Chapter 19 #2
She holds it over the flame, watching it carefully like it requires full concentration. Silence settles between us. I’ve learned not to push Annika so I wait. I’m wondering if her coming over has nothing to do with me, personally or professionally.
When the marshmallow is ready, I hand her a graham cracker with a piece of chocolate. She stacks it and I give her the top cracker. And the look on her face, flickering with gold, is pure happiness when she takes a full bite.
“Oh God. So good.”
“It’s the perfect therapy. I mean, you taste better, but….”
“Can you not embarrass me?”
“I thought you wanted me to tell the truth.”
She shakes her head, waving me off. A few minutes later, she bends over, reaching into her purse, removing an envelope. “I do.”
My chest tightens.
“Can I trust you?” She stares at the envelope for a hot minute before handing it to me. “I… I found this at my house,” she says, the words frayed at the edges.
It says Annika on the outside. And when I open it, I read the line.
Once.
Twice.
My jaw clenches.
You were always good at pretending nothing happened.
My eyes drift to hers.
Does someone know that we slept together? Or does she think I wrote the note?
“What does this mean?”
It’s not often that I see a crack in her composure, but I see just enough to know she’s rattled.
“This is the other reason I canceled your appointment,” she says, her words heavy and drawn out. “I think I’m being watched.”
“How? Why?”
“I don’t know.”
I turn and grab her hands in mine. “Do you have any idea who sent this?”
“No,” she says again as I squeeze her hands tighter to keep them from shaking.
“Annika.” I’m not sure how to respond. “Do you think you’re in danger?”
She nods. “Please don’t call me Annika. You know how I said I changed my name?”
My brows shoot up. “Yeah.”
“I didn’t change my name. I erased it. There’s no trace of me in America anymore.”
I frown. “What? Why?”
Who in the world meets a girl who erased her past, other than me? It feels like I’m living inside the pages of a thriller novel.
“Records. Documentation no longer exists for Annika Pencheski.”
My blood pumps furiously through my veins. This isn’t at all what I expected when she came over tonight. A session? Maybe? But telling me she isn’t who she is, that’s on a whole other level.
“That’s not something a normal person does without a reason.” My thumbs swipe over her hand.
“I know.”
It’s quiet. She tries to pull her hand from mine, but I tighten my grip.
Moving my chair closer, shadows from the firelight skip across her face and catch strands of her hair, making it shine and, softening the edges she prides herself on keeping sharp.
She appears to be in control, but she’s not.
I can see it in the way she opens her mouth to say what needs to be said.
She drops her gaze like she can’t quite hold onto me while she spills her secrets.
She looks tired. Not her actual appearance—something deeper is weighing on her mind.
Moments pass into minutes before she says, “My father…” Another sigh. “He was my hockey coach on the under 16 team and I was only fourteen. He… he…”
“Spit it out. Whatever you want to tell me, I’m here for you.”
“He touched me. Over and over. He…” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
I’ve never heard her voice so small, but her words hit hard.
I don’t move. Or speak. I just wait. Partially because I’m afraid I’ll explode over someone hurting this woman.
Inside, I know I need to wait for her. This moment is about her, and I just need to listen even though I am desperate to find her father and beat the shit out of him.
As I wipe her tears, she says, “I pretended it didn’t happen. I told myself it wasn’t… what it was.” Her voice splinters into pieces. “At first I thought I misunderstood and it didn’t matter.”
This time our eyes collide and a film of tears glimmers in her eyes, ready to fall. She tents her hands over her face, slowly letting them slide over her cheeks and then they drop.
She can’t control the tears.
Just the truth.
Her shoulders shake as she tries to calm herself. Seeing her in pain is more than I can handle without holding her close, so I stand up and pull her up with me. My arms are wrapped tight around her. “You’re safe with me,” I whisper over her ear.
I stroke her hair until she stops trembling, then I sit down and bring her with me. The whole time I’m wondering what he did to her. Did he only touch the outside?
Only? What the fuck am I saying only for? He’s her dad.
Did he penetrate her with—God, I can’t even imagine it and wish I couldn’t, but I can and every outcome makes my stomach turn.
It takes every ounce of strength I have to keep my tone steady and supportive because deep down I want to punch her dad in the face.
“You can trust me,” I say. And when I say trust her lids open a little wider.
“I wouldn’t trust me, Parker. I’m selfish, the worst kind of person.”
Guilt.
Survivor’s guilt.
I know it well. Witt has it. The rest of my siblings have it. It’s something we share even though it’s not the same situation. Still, I don’t understand what this has to do with the creepy note. Does someone know she was molested and is mad she didn’t go to the police?
She looks at the fire while she continues, “I thought if I became someone else… the past would stay where it belonged… half-a-world away.”
And for the first time since I met her, I don’t see the woman that’s five steps ahead. I see a woman whose feet are buried in the past.
She lays her head on my shoulder and her hand on my chest. I twist my head to press a kiss to her forehead. I whisper again, “You’re safe with me.”
Sniffling, she looks up and her pale blue eyes are red-rimmed and glossy. “I haven’t felt safe in a long time.”
“Do you feel safe with me?” My words are careful not to scare her away. Annika chose flight over fight, and I need to proceed with caution.
She shakes her head up and down. “But I should have reported it. Something.”
“You were a kid,” I say gently and my hand skims her arm.
“I wasn’t that young. A teenager. And it doesn’t make it okay.”
“No, it makes you human,” I agree.
“I should’ve—”
I cut in, “You survived.”
Her body goes still before relaxing into mine.
“That’s what you did. You survived. You got out. You built a practice that helps people reach their goals and dreams.”
She keeps waiting for me to look at her differently like she’s damaged. Fragile. Too complicated to keep.
But all I can think is how impossible it would feel to lose her now that she finally trusts me.
She raises her chin and her lids threaten to let the tears fall. “That doesn’t erase what happened.”
“No,” I admit. “But it doesn’t define you either.”
Annika breaks. It’s not loud or dramatic.
Tears slide down her face like she’s been holding them back for years.
Cupping her delicate jawline, I press my lips to hers. Then I drag my lips to her cheek, her temple and back down. Kissing her tears away.
“I promise… I’ll protect you.”
And this time, her body responds like she believes me, even if she doesn’t use words as she drops to her knees.