helped her into the SUV that he’d pulled to the entrance of the hospital so she wouldn’t have to walk a long distance.
It was thoughtful of him. She begrudgingly gave him that much. But then he’d been nothing but solicitous of her since reappearing in her life. It was a mystery to her, and trying to ponder the whys and wherefores just mentally exhausted her.
To prevent awkwardness—though she failed miserably on that count—she’d rested her head on the rest behind her and closed her eyes, pretending sleep. At least Zack hadn’t called her on the pretense though she highly doubted he bought that she was asleep. Perhaps he was content in getting his way after successfully strong-arming her into acquiescing to his demands. It was wise to pick one’s battles, and it certainly appeared as though Zack adhered to the same motto.
She’d watched him through a barely discernible slit in her eyelids, and he seemed grim and utterly focused the entire trip. His gaze darted like clockwork between all the mirrors as if he was truly expecting someone to be following or an attempt to run them off the road.
Admittedly, Zack appeared to be good at his job, but then again, if he and the company he worked with were such hot-shot security experts, why the hell were the “enemies” he spoke of able to get to her as soon as Zack made contact with her? So far she hadn’t been very impressed with their “skills.”
She didn’t understand the extreme paranoia or Zack and his partners being so worried that she would be targeted again or killed. It didn’t make any sense to her. If they’d intended to kill her, why not have done just that? They’d certainly had ample opportunity when they’d beaten the crap out of her. It seemed far more risky to beat her, then let her go, only to return to kill her another time, when the others would be on their guard. What purpose would that serve anyway? It was risky, not to mention inefficient. But perhaps protecting her was an ulterior motive and was Zack’s way of forcing a confrontation with her.
Zack had said she’d been used to send a message. To the people Zack worked with. So in essence it had been a crime of opportunity since everyone associated with the security company evidently had security up the ass. It hadn’t even been personal to her—thank God. All the same, she had Zack to thank since he’d made their association known by visiting her at the gallery and the studio. If he’d stayed away, she likely wouldn’t have spent the last two days in the hospital.
She barely stifled the urge to wrinkle her nose as Zack rolled to a stop. God, she hated how bitter and cynical she sounded. Life hadn’t taught her to be anything but that, though. She’d never known hatred before she’d been raped. She hadn’t hated her father for deserting her and her mother. She hadn’t hated her alcoholic, negligent mother. Nor had she hated her abusive uncle.
It had taken the ultimate betrayal by someone she loved—the only person she’d ever loved—to make her truly hate for the first time in her life.
Had it taken over all else? Was this who she was now? Wary. Withdrawn. Miserable. Afraid . . . She was so tired of living with hatred and fear. Maybe forgiveness wasn’t for the person who’d committed a sin against her. Perhaps forgiveness was really for her, enabling her to move on, free of the weight and oppression so many years of anger had caused.
It was an epiphany far too long in the making, in her view, but a much-needed one nonetheless. After living so long chained by her past, and in order to achieve peace, she had to provide it for herself. No one could do it for her.
“Gracie, we’re here,” Zack said, touching her lightly on the arm.
She’d been so lost in thought that it had been as if she had dozed off and was miles away. Her eyelids fluttered open and she blinked several times to gain her bearings. Wade pulled up beside where they were parked and got out, removing his expensive designer sunglasses.
She stared at him a long moment before sighing with unhappiness. It hit her then and there that she knew why she’d allowed Wade to become so close. She hadn’t been attracted to him whatsoever and so she’d deemed him safe, unable to possibly hurt her as she’d been hurt before.
Even after all Zack had done, it was becoming more obvious that there would never be another for her. It didn’t only boil down to trust issues. She was simply incapable of looking at a man and feeling desire. Happiness. Seeing her future in another man’s eyes. Only Zack had ever elicited that kind of response from her. Damn him for ruining her life—her dreams. And her only chance at happiness.
“Gracie? Are you all right?”
Zack’s softly spoken question shook her from her dour thoughts and she reached clumsily for the door handle, unlocking her door when she realized that Wade had tried to open it for her from the outside but had been unable to do so. She’d drifted off and hadn’t even noticed.
“I’m fine,” she mumbled.
Her lie was obvious. Zack knew it, but he let it go.
She shoved harder at the reluctant door and it opened. Wade extended his hand to gently help her from the vehicle. She took it nice and slow, having already discovered at the hospital, when she was on her feet just those few seconds of getting from the wheelchair into the SUV, that she was anything but steady.
Every bruise made itself known in a hurry and a low groan, part pain, part frustration at her inability to move well, blew past her lips before she could call it back. Zack appeared just behind Wade, his face a mask of concern.
Her brow furrowed as she truly looked at him. His concern was real, not faked. He was utterly genuine in his worry and it puzzled her to no end. He kept vowing that he . . . cared . . . and yet she’d never bought that “lie” until . . . now.
It was as though her eyes had only just been truly opened and she could see the truth. Or perhaps she’d been unwilling to see the truth before. And she had no idea what she was supposed to do with this particular revelation.
Unwilling to ponder the perplexities of that, she eased another step forward, directing her focus to Wade instead of analyzing Zack’s sincerity. No amount of genuineness now made up for past betrayals.
With Wade by her side, one arm curled firmly around her waist, she shuffled through the open garage door and into the door leading into the house. It took seemingly forever to make the short journey into the warmer interior and she sighed with pleasure when a heated draft of air blew over her face, dispelling the chill that had scuttled up her spine after she had gotten out of the vehicle.
“Do you feel well enough to eat, Gracie?” Zack asked. He was still wearing that worried frown. “You need to eat. You barely had anything the last two days.”
She wanted to separate herself from the discomfort of his company and the tug-of-war with her emotions that was becoming increasingly more prevalent when it came to him. How easy it would be to fall back into their old routine. Zack taking care of her. Zack looking out for her. Zack loving her. Her loving him.
Pain that had nothing to do with her injuries assaulted her. She hadn’t imagined he could affect her so strongly. Not after so long. But on the heels of pain came grief. Over what could have been.
“Anna-Grace?” Wade said sharply. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, briefly closing her eyes. “Nothing. I’m okay. Really.”
Wade’s lips thinned with disapproval but at least he didn’t call her on her blatant lie. Then, to her dismay, he excused himself to go shower and put his things away after asking Zack which room he should take.
She stood, frozen, unsure of what she should do now. They were standing in the kitchen and silence descended into awkwardness. Much like the ride from the hospital had been.
Then Zack tucked his hand underneath her elbow and as Wade had done he wrapped his other arm around her waist and began guiding her to the small table in the breakfast nook, where a bay window overlooked the meticulously landscaped backyard.
“Just sit here and take it easy. I’ll take a look at what was stocked and whip something up right quick.”
He cupped his hand over the crown of her hair and f
or a moment she could swear he was going to try to kiss her. But then he dropped his hand away after running his fingers down her long tresses to the ends and letting them fall away from his grasp. He curled his fingers inward and then flexed them outward as though warding off the urge to continue running his hands through her hair. Then he turned and walked back into the kitchen, leaving her sitting there, her lips tingling as if he had kissed her.
She hastily lifted her hand to her mouth, rubbing to rid herself of the sensation. God, she was losing her mind. How could she have even thought it for a minute? Worse, if he had tried to kiss her, she wouldn’t have done anything to stop him. It made her the worst sort of person and guilt and self-loathing nagged relentlessly at her. But so too did the longing for his kiss, which she put down as remembering the sweetness of their kisses before everything went to hell.
Zack was the only man to ever kiss her. He was the only man she’d ever loved. Would ever love, for that matter, even if that emotion was dead to her now. But she could still remember how glorious it felt to be young and in love, to have the entire world at her feet and to dream of beautiful things together.
He’d been her dream. And then he’d become her nightmare.
Several long minutes later, in which she’d spent staring down at the table in front of her as though she were in a daze, Zack returned bearing two plates. She hadn’t even registered him cooking, had no idea what he’d concocted.
It smelled divine, though, and her stomach immediately rumbled a sharp protest after being neglected for so long.
He put the plate in front of her and put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently before taking his own place across from her at the table. Her foolish body still reacted as though it had no knowledge of his betrayal. It acted as though it were starved for his touch having been bereft of it for so long. Goose bumps cascaded down her arm and a heated flush rushed through her chest and down into her belly. She was so disgusted that she wasn’t sure she’d be able to eat.
Tears burned like acid, welling up from nowhere. She was an emotional wreck, so conflicted and torn that she felt positively unhinged. Was she going crazy? Had she held on to her sanity for this long only to let it go now, when she needed it the most?
“Gracie.”
She refused to lift her head, embarrassed beyond words for him to see her tears. She should have known he could see them anyway.
“Look at me, damn it,” he said fiercely.
Closing her eyes, she slowly raised her chin and after drawing several steadying breaths, she opened them again only to see him through a cloudy sheen of moisture.
He looked furious . . . But he also looked as sick at heart as she felt. Something had to give. She wouldn’t survive such proximity without completely breaking down. If she thought for a minute that she wouldn’t face-plant by getting up on her own and fleeing, she’d be up and running in a heartbeat.
“We’ve got to talk.” He was positively seething. How could there be so much fury and sorrow both vying for control in his eyes? “This has gone on too goddamn long. Enough. I’ve tried to wait. I’ve tried to be patient. I’d hoped like hell that you’d talk to me but that’s obviously not going to happen. You look like you’re going to break apart and shatter into a million pieces any second and I’m already there. Torturing yourself—me—hell, us does no one any damn good, so I’m done with this. After you eat, you and I are going to have a long, honest conversation and I will not let it go until that happens.”
She stared at him in abject shock, absorbing his impassioned, angry outburst. He was furious, yes, but oddly, not at her. His words and tone said one thing, but his eyes said something entirely different. There was pain—anguish—glimmering in the depths. And . . . regret? Worry for her? Maybe she was imagining it all, but she’d always been especially intuitive with him. She’d assumed it was because she could read his mind, but she didn’t have that ability now, and yet she could easily pick up his emotions.
She knew what was going on in his head—not because she could read his thoughts, but because his eyes and expression broadcast them in startling clarity. She was numb with confusion because he seemed utterly sincere. If she shrugged off her anger and bitterness for just a brief moment, she was able to see that he genuinely cared for her. Maybe even loved?
A gasp nearly escaped her lips, but she snapped them shut to prevent her audible reaction. Her mind was buzzing with so many differing emotions, she was dizzy.
Confused didn’t begin to describe her state. She dropped her gaze because it was uncomfortable to see the naked emotion written starkly on his features and mirrored in his eyes. Eyes are a mirror to the soul, or so the saying went. The eyes didn’t lie. And if all of that was true, then she had one giant contradiction on her hands.
Because if everything she was registering was true, then he did care about her. Deeply.
Her mind was in chaos. Complete turmoil as she quickly replayed every sequence of events since he’d barged back into her life. Every single word he’d spoken. Each expression. The look in his eyes. They all said the same thing, but could they be believed? Or was it all one very elaborate charade?
Her lips pursed in consternation. Zack would have to be one damn good actor to pull that off as consistently as it had played out, and Zack was no actor. He had always been refreshingly blunt, unable to hide his true thoughts or feelings. You never had to wonder where you stood with him. If ever in doubt, all you had to do was simply ask him. He certainly never shied away from giving his honest assessment of anything, even at the risk of hurting someone’s feelings.
Her head ached vilely, her pulse pounding at her temples. It was all too much to take in. She was clinging to the edge by her fingertips, having already gone all the way over the cliff and dangling haphazardly. One little slip and she’d be gone. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take.
She risked another look up at Zack and saw real concern and agitation in his eyes but at the same time his features were unyielding. He wasn’t budging and she knew him well enough to be certain that he wouldn’t be swayed once his mind was set on something.
Which meant they were about to have a serious come-to-Jesus moment and for only the second time since the horrible nightmare twelve years ago she was going to tell someone what had happened in exacting detail.
God help her but she wasn’t sure she would survive facing the man responsible for destroying her and recounting in detail the pain, sorrow and humiliation she had suffered at his instigation.
TWENTY-ONE
ZACK’S heart pounded viciously against the wall of his chest. After his forceful declaration, he and Gracie had eaten the rest of the meal in silence. He could sense her fear. Hell, it was tangible, completely enveloping her. And it broke his heart.
Never, never would he have imagined that Gracie would be afraid of him. He was the very last person she needed to fear. He’d always been her protector, had always handled her with the utmost care and respect.
He had put her on a pedestal and had worshipped the ground she walked on. There was nothing in the world he wouldn’t do for her, and he’d made sure he told her that every single day. He never let a moment pass when she wasn’t completely confident in his absolute love and devotion. She’d been the most precious thing in the world to him.
She still was.
But Gracie wasn’t the only one who was afraid. He was fucking terrified. This was the single most important moment of his life. Everything was riding on this. Right here, right now. If Gracie refused to believe him . . . and, God, how could she have ever believed it in the first place? It was so baffling that he couldn’t wrap his head around it.
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.
“Not you . . . I mean not right now. Them. Oh God . . .”
She choked on the last part and looked very much like she’d be sick on the spot. She was shaking violently from head to toe as though she were freezing, and her lips were stiff and clumsy. Each word seemed agonizing for her; she was clearly exhausted even though they’d only just begun. And they still had a long way to go.
“Them who? Tell me what happened, Gracie. Did someone hurt you?”
He couldn’t control the fierceness of his question even though he already knew. He couldn’t even think about what had been done to her, without rage consuming him. Even now he had to flex his fingers to prevent curling them into tight fists, but he didn’t want to display any outward sign of his fury. He had no desire to make her more afraid of him than she already was. She expected pain and violence from him when in fact he’d die before ever doing or allowing harm to her.
Her face crumbled in her distress. She made no effort to hide her tears and a sob welled from her throat, a sound that sent despair quaking through his heart.
She turned toward him then, her eyes wild and flashing, anger and distress rolling off her in waves.
“How can you sit there and ask that? You hurt me,” she raged. “You! How dare