23. Seventeen Years #2
I don’t move, don’t blink, but my chest feels like it’s caving in. Every muscle fights to keep me planted in this chair when all I want to do is rip the screen down. My fists clench until my nails cut into my palms. And still, I know—the worst is yet to come.
The next image shows handcuffs dangling from the headboard, metal glinting cold. My stomach lurches, and my vision blurs, but I force myself to keep looking.
Steele clicks again. A hospital photo appears on the screen—Melina’s face, beaten almost beyond recognition. Her right eye is swollen shut, skin bruised purple. Her lip is split, raw and bleeding. Her cheeks are streaked with dried tears, her expression frozen in pure, haunting agony.
Air seizes in my lungs. I can’t breathe.
Another image—her wrists, restraint marks carved deep into delicate skin. My chest splits wide open, guilt and rage crashing through me in relentless waves.
Then the last photo. The worst. Her torso, mottled with bruises—one mark standing out above the rest. A boot print, stamped cruelly into her ribs.
I wrench my gaze away, bile surging hot up my throat. I swallow against it, but it keeps rising. I push back from the table so fast the chair scrapes loudly against the floor.
Bishop is there a beat later, his hand clamping down on my shoulder. “Matt—”
I shake my head hard, cutting him off. “I can’t, Bishop,” I rasp, voice raw. “I—I think I’m gonna be sick.”
I don’t wait for a response. I stagger out, down the hall. I barely make it to the toilet before retching violently, emptying the breakfast Melina lovingly made me this morning.
I slump to my knees on the cool tile, body shaking uncontrollably. Anguish and rage rip through me, Melina’s battered face seared into my mind, unrelenting.
I push up from the floor, stumbling to the sink. Water splashes over my face, but it does nothing to wash away the torment gnawing at my insides.
The man in the mirror looks broken, haunted. But under the wreckage, something harder burns—a resolve that won’t break.
He will never touch her again.
But before I can even focus, I need answers. Answers from her.How could she not tell me?How could she keep something this big from me?After everything… how could she not trust me?
The questions burn hotter than the bile still in my throat, twisting until I can barely breathe. I steady myself, wipe my mouth, and push out of the bathroom.
It’s time to face her.
***
When I step through her front door, my chest is a thunderstorm—rage and grief colliding until I can’t think straight.
Melina stands in the kitchen, back to me, moving through the room like nothing’s changed. Like the world hasn’t just shattered at my feet.
I watch her for a beat, anger searing, hurt carving deeper with each breath.
“Melina.” My voice cracks, raw with bitterness and desperation.
She spins, startled. But the second her eyes land on me, the color drains from her face. Fear flickers, then floods, her lips parting as if the air has been stolen from her lungs. It settles heavy as the realization slams into her.
“You lied to me,” I snarl, shaking with hostility and pain.
She goes rigid, panic creeping across her features.
“Matt—”
“No.” I cut her off, stepping closer. “You told me it was drugs. Drugs, Melina!” My anger spikes, crackling through every word.
“How could you keep this from me? How could you not tell me what he did to you?”
She flinches, tears springing to her eyes, but I hardly see them. All I can see are the photos, burned into my mind. The betrayal sears hotter than the bile still in my throat.
“I—I couldn’t,” she stammers, voice breaking. “I didn’t know—”
“Didn’t know how?” I shout, the rage clawing out of me, raw and unrelenting. “I had to find out from fucking crime scene photos, Melina! Do you have any idea what that did to me? Seeing you like that—”
Nausea scrapes at my throat. I force it down, barely holding on.
Melina shakes her head frantically, tears now spilling down her cheeks, eyes wide and pleading. “I didn’t want you to see that,” she sobs. “It was my nightmare, Matt. Not yours—”
“You should’ve told me!” I shout, my fists clenched at my sides. “You had every chance, Melina! Every fucking chance!
“And what would that have changed?” she snaps, her body quaking. “You think I don’t hate myself enough already for what happened?”
I drag in a ragged breath, contempt still boiling through me. “If you had told me the truth, we wouldn’t have been chasing our tails! We’d have known exactly where to look!”
She doesn’t hear me, trapped in her own storm. Tears continue to carve hot trails down her face, but beneath them, something else sparks—fury, jagged and sudden.
“You have no right to be angry with me!” She cries, the words splintering. “Do you think I want to relive this—”
“Were you ever planning on telling me?” I interrupt, cracking under the weight of it.
She doesn’t respond.
“Answer me!” I roar.
“No! You finding out was literally my worst fear! The look on your face—” her voice breaks, shuddering. “You’ll never look at me the same.”
My chest caves, rage faltering. “That’s not true,” I rasp, anguish tearing at my insides. “How could you say that? How could you not trust me with this?”
“Because I didn’t want your pity!” she shouts back, raw and shaking. “I just wanted it to disappear!”
“Pity?” I echo, the word splintering out of me, disbelief tangled with fury. “That’s what you think this is?”
A bitter, broken laugh escapes, hollow in my chest. I shake my head, unable to stop the crack in my voice.
“This isn’t pity, Melina. It’s anguish .” My breath stutters, uneven. “It’s despair. It’s images burned into my mind—your face, your body—” My throat closes, choking me. “Images I will never be able to unsee!”
“Exactly!” she fires back, her voice cracking under the strain.
“Why would I put those images in your head? Why would I ever want you to see me like that—damaged, broken.” She shakes her head hard, fresh tears streaking down her cheeks.
“I buried this, Matt. So deep. I don’t want to think about it—I can’t think about it. ”
My anger falters, the heat giving way to something heavier.
“Melina…” My voice softens, torn between pain and tenderness.
“I don’t see you as damaged or broken. I could never see you that way.
You’re the strongest person I know.” My chest tightens, words rough but certain.
“But hiding this from me—it doesn’t protect me.
And it sure as hell doesn’t make it disappear. ”
“Well, I’ve done okay making it disappear for the past seventeen years!
” she fires back, her voice trembling with anger, pain, and raw vulnerability.
“Do you realize this is the first time I’ve ever spoken about this to anyone who wasn’t law enforcement, a doctor, or a fucking lawyer?
I’ve lived every single day trying to forget, trying to erase it—because the moment I say it out loud, it becomes real. ”
The room falls silent, her words crashing into me. My anger drains away in an instant, leaving me breathless, hollow. The weight of it crushes me—seventeen years of silence, carried alone, buried where no one could reach it.
“No one?” I whisper, barely able to force the word out.
Her voice drops, quiet and hollow. “No one.” Her eyes glisten with fresh pain, shame flickering across her face. “I… I couldn’t.”
Her throat works, her words jagged. “Do you know how humiliating it is? I married that man. I brought him into my life.” Her voice cracks, breaking entirely. “I orchestrated my own fucking…” She trails off, the last word stuck in her throat, too heavy to say.
She stands trembling, tears streaming unchecked down her face, shame and fury tangled in every line of her. It knocks the breath clean out of me. All that fury, gone, leaving nothing but the wreckage of what’s been done to her.
Before I can think, I step forward and pull her into my arms. She collapses against me, sobbing uncontrollably, the sound tearing straight through me.
“Jesus, Melina,” I whisper, holding her tighter, feeling her pain crash against me in waves. “I’m so sorry… God, I’m so sorry.”
We stand like that—her grief pouring out while I hold her, wanting so badly to make it stop. Slowly her sobs quiet and she starts to breathe again.
But it’s not over. She hasn't put the pieces together—still buried in her own trauma. I hate the words I have to say. I dread what they'll do. Still, she needs to know.
“Melina,” I say, voice tight. “There’s something you need to know.”
She pulls back a fraction, fear flaring in her eyes. “What?”
I take a breath, steadying myself. “Darren was paroled three months ago,” I tell her, every word heavy in my mouth. “It’s been him this whole time.”
She pales like she’s seen a ghost.“No.” The word slips out on a broken breath, eyes widening in disbelief, in horror. “It can’t be.”
I nod gravely, holding her gaze. “The guy who delivered the envelope at the gala—they did time together. He was hired help.”
Her face drains completely, her whole body trembling as the truth slams into her. She presses a hand to her mouth, a strangled sound breaking through her fingers. “Seventeen years,” she whispers, shaking her head, voice ragged. “I’ve kept that night locked away for seventeen years.”
Her breaths come fast and shallow, like she can’t draw enough air. She takes a small, unsteady step, fingers white on the counter, tears spilling unchecked. When she finally looks at me, her eyes are raw and desperate. “Maybe—” She swallows, trembling all over. “Maybe I’m ready to—”
“Don’t.” The word rips out of me, jagged and raw. My voice cracks under it. “Not now. I can’t hear it. Not after what I saw.”
The spark in her eyes dies, the fragile courage extinguished. She nods once, broken, silent tears sliding down her face.
I hate myself instantly, but I don’t take it back. I can’t.Later, I promise myself. Later I’ll be ready.
But the emptiness in her gaze says later may never come.