Chapter 21
The girl turned out to be Sarie Costello, a thirteen-year-old runaway from Morgantown, West Virginia, who’d lived with her father until he died in a car accident six months ago.
Two days after she moved in with her mother, her mother’s live-in-boyfriend started sexually assaulting her. When Sarie told her mom, she’d called her a liar and told her to get out of her house.
Sarie had been on the run ever since.
When Tabitha contacted her mother, she’d told Tabitha she wanted nothing to do with her own daughter. Luckily, Sarie’s aunt—her father’s older sister and the only adult in Sarie’s life who’d reported her missing—wanted to apply for custody of Sarie, and was going to drive up to Mount Laurel this morning to see her.
Since Sarie was a runaway from out of state, Tabitha would eventually be escorting her back to West Virginia. Until then, she’d stay in the county’s group home where Tabitha had gone with her earlier this morning to help her get settled.
Just after six a.m., Tabitha finally stepped out of the municipal building and into a warm, drizzling rain. The air was thick and damp, the sky a deep gray that promised the mist coating her hair and covering her arms was only the beginning of what was to be a long and dreary rainy day.
She needed to go back to the Plush Petal and get her car so she could go home and get a few hours sleep.
Easier said than done.
With a sigh, she pulled out her phone but before she could open her Uber app, something to her right caught her eye and she lifted her head.
Miles was leaning against the driver’s side door of his cop car in the middle of the parking lot.
Guess she was more exhausted than she’d thought. She hadn’t even noticed him.
Hard to believe, seeing as how the man commanded attention.
Not just because of his looks, either. It was the way he held himself, even when in a somewhat laid-back pose, as if his shoulders were just too darn broad, too strong to relax completely. Held too much responsibility. The way he was always on high alert, that dark gaze watchful for the slightest threat.
But, yes, okay, mostly it was his looks.
It was all sorts of wrong that anyone should be that handsome after working an all-nighter. The slight muss to his hair was perfect, the tousled, damp waves softening the hard lines of his face. The dark stubble covering his cheeks and chin giving him a sexy, dangerous air.
He jerked his head, like he wanted her to trot over to him like an obedient dog.
Tipping her head to the side, she gave him an excuse me? look.
Jaw tight, as if she was too much to deal with this early in the morning, he straightened from his sexy slouch, then lifted his hand and wiggled his forefinger in a come here gesture.
She raised her eyebrows.
His mouth thinned. “Would you please come here?”
Knowing she shouldn’t, she nonetheless headed in his direction. She was curious as to why he was waiting for her.
What he wanted from her.
Curious and unable to refuse him even when it meant staying out in the rain longer and delaying her trip home to bed.
Maybe it was a good thing he’d ignored her since she moved to town.
She had a hard time denying him.
“You beckoned?” she asked when she reached him.
He jerked his head, again—the man was going to give himself whiplash if he kept that up—this time at the car. “Come on.”
“Come on what?”
“I’m taking you home.”
Out of all the things she’d thought he’d say, that one hadn’t even made the list.
“I’m not going home,” she told him. “I’m going to get my car.”
“How were you going to do that?”
“I’m still working on that.”
He smirked, somehow managing to look smug and superior despite his damp hair falling over his forehead, the wet spots on his shoulders and the dark smudges under his eyes. “Get in.”
That was a bad idea. A bad, bad idea. Okay, not as horrible as when she’d followed him home from The Cockeyed Chameleon that first night, but pretty close.
At least then she’d known what he wanted.
I want to fuck you.
That night, he’d been perfectly clear.
Now, though? She had no idea.
All she knew was that she was mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted. Tonight had torn her apart in its own way and she was feeling raw and vulnerable. She didn’t have the strength to even get into the ring, let alone go a few rounds with Miles.
“That’s not necessary,” she said. “I can get an Uber.”
“You could. Or you could let me help you.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Let me help you.”
“You don’t always have to ride to the rescue.”
“That’s not what this is about.”
“No?”
He shook his head. “I have no doubt you can get yourself home all on your own. That you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself. But you don’t have to do everything by yourself. You don’t have to be alone.”Well, that was just patently unfair of him. Dangling her greatest wish in front of her that way, knowing he could snatch it away should she be foolish—or courageous—enough to try and grab it.
Unfair and, as it turned out, extremely effective.
Damn him.
She brushed past him, rounded the front of his cruiser, and opened the front passenger side door.
And got in.
***
Miles was saying her name.
Tabitha frowned, her eyes squeezed shut. She must be dreaming. God knew he’d starred in her dreams nightly ever since she’d moved to Mount Laurel. And in them, he often said her name, something he withheld from her as often as possible in reality.
As if he couldn’t be bothered to use it.
“Tabitha. Wake up.”
Sitting up, her eyes flew open.
Not a dream. Miles had said her name in his low, husky voice.
She bit back a groan. She’d fallen asleep in the front seat of his police cruiser.
How humiliating.
So humiliating it took her a moment to realize they were parked on the street in front of her apartment and not at the Plush Petal.
Turning, she shot him an irritated glance. “I told you I need to get my car.”
He raised an eyebrow at her cranky tone and furious glare, though neither seemed to penetrate his mighty shield of stoicism. “You fell asleep before I even pulled out of the municipal building’s parking lot. You’re too tired to drive for five minutes, let alone five miles.”
“My car—”
“If you give me your keys, I’ll get your car delivered to you within the hour.”
He’d worked all night, but instead of going home to bed, he’d waited for her. Had made sure she arrived back at her apartment safely. And now, he was promising to get her car to her.
The man was making it increasingly difficult to remember why she needed to keep her distance from him. All the many and varied and crucial reasons she couldn’t let herself start to believe in foolish things like second chances.
She owed him an apology. Several—but who was counting?—starting with one for that glare she’d sent him and her cranky tone.
But apologizing to Miles was risky.
It had the potential to change things between them again. Every time she shared one of her truths, every time she opened up even a little bit about her past, the dynamic between them shifted. Became new.
She dug her car key out of her purse and handed it to him, keeping her remorse and I’m sorrys and secrets where they couldn’t change things.
Clearing her throat, she unbuckled her seatbelt, her gaze down. “Thank you for your help,” she murmured, tugging on the door handle. But when she opened the door, his soft voice stopped her.
“Did you trust me at all?”
Breath locked in her chest, she slowly lifted her head and turned to face him, but he stared out the windshield, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles were white.
And she wanted, more than anything, to reach over and trace her fingertips across the backs of his hands. To give him some sense of ease. Of comfort.
But that wasn’t what he was asking for. He thought he wanted the truth. That it would somehow fix everything that had gone wrong between them.
Every broken piece of himself.
He wanted the truth.
But what he needed was some peace.
Peace of mind that he hadn’t been a complete fool to fall for her all those years ago. Reassurance that the decisions he’d made involving her—whether a decade, a month or two weeks ago—were correct. Acceptance of the way his life had turned out.
Yes, he definitely needed those things.
But there was nothing easy or peaceful about her truths. They were complicated and messy and all she wanted was to get past them. To focus on the life she’d worked so hard to build for herself. A life where she was strong and capable and worthy of all the things she’d always dreamed of. Friendship and security and belonging.
And love.
The truth wasn’t going to be good for either of them. Wouldn’t help them move beyond the mistakes they’d made.
But she’d give it to him, anyway.
Like she’d already mentioned, she had a hard time refusing the man.
Even when it meant she was going to hurt him.
She stared through the windshield at the rising sun barely penetrating the gray sky with streaks of purple and pink. “I trusted you. I trusted you to keep me safe. And I trusted you not to hurt me.”
He made a sound, a cross between a snort of derision and a grunt of pain. “You trusted me not to be an abusive asshole? Great.”
“Don’t,” she snapped, whipping her head around to meet his gaze, unsure which of them was more surprised by her sharp tone. “Don’t minimize what it meant for me to trust my physical, mental, and emotional well-being with you just because you’ve always been the hero of the story. Believe it or not, not everything is about you. Some people’s reactions to you have nothing to do with you and everything to do with what they’ve been through. How they’ve been hurt. So when I tell you I trusted you to not to hurt me,” she continued, voice shaking, hands trembling, “that’s not something I say or take lightly. And I will not sit here and let you take it lightly, either.”
She was breathing hard, and there was a fiery sensation in her chest, like a bonfire burning bright and hot, the shooting flames licking at the edges of her deeply entrenched fears, her worry of reprisal.
Part of her wanted to smother them. To protect herself.
Another part wanted to fan them into an inferno.
Just to see what would happen.
“You’re getting better at that,” Miles said quietly, an edge of pride in his tone. “At being angry.”
Wiping her damp palms down the front of her jeans, she exhaled a humorless laugh. “Am I? It doesn’t feel that way.”
It felt like she was on the verge of losing control. Her face was hot and, more than likely, a red, blotchy mess. She was sweating, each muscle of her body tense, ready to run.
Or pummel something.
It was terrifying not knowing what she was capable of. What would happen if she let herself feel all these unsettled and dangerous emotions.
Especially when she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to handle them.
“Must be something about me, then, that gives you plenty of practice getting pissed.”
His tone remained mild. Calm. As if he fully accepted her anger as part of his due and would gladly take it on.
As if he was strong enough for both of them.
“You do seem to be the common denominator,” she agreed, not sure what that said about him. Or her.
Or those annoying, lingering feelings for him she was trying so hard not to acknowledge.
He shifted in his seat, facing her more fully. “I don’t take it lightly,” he said, his words quiet, his dark gaze solemn. “Your trust in me not to hurt you. And I shouldn’t have acted like I did.”
Some of that burning sensation eased with his sincerity. “Thank you.”
His gaze flickered away a moment. He swallowed. “That night at my house… the things I said… the things I made you do…”
I won’t say please. I won’t ask you for permission.
Once again, she wished she had the right to touch him. Instead, she linked her fingers together and kept them tucked safely in her lap.
“You didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do. I trusted you. I believed you.”
“You trusted me that night with your body. But you’ve never trusted me with your past.”
She sat up. “That’s not true.”
Although it was partly true. Wasn’t that the problem with the truth?
It was rarely black or white. Each tiny omission, every slight embellishment and understatement had those colors bleeding together into multiple shades of gray.
“I trusted you with it tonight. I trusted you with it that night in your kitchen. Do you know how hard it is for me to trust anyone? How terrifying? But I’m trying. I’m trying,” she repeated, voice rising, that burning sensation back in her chest, hotter than ever. “That should count for something. That should be enough. Especially when you don’t trust me, either. And you never did. That’s why you never told your family about me. That’s why you refused to talk about your nightmares or share your grief over your parents’ deaths with me.”
Irritation flickered across his expression, his gaze going hooded. “Is this where you tell me, again, what I felt? What I thought? Whether or not my own feelings were real?”
She remembered what she’d told him that evening in his kitchen.
You didn’t love me.You needed me.
“This is where I tell you that I think you wanted to love me. And that you obviously convinced yourself that you did.”
“This insight into my own fucking mind is fascinating,” he drawled, low and silky. “Please, do go on.”
“I was a puzzle to you. Something to solve. Someone to save. But you can’t save someone from their past. Or from themselves. And I knew when you realized I was a lost cause, you’d walk away. So I walked away first. And you proved I was right when you didn’t try and get me to come back.”
He straightened so quickly, he smashed his elbow against the steering wheel, but while she winced at the hard blow, it didn’t even seem to register with him.
“Was that why you left?” His expression was all hard, furious lines, his nostrils flaring. “So I’d chase after you like a fucking lovesick puppy?”
“No.” But again that was one of those truths that had been brushed with gray. Because maybe, just maybe, that had been part of the reason.
Or at least, something she’d hoped for.
Even if she hadn’t let herself admit it.
“No,” she repeated, as if repetition along with her firmer tone would make it true. “But the fact that you didn’t even look for me—”
“How do you know I didn’t?”
She blinked rapidly, her heart rate picking up speed. “Did you?”
Lips smashed together, he dropped his gaze.
She exhaled, long and low, a painful lump forming in her throat.
Yeah. The truth hurt.
More often than not.
She shook her head. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“What?”
“This,” she said, gesturing between them before opening the door. “This push/pull thing we’ve been doing. I can’t keep trying to prove to you that I’ve changed. We both agree we can’t go back, and you keep saying you don’t want to go forward. There’s no point in us rehashing the past this way again and again. It’s not going to change anything. It’s not going to make you feel better because I can’t tell you what you really want to hear.”
“All I’ve ever wanted was the truth.”
“You want your version of the truth. You want me to shoulder all the blame for how we ended, that’s fine. I accept that. Because you were right. I was the one who walked away. But you have your share of responsibility for why I did it.”
Furious, heartbroken, she stepped out into the rain. Turned back to look at him, one hand on the door, the other clutching her purse to her chest. “You want me to tell you I regret it. That it was a mistake.” She shook her head. Gave a helpless shrug. “It wasn’t.”
He cringed, his entire body recoiling from her words.
From the truth he’d claimed he wanted so badly.
But hating the truth didn’t take away it’s power.
And hiding from it could protect you for only so long.
“It wasn’t a mistake,” she repeated softly, not to hurt him more, but because maybe he was right. Maybe, this truth was exactly what they both needed to finally be set free. “It was the best thing I could have done. For both of us.”