“And what’s that?” I asked warily.
“Don’t talk about that day. Any of those days you saw Katie Watts. Say you don’t remember what happened.”
I gaped at him. Couldn’t believe he had the nerve to say something to me like that. “Like they’ll believe me,” I scoffed.
“They can’t make you testify. If you can’t remember, you can’t, you know?” The silence between us, between everyone in the room, was downright deafening. “I would suggest it’s best if you don’t remember, if you know what I mean.”
“What, like that’s going to help get you off, my faulty memory? I don’t think so.”
“It’ll help, damn it.” He banged his fists on the table, his handcuffs clanking, and two deputies shifted forward, ever ready to pounce. “Not that you give a shit.”
I pushed back in my chair and stood, staring down at him. “You’re right,” I said through clenched teeth. “I don’t give a shit. Just like you never gave a shit. Did you care what happened to me? You were too busy fucking all your whores or snorting crank or whatever you did. Stalking and murdering little girls.”
He smiled again, serenely. Like he hadn’t a care in the world. All while I was seething inside, filled with rage and so tense I felt like I could shatter. No one else said a word—not the lawyers, not the deputies. The only sound that filled the room was my harsh, ragged breaths.
“You never cared about me,” I finally said. “I was always a burden, or a toy for you to play with when you felt like it. So fuck you.” I looked at my lawyer, who was already scrambling out of his seat. “I’m done.”
“Let’s go.” Stone grabbed hold of my arm and started to escort me out of the small room, the deputies falling into step beside us.
“I won’t forget this, son,” my father called, his voice ringing with an almost manic-sounding false hope. I couldn’t begin to understand him. I never could. “I’ll never forget you turned against me. Someday you’ll pay for this. Karma is a bitch.”
“You should know, old man.” Pausing at the door, I glanced at him from over my shoulder. “Considering where you’re going to spend the rest of your life. And don’t call me ‘son.’ You lost that right a long time ago.”
With those final words, I walked out, headed straight to the courtroom . . .
And sat on the stand for over two hours as I testified against my father.
“I feel like I did something wrong.”
My therapist—she keeps insisting I call her Sheila, and so now I finally am—watches me with her ever thoughtful gaze, her lips pursed as if she doesn’t like what I just said. She probably doesn’t. “Why do you feel like that?”
I shrug. It’s hard to put into words, my disappointment. How all-encompassing it’s been these last few days while I’ve been telling myself over and over I’m being too dramatic. I’ve been rejected. I spend one incredibly romantic night with Ethan, I tell him my last name via text, we discuss having a serious talk about my past, and now . . . nothing. No word from him. Crickets. That’s it.
Clearly he wants nothing to do with me.
“Because I told him who I was and I haven’t heard from him since. He probably Googled my name and found out all the dirty details of my life. That would scare any guy away,” I explain, blowing out a breath of frustration once I’m finished.
“Then he wasn’t the man for you,” Sheila says, as if that’s an acceptable answer.
But it’s not. Not to me. I truly thought Ethan and I had a connection. The chemistry was definitely there between us. I know he felt it, too. That night when we made out, if I hadn’t been so nervous, I would have let him take it farther. If he showed up on my front doorstep right now I’d probably let him take it farther.
Well, I’d want to punch him first. I’m sure he could persuade me with his lips, though, and make all of that anger melt away with just a few kisses. Not smart on my part. I shouldn’t be so easy, but I don’t want to let this go.
I don’t want to let him go.
“I want him to be the man for me,” I say with a sigh. “I like him. But maybe he doesn’t like me. Maybe he thinks I’m too damaged.”
“Who says you’re damaged?”
I blink at Sheila, irritated by her calm demeanor, the surprised tone to her voice. “I am. It’s pretty undeniable, right?”
“No, it’s not. If you think of yourself as damaged, broken, whatever word you want to use, then guess what? That’s all anyone who knows you or meets you will see.”
I contemplate her words. As reluctant as I am to admit it, they make sense. “I guess I’ve always assumed the role of damaged girl,” I say.
“Not a surprise considering what you’ve been through. But don’t forget how offended you become whenever someone refers to you as a victim. You hate that word,” Sheila points out.
“I despise it,” I say in agreement.
“So you call yourself a survivor yet claim you’re damaged.”
“I think a survivor can still be damaged,” I admit. “Don’t you?” We all have things we need to overcome, some worse than others. It’s okay to be hurt, to be damaged and a little broken and still consider yourself strong. Not that I’d ever considered myself strong before, not until recently . . .
“I truly think a survivor wouldn’t want that word associated with her. Damaged implies permanence. Don’t you want to stand tall above what happened to you? Not let it define you?” Sheila cocks her head, watching me.
“He kissed me.”
“And you liked it.”
There’s no point in denying it. “I loved every minute of it.” Just thinking of his lips on mine makes me shiver. “I think I scared him by mentioning I wanted to talk to him about my past.”
“Do you think you moved too fast?”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “I don’t know how to maneuver in the dating world. This is my first attempt and honestly, I don’t want to deal with a bunch of crap.”
Dr. Harris raises a brow. “What crap are you referring to?”
“Game playing. Coyness. Putting on a front. It all feels like lies if I do that. I just want to be open. Honest. Real.”
“And you want the same from him.”
“Definitely.” I nod.
“Then tell him that. Maybe he is nervous. Maybe he really is busy. But you should be open and honest and real with him, just like you want him to be with you. You might be surprised by your results.”
“Pleasantly surprised?” Now it’s my turn to raise a brow.
“You deserve happiness, Katherine,” Sheila says, her voice soft. “Finding a nice man who cares for you, engaging yourself fully in a romantic relationship, learning how to be comfortable with your body, with your sexuality. Finding pleasure with a man. You deserve every bit of that.”
She lays it out on the line and normally I’d be embarrassed. In the past I didn’t even like to hear the word sex.
But now, I’m curious. It sounds ridiculous, but I want to find myself. I want to become a woman. A normal, regular woman who has sex and isn’t scared to say the word out loud.
“I want to have sex with Ethan,” I blurt, making Sheila smile. “But I’m scared.”
“That’s natural.” She nods.
“I like it when he touches me. When he looks at me, it’s like he’s trying to see beneath my clothes and it’s not in a gross way.” I sigh and shake my head. “I’m not making sense.”
“You’re making perfect sense,” Sheila reassures me.
“So what do I do? Sit by the phone and wait for him to text me? Make the next move? I don’t know how to do this.” I lean back against the chair, irritated with myself. Irritated with Ethan.
“You do what you feel most comfortable with. And if you don’t want to do anything at the moment, that’s okay, too.”
I nod, not willing to speak. I’m tired. Feeling drained. I haven’t slept much, too worried over what happened between Ethan and me, which is stupid. I’m sure he hasn’t lost a lick of sle
ep over me.
He’s probably already forgotten all about me.
“Do you have any regrets, Katherine?” Sheila asks after a few quiet minutes tick by.
“About what?” I ask warily.
“Going on a date with Ethan. Letting him kiss you. Inviting him to your home.” I’d told her all the details and she hadn’t so much as batted an eyelash. Now she was making me doubt my choices. “Are you thinking that maybe you shouldn’t have done that?”
“I’m glad I did it,” I say truthfully. “I can’t stay cooped up in my house forever, letting life pass me by.”
“Good answer.” Sheila sounds proud. “How about the interview? Still okay with your decision?”
“You heard about the movie,” I say, my voice flat.
Dr. Harris nods but otherwise doesn’t say a word.
“I don’t like the idea of another cheesy TV movie being made about my kidnapping, but I can’t stop it.” I sit up and shrug. “What’s done is done.”
“Your attitude is very healthy.” Sheila smiles. “Much healthier than it was only a few weeks ago. I think you’ve made progress.”
Hope lights within my chest. I need to hear this. Need to see that someone else believes in me, not just a family member who has to. I’d hoped Ethan could give me the same support, but I’d been wrong.
Taking a deep breath, I launch into the last subject I wanted to talk about during our session.
“I’ve been thinking about someone.” I finger the bracelet Will Monroe gave me, rubbing my thumb over the guardian angel charm, along every ridge of her wings. “Someone from my past.”
“Who?”
“Will Monroe.”
Her expression remains neutral but I see the slight flare in her eyes. No one understands why I’m so interested in Will, why I feel the need to talk about him. I think they all wish I’d forgotten him. “What about him?”
My family never understood. Sheila probably won’t understand either.
“He’s the real reason I’m alive. It’s not because of me, or anything I did. I feel like I owe him something. I wish I knew where he was, so I could see him. Talk to him.”
“You shouldn’t feel like you owe him anything. You played a big part in your return,” Sheila points out, and I send her a look. It doesn’t even faze her. “Perhaps you’re giving him too much credit.”
“Perhaps I don’t give him enough. That’s the biggest problem. His name is rarely mentioned because of who his father is. That’s not fair. He didn’t choose his family, his father. No one should blame him for this. He’s a hero. Will Monroe is my hero.”
I bite my lip, not quite willing to express my deeper concerns. That I’m so interested in Will lately because of meeting Ethan. They remind me of each other. Their features are vaguely similar but not quite. The Will I remember was lanky and average height, with long black hair and piercings, with a somber expression and intense gaze, as though he saw everything and hated it all. A boy who rarely smiled.
A boy with no reason to smile.
Ethan had a different attitude, a better attitude, but he was a rescuer. Like Will. If Sheila ever realizes that I compare the two of them, she’ll just try to overanalyze the entire situation and I’ll be opening up a whole new can of worms.
I can hear her tapping away on her iPad and I wish I’d never brought Will up. He’s a sensitive subject. He’ll always be a sensitive subject.
And I hate that.
Regret washes over me and I pull so tight on the charm of my bracelet I feel it give, the guardian angel no longer attached to the bracelet but now lying in my palm. I stare at it helplessly, upset that I so casually broke it, after all these years. I should have known better, taken care of it better. The angel charm is fragile.
Like my heart.
“Have you spoken to him at all?” Sheila asks.
“Will Monroe is nowhere to be found.” Tears prick the corners of my eyes as I stare down at the pretty angel who represented so much to me. “He gave me this.” I hold up the charm to her. “I just—I just broke it.”
The words pass my lips and it’s my turn to break. To cry. I bend over my knees and sob, letting the tears fall without care, my chest aching, my head hurting as I clutch the charm so close I can feel the edges of it press into the thick skin of my palm. I cry for me, for my family, for that stupid, ridiculous man Ethan who ignores me and doesn’t deserve my tears.
The person I cry the most for, though, is Will Monroe.
And he has no idea.
The text comes three days later, seemingly out of nowhere.
I want to take you out tonight.
Gnawing on my lower lip, my fingers hover over the keyboard of my cellphone, unsure of how to reply. I should tell Ethan to go to hell. The best action would be to not reply to him at all.
But I can’t ignore the longing I feel at just seeing his words in a text bubble. Clearly I’m weaker than I thought.
Weak for Ethan.
What do you have in mind?
He immediately replies and I smile at his answer.
Concert for a Web client. Small band playing at a club. It’ll be fun.
Totally out of my element. I’ve never been to a concert. I don’t always do well in crowds. This could be a recipe for disaster. I should say no.
I don’t.
What time are you thinking?
It’s like my fingers have a mind of their own.
I’ll pick you up at your house say around 8? Concert doesn’t start until 10 and the club is here. Downtown.
Say no. Tell him you have other plans. Tell him you have no interest dating a guy who runs so hot and cold. You deserve more. You deserve better. You can resist him. Really you can.
Sounds good. What should I wear?
His answer not even a minute later makes me smile so hard it almost hurts.
Something sexy.
And this is why I can’t resist him. Why I allow him to play with my emotions despite his bad behavior. I like him. Allowing him into my life wasn’t easy, and I wasn’t going to kick him out because he isn’t perfect. That’s just ridiculous.
Absolutely ridiculous.
He picked me up when he didn’t have to and I appreciated it. Appreciated even more the way he looked when I found him on my doorstep. Black long-sleeved Henley that somehow defined every muscle in his arms and chest and dark-rinse jeans that were slightly baggy yet molded to his strong thighs. His hair was freshly cut though left longish on top and he had about two days’ worth of scruff lining his cheeks. A total contradiction.
A very sexy contradiction.
His appreciative gaze as he drank me in set a flurry of newfound butterflies free in my stomach and blood rushed to my cheeks when he murmured, “You took my suggestion to heart, didn’t you, Katie?”
I’d never dressed sexy for anyone before and I was unsure if my outfit was sexy enough. I wore the tightest jeans I owned and a simple black tank top, though I threw on a hoodie before we left considering it was cold. I left my hair down so it fell in natural waves down my back and slipped silver hoop earrings on, jewelry my sister gave me two Christmases ago that I’d never worn.
I felt like a different person. A new me. A woman who dressed for a man and was able to chat with him for the entire ninety-minute ride with ease. Who laughed and joked and didn’t once ask why he hadn’t texted or called.
The night had started on such a positive note, I didn’t want to ruin it.
“What sort of music does the band play?” I ask as we head toward the entrance of the club. The parking lot is packed and I can already hear music coming from within, the throb of bass and drums, reverberation as someone sang into a mic. The night air is cool as it washes over my skin, making me shiver, and I regret leaving my hoodie in Ethan’s car.
But I knew I’d get hot wearing it inside, so I really had no choice.
“They have a nineties grunge sound. They borrow heavily from Soundgarden and STP.” At my blank look, Etha
n continues. “Stone Temple Pilots. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of them.”
I slowly shake my head. “I didn’t listen to much nineties grunge. Way before my time. Kurt Cobain died the year I was born.”
He laughs. “Before my time, too, but I discovered them when I was around fourteen, fifteen.” A shadow crosses his face, his lush mouth forming into a frown. “Dark music for a dark kid.”
“Were you a dark kid?” I step in closer to him, drawn in by his warmth. His body heat radiates, calling me like a siren, and I wish I were brave enough to wrap my arm around him and absorb some of that delicious heat.
“Yeah.” His mouth turns tight and he glances down at me, coming to a stop. “Cold?”
Another shiver passes through me at the exact time he asks. “Sort of,” I mumble.
He does exactly what I wished I could do. Without thought he slips an arm around my waist and pulls me into him, fitting me perfectly under his arm. “Luckily enough there’s no line at the door. Once we get inside, it’ll be like a sauna. You’ll be glad you wore the tank.”
Within minutes we’re in the club, Ethan taking hold of my hand as he leads me through the bar area in the front, pulling me close to murmur in my ear, asking if I want anything to drink. I don’t drink much alcohol and I want to keep my head clear tonight so I say no. He orders himself a beer, reassuring me he’ll only have one since he has to drive me home.
I say nothing. Just glance around the bar, taking in the variety of people surrounding us. Young and old, some dressed like us, others wearing such outrageous clothes I wonder if they’re in costume. One girl has a giant hoop hanging from beneath her nose. Two guys are standing in a corner, their hands as busy as their mouths. Another girl walks by, she looks around my age, and the dress she has on is so short I can guarantee I’ll see the back end of her underwear as she passes.