“She told you.”

“I wish you had.” My voice is quiet, uncertainty making every fiber in my body ache with the dread of losing him, here and now. “I didn’t go there to dig into your past, Nick. I wasn’t trying to hurt you, or make things harder for you in any way.”

“Then why?” He takes a step toward me finally, instead of continuing to pull away. His hands clamp around my biceps and I can feel the tension in him. He’s still vibrating with anger and struggling to keep it under control. “Why her, of all people? Why now?”

“Because I didn’t see any other choice.” I press my lips together, stifling the raw sob that’s lodged in my throat. “I went to her because I needed the money.”

Emotion flashes in his taut face—outrage, confusion, insult. “If you needed money all you had to do was ask me for it. You know that. Have I ever denied you anything?”

“No, you haven’t. You’ve given me so much, Nick. More than I deserve.”

“Then why?” He shakes me slightly, as if I’ve pushed him to the very edge of his reason. “Why go behind my back when all I ever asked from you was honesty? God damn it, Avery. I trusted you. I—” He bites off the thought with a low, muttered curse. “Just tell me why.”

The tears I’ve been fighting spill over now, streaming down my cheeks. “I did something terrible, Nick. Something I haven’t told you.”

I feel him go still as he holds me in that penetrating, inescapable gaze of his. “Something recently?”

“No. A long time ago. Nine years ago.”

His grip remains firm on my arms, but some of his combu

stibility fades as he searches my face. “Nine years ago. You’re talking about your stepfather . . . “

He doesn’t finish the statement. We both know the reference well enough. The day of my rape at sixteen. The day my mother shot and killed her abusive husband in retaliation for what he’d done to both of us over the years, but specifically, finally, for what he’d done to me that day.

“I haven’t been honest with you, Nick.” My voice falters over the words. “I haven’t told you everything. I haven’t told you what I did that day.”

His reply is flat. Remote. “Tell me now.”

His deep blue eyes take on a guardedness, impenetrable steel replacing the fathomless oceans that have always drawn me in like the tide. It hurts to see his walls going up in front of me, ready to seal me out. I won’t be able to bear it if I’ve ruined everything with this stupid mistake, with my secrets and lies.

Even if he turns away from me in disgust after hearing how selfish and cowardly I’ve been all this time, I owe him the truth.

All of it.

“The day Martin Coyle raped me was a Monday, August twenty-first. I had a math test in the morning, but I accidentally slept past my alarm. Martin was on disability leave from his job at the school in the neighboring town, so to make some extra money, my mom had just started working the third shift at the big factory in Scranton. Usually she got home around seven—about an hour before I left for school—but on that day she called home to let us know she had a flat tire and would be home late because she was waiting for a tow to the shop.”

I swallow, pushing past the bile that rises up my throat as I recall the events of that awful morning.

I can still see my stepfather sitting in his recliner in front of the television, wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants, drinking a can of beer at seven in the morning. Watching me with too much interest as I wolfed down a piece of toast over the sink, then cleaned up the mess of dirty breakfast dishes and the ashtray full of cigarette butts he’d left for my mom on the kitchen counter.

“I hated being alone in the house with him. For a while before that day, he’d been making me uncomfortable with his staring and his persistent attempts to cozy up to me. He’d offer me liquor and cigarettes, neither of which I accepted. He’d volunteer to take me out for fast food or runs to the mall. I never said yes. He’d try to touch my hair or put his arm around me, even though I asked him not to. I made a point of avoiding him whenever I could, and that worked for a while. But that morning everything seemed different. I felt it instinctively. Something had changed, turned dangerous. I was too stupid to act on it before it was too late.”

“You were only sixteen,” Nick says, his voice low and tight. “Don’t ever blame yourself for this. You were just a kid, for crissake.”

I nod, some part of me acknowledging that he’s right—I was a child, not yet equipped to deal with the very adult, very real problem of my stepfather.

Unfortunately, I wouldn’t learn how to deal with him until after the assault had occurred.

“I was just out of the shower and getting dressed for school when he came into my bedroom. My door was locked, but he somehow picked it. All I had on was my bra and underwear. He stood there, leering at me. He accused me of trying to turn him on. He said he was tired of me teasing him then running away.” I close my eyes, struggling to push the rest of the story out. “He said . . . he said he wanted me to suck his dick or he was going to give my mom a black eye when she got home. I knew he meant it. He’d hit her more than a few times by then. But she always made excuses for him. She didn’t want to leave him. She didn’t want us to be alone again.”

“Baby, I’m sorry.” Nick frowns as he reaches up to wipe a tear from my chin. A dark kind of rage smolders in his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me any more. You don’t have to relive that bastard’s abuse just to make me understand it.”

“Yes, I do.” I draw in a fortifying breath. As much as his compassion touches me, I do have to tell him everything. “You need to understand, Nick. And I need to let this go, even if you never look at me the same way ever again.”

His face stills, then he gives me the faintest nod. “All right.”

“He lunged for me. He overpowered me so easily. I thought I was strong, but I couldn’t break out of his hold. I couldn’t move his heavy weight when he knocked me to the floor on my stomach. I don’t know how he managed to get his pants down so quickly. He ripped my panties off from behind me. And then he pushed inside me. It hurt. God, how it hurt.” My voice is threadbare now. “I was a virgin. He stole that from me. He shoved inside me and he pumped and grunted and groaned until he came, splattering my back with his foulness.”

Tags: Lara Adrian 100 Erotic
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