Chapter Thirty-Eight
W hite knuckling the steering wheel , jaw ticking, Tank was silent as he drove twice the speed limit down the county road.
“If you don’t slow down, you’ll get a ticket.” If the sheriff was still out for the day, and not at the one bar in town.
“He touch you?”
“What?” I asked, stalling. I knew who and what he meant. I just didn’t want to think about it. I was too busy being pissed off at the man who was supposed to be a father to me. But he never was. Neither of my parents had ever been nurturing, or even kind. I’d always chalked it up to living the hard life of a farmer, but there was more to it than that. None of them were happy. In fact, they were all intent on fostering unhappiness.
“Your brother.” Tank’s nostrils flared. “He touch you?”
“When?”
His hands twisted on the steering wheel. “Since you’ve been back.”
“No.”
He inhaled. Twice. “Ten years ago?”
“Yes.” I didn’t see any point in lying now. I’d already aired my dirty laundry.
“Give me one good reason not to turn around and fucking end him.”
For some reason, Tank’s words made the consuming anger and betrayal I’d felt a few minutes ago toward my father and the sheer hatred toward my brother ease somewhat. Not that I wanted my brother dead, but the fact that I wasn’t alone in my anger made it more… tolerable .
I gave Tank the only reason I could think of. “Because I don’t care anymore.”
“You went back there,” he accused.
I looked out the window at the endless acres of farmland that I used to consider my home, but now seemed like a lifetime ago. “I thought it would be different.” I realized that was a lie. “No, I wanted it to be different.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. I showed up and it was as if I never left. It was assumed I would carry my weight, and I fell back in to the old routine of mucking out the stables, getting ready for harvest, moving the horses, and whatever other chores needed to be done. No one asked me why I was there. They just….” Jesus. “They just assumed I was there to work.”
Tank abruptly slammed on the brakes and pulled over. His chest rose with a deep inhale, and he looked at me with determination. “What happened ten years ago?”
My stomach dropped, and the nausea came roaring back. I turned to the window. “It’s nothing.” I regretted saying what I did in front of him, but I didn’t regret saying it to my brother. “It’s not what you think.”
He exhaled, and when he spoke, his voice was softer, quieter. “Intent’s just as bad in my book.” His hand landed on my nape. “Talk to me.”
Suddenly, I was angry. And incredulous, and mortified, and humiliated, and about a hundred other uncomfortable emotions I never wanted to feel or deal with. “ Talk to you? ” I asked viciously. “So what? You can tell me I was justified, or lecture me about going back? Or tell me all the things I did wrong, or the shit I should’ve done right that I didn’t?”
His face an impenetrable mask, he held my angry glare. Then he said one word. “No.”
I waited, but that was it.
One damn word.
“No?” What the fuck ? “That’s it? Just a no ?” I threw my hands up. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re shit for pep talks? Because that one sucked.” Crossing my arms, wanting out of this SUV, wanting to be away from him and all his soapy, musky man scent, I turned toward the window again. “Just drive. You can drop me off in the next town over.” I’d figure something out. I had money. I could go anywhere.
My seat belt released and huge arms were around me, pulling me halfway over the center console.
His breath landed on my cheek, and his hand buried in my hair as he brought me to his strong chest. “Tell me what he did to you.”
I could feel the coiled tension in his muscles. I could hear his faster than normal heartbeat. I could taste the scent of his anger. But what I couldn’t feel was judgment.
He was angry.
Incredibly angry.
But not at me.
Tears welled. “He touched me.” My breath hitched and memories I had buried deep came to the surface. “With his hands, night after night, for over a month, he came into my room, and I couldn’t stop him. He was two years older and bigger than me, and he threatened to tell Mom and Dad I was the one touching him. One night he must’ve made too much noise because my mom walked in and caught him.”
His arms tightened around me. “What’d she do?”
For the first time in my life, I saw the whole thing through an adult perspective. My own mother had walked in to my bedroom late that night, and when she found her son on top of her daughter with his hands down her daughter’s pajamas, she’d chosen sides. My own mother had turned against me.
She didn’t yell at James. She didn’t beat him or even scold him. She’d yelled at me. Why did I let him touch me? Why did I tempt him? What the hell was wrong with me? She whisper screamed horrible words at me in the dead of night while my brother, a foot taller and fifty pounds heavier, stood over my bed smirking.
A week later I was in Los Angeles with a stranger, and my mother’s parting words had been how now I could follow my dreams .
I swallowed back impotent anger, and tears fell. “She blamed me for tempting him. Then a week later, she drove me to the only diner in town to meet a stranger. She signed guardianship papers over to a casting agent and gave me away.” I choked on a sob of anger. “She told me I could follow my dreams .”
He pulled back and took my face in his hands. “You know she was fucking wrong, right?”
I barely nodded. Ashamed, angry, I knew my mother had been wrong, my brother was sick, and my father was an abusive enabler. I’d had ten years to process the grief of losing a family that never wanted me, but that wasn’t what was racing through my mind and making my nerves fray.
My past wasn’t controlling my thoughts, or driving me to make more money or be the best actress I could be. I wasn’t even thinking about any of that.
I was staring at a man holding my face in his hands who wasn’t paid to act out his affection, and I knew I wasn’t worthy of him. He’d spent ten days of his life looking for me, and I’d greeted him with anger and told him to leave. But he hadn’t left. He’d sized up the situation in seconds, told me he was getting me out of there, then he’d punched my brother on principle.
He’d defended me.
Defended my virtue.
Defended my dignity.
And stood up for me simply because it was the right thing to do.
Feelings, thick and heady with a longing so intense I was choking, swallowed me whole. But then I was drowning in shame and guilt, because I didn’t have any virtue left. I wasn’t worthy of the man who defended me when I’d destroyed his reputation.
The same intense amber-green eyes that had stared down at me almost two weeks ago while his body had driven into mine were holding me hostage now, and I wanted to disappear into their depths. More, I wanted to be the woman worthy of his intensity and attention .
But I wasn’t.
Sick, I pulled out of his grasp, and he let me.
Leaning back in my seat, I stared straight ahead. “You can drop me at your hotel, or in town. Whichever is easiest.”
He sat back in his seat. “What the fuck just happened?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Trying to keep my voice even, I prayed like hell he would drop it. I didn’t want to have this conversation. I didn’t want to have any conversation. I wanted to go somewhere by myself and hide for a decade.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
Inhaling, I chose my words as carefully as I could, because he had defended me to my shit family. “Look. I know why you’re here and what you want.” My hands twisted in my lap, and the next words hurt far worse to say than I could’ve ever imagined. “You don’t have to pretend to be my friend or defend my virtue to my shitty family just to get what you want. I’ll take care of your friend’s business.” I already had, but for some reason, I didn’t tell him that.
His nostrils flared, and for one whole minute, he didn’t say anything. He just stared at me.
Then he threw the SUV back in drive and muttered, “Put your seat belt on.”