.”

Tears stream down her cheeks and I pull her back into my side. “What did they do?”

“Well, they called me a slut and asked what I had done to seduce him. Why he’d risk his career because of me.”

For a second, I can’t draw in any air. “Excuse me?”

“I argued that we were in love.” She gives me a weak smile. “When they confronted him, he didn’t deny it. He seemed happy.”

This piece of shit must be ten different shades of fucked in the head. “I’m sure that went over well.”