Jenny raced up the stairs, stumbled and grabbed the railing for balance, pushed off and kept going.

Slut.

Whore.

Humiliation. Regret. Terror. Anger. All of that and more swirled through her, crashing together, blinding her. Making it hard to breathe. Hard to focus. Hard to see. She wiped a hand over her face, her fingers coming away wet and hot. She choked on a burst of hysterical laughter, swallowed it back as she wondered if maybe she was getting sick, coming down with the flu. Wouldn't that explain her fevered skin and rolling stomach? The bile churning in her gut? The chill that had seeped deep into her bones and made her entire body shake?

God, how she wished it was the flu. That would be a thousand times better than this...this humiliation burning inside her. She wanted to rail and scream. To hit something, to tear something apart with her bare hands. Viktor. Her brother—

And oh God, the look on Jason's face. The pain and accusation in his voice, the terrifying disappointment in his eyes. Would she ever forget the sight? Would she ever forget the words he'd thrown in her face?

Like it was her fault. Like she'd done something wrong.

And she had. Stupid. She'd been so stupid. So naive and trusting. And she'd made the horrible mistake of thinking it was over, that her past would stay buried, that it would eventually be forgotten.

Slut.

Whore.

But it wouldn't. Tonight had proven that.

Taunting. Mocking.

If only she could do something. Lash out, hit, maim...anything. But she couldn't. She was helpless. So helpless she couldn't even manage to get the key into the lock of the door to Jason's apartment.

Jenny wiped a shaking a hand across her eyes one more time, squeezed her eyes closed and willed her hand to stop shaking. Just a little, just for a few seconds. Long enough that she could open the door.

Please, God, just let her get inside. That's all she wanted right now: to get inside. To throw her things into a suitcase and leave, to go...somewhere.

Jenny opened her eyes, her vision still watery, the door knob nothing more than a silvery blur. She jammed the key toward it, felt it slide off and hit the door. One more time, using one hand to steady the other until, finally, she managed to get the key into the lock.

She threw open the door, swallowed a gasp of pained surprise when it bounced off the wall and hit her shoulder. Jenny slid out of the way, not even bothering to close it all the way. She wouldn't be here long enough to care. And if someone came in after her...well, so be it. It would be a blessing if someone put her out of her misery.

She rushed through the living room and down the hallway, not bothering to turn on any lights until she reached her bedroom.

No, not hers: Jason's. It was his spare bedroom, just like this was his apartment. Just like everything in here was his.

Jenny grabbed the suitcase from the back of the closet and started tossing in clothes. Sweaters, trousers, a pair of jeans. Shoes and boots. It wouldn't fit, there was too much, the clothes simply balled up and thrown in. She didn't care, she'd make them fit. And what didn't fit, she'd shove into a duffel bag. And if it still didn't fit—well, it didn't matter. She didn't care. She couldn't care, not anymore.

Except she did. She cared too much, about all of it.

Pain sliced through her, shredding her from the inside out. Raw, burning pain, so intense that her knees gave out. She collapsed on the floor, pulled her knees to her chest, and let the tears come. Deep sobs that wracked her body and burned her lungs, making it hard to breathe.

"Jenny!"

Someone was calling her, the voice deep, hoarse. She shook her head and scooted back against the wall, curling into a tighter ball. Hiding—from her shame. From her humiliation.

"Jenny!"

Nobody was calling her. It was nothing more than her imagination. Or the sound of guilt, shouting at her, telling her this was her fault. Everything was her fault. If she hadn't been so trusting. If she hadn't been so naive. If she hadn't acted like the slut and whore she'd been accused of.

If she hadn't been so stupid—

Her fault. All of it.

"Jenny." The voice was closer now, clearer. Thick with emotion and sorrow. She shook her head once more, buried her face more tightly against her knees. Tears flowed from her eyes, burning her cheeks, clogging her throat.

Strong arms came around her and she stiffened, tried to push away. But the arms didn't move except to tighten, to move and lift her. And then she was curled in Tyler's lap, leaning into him, sobs still wracking her body as he rocked her and whispered soothing words in her ear.

They stayed that way for a long time, long enough that her tears finally dried, leaving her face sweaty and sticky. She was drained, emotionally and physically spent. Empty, limp. And still Tyler held her, rocked her, whispered in her ear and told her everything was going to be alright.

But it wouldn't be. Didn't he know that? Nothing would ever be alright again. She'd never get away from what she'd done, no matter how hard she tried.

She forced a shaky breath into her burning lungs and tried to push away. But her strength was gone, totally depleted. All she could manage was to lean back and shake her head.

"It won't stop. It'll never stop."

"It will."

"No, it won't. No matter where I go, it's going to follow me around."

Tyler's hands cradled her face, tilted her head back so she had no choice but to look at him. Dark eyes, so soft and soulful, bored into hers. Focused, intense—and filled with emotion that unleashed more tears. She tried to turn her head, to look away. She didn't want to see it, was afraid of what she was seeing.

More afraid of what Tyler would see.

And oh God, how could she have been stupid? How could she have let herself fall in love with him? It shouldn't have happened, she should have fought against it.

But how do you fight against something you don't see until it's right there in front of you? She couldn't love him, couldn't open herself to that much vulnerability again.

Except it was too late—she already had. And it wasn't something she could turn off, wasn't something she could stop.

"It'll never stop." She forced the words from her raw throat. But was she talking about her past—or her feelings for Tyler?

"It will. I promise."

"You can't promise that. You know that. You can't make—"

"Shh." He pressed a kiss against her mouth, so soft and gentle. His fingers stroked her cheek, his touch featherlight as he traced the line of her jaw, her lower lip. He pushed the hair behind her ears and smoothed it back, then pressed another kiss to her mouth. "I'll make it stop."

"You can't. You know that—"

"But I will. Whatever I have to do, I will." His eyes searched hers, so deep and warm. The first glimmer of hope flared to life deep inside her, the tiniest flame starting its struggle to grow. She wanted to believe. Oh, how she wanted to believe. And the look in Tyler's eyes—he truly meant it.

His hand cupped her cheek once more, his touch so soft and gentle. The color of his eyes deepened, the brown darkening to deep mocha as he watched her. Serious, so serious.

He took a deep breath, his chest rising against hers, his gaze never wavering. "I'd do anything for you, Jenny. I love you."

Tears sprung to her eyes again, fell in slow tracks down her cheek and spilled onto his hand. She shook her head, tried to tell him no, he couldn't love her. He wasn't allowed to love her.

"You can't." The words, hoarse and ragged, fell from her trembling lips. But there was no conviction in them, no strength or truth. Tyler brushed them away as easily as he brushed the tears from her cheek.

"Why can't I?"

"Because...what I did. You can't—"

"Do you really think I care what you did in the past? I told you already that I didn't. I love you. Your past doesn't matter."

"But how? Why? After what I did—"

"Jenny, you didn't do anything. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

"That's not what everyone else thinks. That's not what Jason thinks."

"Your brother is an ass." Anger filled his voice, startling her with its intensity. An expression of fierce possessiveness crossed his face, the muscle in his jaw jumping. "He had no business saying what he did. I'm not the only one who thinks that."

Jenny wanted to argue but she didn't have the energy left. Couldn't find the words she needed to convince Tyler he was wrong. Did it matter? No, not right now. Not yet. Later it would. Much later. But right now, she had other things to do.

More important things.

Finish packing.

Leave Jason's.

Find somewhere to stay.

Decide if she was going to stay here in Pennsylvania or move back home. Or maybe go somewhere completely new.

But Jenny didn't move. Didn't want to do any of those things. Important? No. None of that was important. What was important was the man holding her, comforting her. Giving her strength and courage and hope.

The man who loved her.

The man who deserved to know that his love was returned.

Jenny shifted in his hold, reached out and pressed her hand against his face. Stubble scratched her palm, the sensation oddly soothing. Real, alive. Tyler. His opinion was the only one that mattered. He was who she needed, who she trusted.

Who she loved.

She brushed her lips against his. Once, twice, her gaze never leaving his. Could he see it in her eyes? Could he feel it in the trembling of her touch and the racing of her heart? Maybe. But it didn't matter—he deserved the words. And she needed to tell him.

"I love you, Tyler."

His eyes flashed, bright with happiness. His mouth curled into a quick smile, slightly lopsided where his lip was split. His mouth claimed hers, so patient and tender. Warm. Comforting and soothing.

Full of promise.

The same promise lit his eyes when he pulled away and helped her to her feet, his strong hand wrapped so tenderly around hers.

"Come on. Let's go home."