My mood remains upbeat as I make the drive from my parents’ house to my apartment. I stop just short of singing, “I Am Woman.” I park in my assigned space in the garage before walking to the main door and swiping my keycard through the scanner. I try it at least a dozen times and the light continues to flash red. The temperature has really dropped outside and a light mist of rain is now falling. It’s only been a few moments, but I’m already half-frozen.

I pound on the door, but obviously, no one is close enough to hear it. I’m just turning to go back to my car when an older woman I recognize from my floor approaches with her key and gives me a curious look. I hold up the piece of plastic in my hand. “Mine’s not working. I’m glad you came along.”

We ride the elevator together and part ways in the hall. Our keycards are coded for both the main entrance and our apartment doors. Therefore, it’s not exactly a surprise when the damn thing doesn’t work yet again. “Shit!” I snap, before stalking back into the elevator and getting off on the second floor where the building manager, Shirley, lives. I buzz her doorbell impatiently, just barely keeping my temper in check. My clothes are damp, and my teeth are chattering. I remember the late hour fleetingly but can’t bring myself to care. It’s not my fault their keys are junk.

The door finally opens and Shirley stands there in a pair of floral pajamas with a serious case of bed head. If I weren’t so freaking miserably cold, it would almost be funny. As it is, she gives me an impatient look as she asks, “Surely you could have waited until tomorrow to pick up whatever you’ve forgotten. It’s not like I was going to rent the place out again overnight.”

I stare, trying to decipher her words. “What’re you talking about? My key’s not working, so I need you to fix it,” I say, extending the card to her.

She puts her hands on her hips as she looks from it to me. Finally, she huffs out an impatient sigh and says, “You can’t just come and go as you please after you’ve moved out. If you left something, then give me a call during regular business hours tomorrow and I’ll go up with you to get it.” Before I can reply, she plucks the card from my hand and steps back to close the door.

“Wait!” I throw an arm out to keep from her shutting the door in my face. “I live here. Why would you think I’ve moved out?”

She shakes her head, and then her expression softens as my confusion finally registers with her. “Your father called me several hours ago and wanted to cancel the lease immediately. He paid the fine for the early termination and a crew of movers was here less than an hour later.” She gives me an apologetic look and adds, “The paperwork was in his name, so there was no reason for me to question him. He said you were moving somewhere more affordable since you were er … supporting yourself now.”

“That bastard,” I whisper in a daze. “I can’t believe he did this to me.” I stand there dripping in the hallway, not knowing what to do next. I have nowhere to sleep tonight and nothing but the clothing on my back.

I feel a touch on my arm and jump as Shirley asks, “Do you want to come in and call someone?” At her look of pity, I want to collapse to my knees and give in to the sobs building in my throat. I’m sure I’ll hear from you soon. My father’s parting words now make perfect sense to me. He fully expects that I’ll come crawling home tonight. Apparently, he made quite a few calls when he excused himself from dinner.

I gather what’s left of my pride and give Shirley a wobbly smile. “I’ll be fine.” I turn and walk away, knowing if I stay a moment longer, I’ll break down. I’m determined to hold it together until I get to Lia’s. Thank God I have one friend in the world that will help me make sense out of this evening.

I’m walking through the lobby when it hits me. Lia and Lucian aren’t home. She said earlier that they were taking some time away this week before she was immersed in her new job. “It’s okay. I’ll just get a hotel room for the night. No need to panic,” I say to myself as I trudge through the now heavy rain toward where my car is parked. Only—when I reach the space, nothing is there. Where is my Prius? I look around, thinking maybe I’ve stopped at the wrong space—but I haven’t. No, surely, he wouldn’t have taken my car. I pull my cell phone from my purse to call my father, only to find a text waiting on the screen from him.

Congratulations, Rose. You’re now a fully self-supporting adult. I’ve taken the liberty of removing the things from your life that were a burden. Your apartment lease has been terminated and the clothing and furniture donated to charity. Your car will be sold and your phone service will be switched off within the hour. I’ve also closed our joint checking account and canceled your credit cards. If you would like to reconsider your stance, feel free to contact me.

In a daze, I walk out of the garage and onto the street. It’s nearly deserted at this time of the night. Then, almost in slow motion, my body seems to keep going, while my feet lock in place. A startled cry flies from my mouth as I fall so suddenly that I’m unable to brace myself for the impact. My hands burn and my knees throb. Even my face feels raw as I lay there, taking a silent inventory of my injuries. I slowly pull myself up until I’m on my knees. I rub a hand over my damp face, wincing as pain shoots through my body.

The rain is coming down in sheets now, and I’m shaking as it seems to penetrate my very bones. I see an awning up ahead and get slowly to my feet. I stagger toward the shelter, almost sagging in relief as I’m shielded from the worst of the downpour now.

I have little doubt I resemble a homeless person as I rest my back against the door behind me before sinking to my ass on the cold cement. I drop my head into my hands and start to cry. What am I going to do? I literally have the clothes on my back and the few dollars in my purse. I hate to bother Lia, but maybe either she or Lucian can wire me some money until they return. I don’t know what else to do at this point.

A noise nearby draws my attention and I see a group of guys on the opposite side of the street staring at me. They probably saw my tumble a few moments ago and stayed around to enjoy my humiliation. My breath catches in fear as I take stock of my surroundings. Other than the stray car passing by, there is no one around to help me. I get shakily to my feet, keeping a wary eye on them. He’s going to cut off my phone in less than an hour. Shit. I scroll my contacts list, intending to hit the button for Lia when I see Max’s name a few entries below. My finger hovers uncertainly, just as a clap of thunder shakes the earth. Fuck it; I’d call Satan himself if he’d help me. The call connects just as the guys from across the street begin yelling words I can’t quite decipher.

Suddenly, a raspy male voice sounds in my ear. “Rose?”

My hands are shaking and my teeth are chattering as I manage to whisper, “Max—please.”

“What’s wrong?” he asks, sounding instantly alert and so very Max that I begin to sob again. “Honey, where are you? Are you hurt?”

His voice soothes my hysteria enough for me to croak out, “I’m on the street. I … my father took my car and apartment. And there are some men ... looking at me.” Sniffing, I add, “I’m scared, Max.”

“I’m on my way, sweetheart. Just take a deep breath and release it,” he says slowly. I do as he instructs, focusing on nothing but his words. “Now, what’s the name of the street you’re on?”

My mind draws a blank. I begin to panic again as I admit, “I—God, I can’t remember. It’s near my apartment.” Then in a moment of clarity, it comes to me. “Wait, it’s Pine Street,” I call out. Then I realize there is nothing but silence in my ear. “Hello … Max, are you there? Hello?” I yell out before pulling the phone from my ear and looking at it. Instead of “Lost Call,” the display says, “No Service.” No, dammit, no! True to his word, my father has disconnected my phone, leaving me on a deserted street in the middle of the night with no way to call for help. What kind of man does that to his daughter? At that moment, I fucking hate him with everything that I am. Would it even bother him to hear that something bad had happened to me? No doubt in his mind, it would all be my fault for daring to challenge his plan for my life. He’s never been a doting father, but even I’m shocked that he would do something like this. I wonder almost idly how he would have explained my gun collection to the movers. He probably had one of his personal lackeys take those away.

When I finally look around me again, I’m surprised to see that the guys from across the street are nowhere in sight. Apparently, the weather was too bad for them to stay any longer to taunt me. The sad part is that I feel even more alone with them gone. Will Max be able to find me from what little information I gave him? Did he even hear me say I was near my apartment before my phone line disconnected?

I’m trembling unbearably now, and I’m so tired I can no longer remain upright. I lower myself back to my butt and slump against the storefront once again. I’m hurting so much by this point that the numbing effect of the cold concrete is like a balm for my aches and pains. “Max,” I whisper just as my body slips away.

---

I’m freaking the fuck out as I frantically yell Rose’s name into my phone. Shit, she said something about her apartment before the phone went dead. I’d pulled on jeans while I was talking to her; now, I quickly push my bare feet into a pair of athletic shoes and throw on a T-shirt. I’m out the door and breaking every speed limit known to man as I push my Mercedes hard toward downtown Asheville. Something’s horribly wrong. My playful, self-assured Rose was completely absent in that call. I recognized her voice almost immediately because, God knows, it’s played in my dreams night after night. But there was nothing but fear present tonight. She was crying, and what the fuck was that about her father taking her car and apartment?

It’s a long fifteen minutes before I park in front of her building and jump out. I run to the nearest intersection and have no idea which way to go. I take a left and jog the length of the street, seeing nothing. Reversing directions, I pass my starting point and keep going. At first, I almost miss the form slumped against the glass door of a store. I back up a few steps and see her red hair in the dim surrounding light. “Rose!”

I drop to my haunches, automatically checking her pulse. Thankfully, it’s strong and steady. I then inspect her for any sign of injury. Her arms are wrapped tightly around her knees, and fuck me, there’s blood there. Her dark slacks look shredded as if she’s taken a fall recently. Her hair is wet and stuck to the side of her neck. Her head is down so she’s yet to spot me. I don’t want to startle her, so I gently lay a hand on her shoulder, saying her name softly. “Rose … baby, it’s Max.”

I begin to worry when there’s no response. I open my mouth to say her name again, when she jerks awake, literally throwing herself at me in what I can only assume is an attempt to flee. “Ahhh,” she screams, trying to push me away. “Let me go!” I move back a few inches, giving her space until she recognizes me.

“Honey, it’s me—Max. Calm down, I’ve got you, Rose. Shhh, look at me.” She stills and instead of drawing away, she now clutches my arms, pulling me near.

“Max? You came? You found me,” she chokes out on a sob. Heedless of my clothing, I drop down onto the wet surface in front of her and pull her small form into my arms. I rock her against me as shudders wrack her body. What the fuck has happened to her?

“Shhh, baby, I’m here,” I coo, trying to calm her. She feels like a block of ice, and I know I need to get her into my car and turn the heat up full blast. “Honey, I’m going to stand now. Just wrap your arms around my neck and hold on, okay?” She nods against my throat before doing as I’ve instructed. Her grip is surprisingly strong, coming damn close to a stranglehold. It’s not easy, but I manage to rise to my feet while holding her steady. I check to make sure we’re leaving nothing behind before walking slowly to where I left my car.

“Thank you for coming,” she murmurs in my ear as she burrows closer. “I didn’t have anyone else to call.” Her last statement sends a wave of guilt through me. She’s been sitting on a deserted street in the middle of the night, freezing to death, and she’s apologizing for bothering me. Have I been such an asshole to this woman that she thinks for one moment I wouldn’t be here for her anytime she needs me?

“Rose,” I say, before pulling away enough to drop a kiss on her head, “let’s get you home.”

I balance her weight carefully before opening the passenger door and lowering her onto the leather seat. I wish I’d thought to bring a blanket with me, but luckily, the car is still warm. I gently buckle the belt around her and as I pull back, I notice the dried blood and the scratches on her face for the first time. I want to lose it, but know now isn’t the time for questions. She needs heat and dry clothing. Everything else can wait.

When I get into the car, I turn the heat on high before driving home at a much slower speed than my journey here. I keep stealing quick glances at the woman beside me. She appears to be asleep, but I still see her shiver every few minutes. What in the hell happened to her tonight? She shifts slightly, bringing her face more fully into view. There is dried blood at the corner of her mouth and one of her cheeks is scratched. She mentioned some men looking at her before our call had disconnected. Did one of them do that? My hands grip the wheel tighter at the thought. Rage fills me as I imagine some bastard putting his hands on her. I’ve never been a violent man, but maybe I’ve never had a reason to be before. Tonight, though, I know without a shadow of a doubt, that I’d rip anyone apart anyone who tried to hurt her.

She looks confused for a moment when we arrive at my house, and I gently shake her awake. I help her from the car and place a hand around her waist to steady her as we walk slowly to the front door. We both blink when we enter the brightly lit foyer, adjusting to the glare after the dark interior of the car. I suck in a breath as I really look at her for the first time. “Christ!” I hiss. Clamping my jaw shut to keep from saying more, I lead her down the hallway and through my bedroom to the bathroom beyond. I pause before deciding that she’s in no condition to worry about modesty; not that she ever has with me in the past anyway.

Rose keeps her head down as I tug the top she’s wearing over her head and try not to feel like a complete pervert at my body’s reaction to her lacy, black bra. Down boy, now’s not the time. The problem is my cock has never been particularly good at listening to me in situations that involve a scantily clad female. Her eyes follow my hands, and I pray she doesn’t notice the slight tremble in them as I move next to her feet. She places a hand on my shoulder without being asked and lifts a leg while I remove one shoe and then we repeat the process until the other is off.

Then I attempt to carefully blank my mind as I reach for the button on her slacks and fumble to release it. When I lower the zipper next, it sounds so loud in the enclosed space I find myself flinching. “Holy shit,” I blurt out as she kicks her pants away from her ankles and stands before me in the matching black lace panties. I feel hot and cold all at once. Hell, I’m afraid for a moment I might actually pass out. I’m like a horny boy faced with his first nearly naked female body. Then I see her raw, bleeding knees and I feel like five kinds of bastard. I clear my throat, trying to keep my voice level as I ask, “Do you … um, want me to finish doing you?” Her eyes widen as she stares down at me. I wince as I realize my question may have been misconstrued. I begin to stutter out, “I—shit, not like sexually. I mean, not that I was thinking that, because that would make me an asshole. I’m talking about removing your clothes—getting you naked.” I slump forward, shutting my mouth before I can cram yet another foot into it.

“I know what you were trying to say, Max,” she says lightly. Then I feel something—hands in the damp strands of my hair, stroking me. I allow my head to rest against her stomach as she continues to soothe me. I wrap my arms loosely around her hips and run a hand up and down her thigh, caressing her smooth skin. I’m not certain how long we remain in that position, both giving and receiving comfort before it hits me. She must still be freezing. I abruptly jerk back, breaking the contact between us.

Getting to my feet, I say, “I’m sorry, honey, let’s get you in the shower.” I pull the door open and turn the dials. Within seconds, steam fills the bathroom. Going into my detached lawyer mode, I ask, “Do you need anything else?” She stares at me as if she wants to say something, but simply shakes her head. I pull a washcloth and towel from the cabinet and lay them near the sink before walking out and closing the door behind me. She is in the process of lowering her panties when I open the door to add, “I’ll be right out here.” Holy. Shit. There’s a tattoo of a rose with a stem of thorns on her shoulder. I can barely keep myself from reaching out to trace the outline with my fingertips—or better yet, my tongue. My heart is thumping loudly as I close the door and lean against the wall outside. And that ass. What I wouldn’t give to squeeze it in my hands. You’re a sick bastard, Decker. She’s been through a trauma, and you’re ogling her. Once again, my dick doesn’t give a damn that he’s being a bad boy. He knows what he likes, and right now, she’s standing in my shower with soap most likely running over her firm tits and between the crevice of ... Fuck! Think of something else—like anything that doesn’t have to do with sex or vaginas.

I’ve almost talked some sense into the monster in my pants when Rose steps out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her body—leaving a long expanse of thigh and the curve of her breasts visible above and below the terry cloth. No, no, no! In reality, I know that she asks, “Do you have any Band-Aids?” In my mind, it’s more like, “Do you have any condoms?”

“I—er, pardon?” I manage to get out, trying to keep my eyes focused above her head.

I hear the confusion as she repeats her request. “Band-Aids?”

“Oh yeah, sorry,” I mumble as I jump to action. “I’ll just get me some—I mean you, not me. I’m obviously not getting any—because I don’t need it, right?” Dear God, just shut the fuck up. Dude, you’ve seen a naked woman before. What’s the problem? You’re making an ass of yourself. She’s going to call a taxi and run as far away as she can from you.

I walk toward the closet in the hallway where I keep my first-aid kit. She follows behind me, making my skin tingle. “Is everything all right?” she asks hesitantly.

Giving her an embarrassed laugh, I grab the plastic kit in one hand and clasp her fingers in the other, leading her to my kitchen. I pull out a chair from the table and she sinks down onto it. Too late, I realize I should have gotten her a T-shirt or something else to wear. You’ve got this. Just imagine she’s someone else. Maybe Lia. No, that’s not gonna work. You don’t need to picture your friend’s wife in only a towel. That’s all kinds of wrong.

I grab another chair and sit in front of her. I take an antiseptic wipe from the case and begin carefully going over her scrapes with it. Her hands and knees by far got the worst of it, and she hisses as I touch them. I find myself blowing on the injured flesh, trying to ease the burn. I’m sweating profusely by the time I’m finished, and it has nothing to do with the temperature in the house. Since the first time she touched me, every time Rose Madden was near, I’ve gone up in flames—and today is no exception. I want her so badly my teeth ache. Something about her soft, fragile look now has me in disarray. Vulnerable is not a word I would ever have used to describe her, but that’s exactly what she is tonight. As much as this new side of her entrances me, I can’t help but miss the devilish twinkle in her green eyes and the sassy pickup lines she uses so effortlessly. I find myself determined to do whatever it takes to get those things back. She’s not the kind of woman who was meant to look so defeated. The way I feel right now, I’ll fight whatever battle or war needs to be fought to save her. “What happened?” I ask softly as I begin bandaging one of her knees.”

She’s silent for so long I don’t think she’s going to answer me when she finally says, “I’m going to work with Lia.”

I nod my head. “Yeah, she told me that. Sounds like an amazing opportunity for both of you.”

“It is,” Rose agrees, but her voice is flat and lifeless. “I told my parents about it earlier this evening when my father demanded I move back home now that I’m finished with school.”

“And how did that go?” I prompt when she doesn’t continue.

Glancing up, I see her pull a shaky hand through her hair before a bitter laugh escapes her. She looks down the length of her body and then back at me before raising a brow and saying, “Not too well, I’d say. At first, we argued, and then my father abruptly backed down. That should have been my first clue that something was wrong. But foolish me thought that he actually respected me for being independent and was proud. That warm, fuzzy feeling lasted until I got to my apartment and the manager told me that my father had terminated my lease since it was in his name. He’d literally moved me out in an hour. Then I left the building only to find that my car was no longer where I parked it. I couldn’t fathom that it had been taken so I circled the area, thinking I’d forgotten what space it was in.”

By this point, I’ve given up all pretense of doing anything other than staring at her in horror. Surely, there must be some mistake. What kind of man would do that to his daughter? “Honey, have you spoken with him? Maybe—”

She holds up her hand, stopping my flow of words. “He sent me a text while I was looking for my car and told me that he’d done it all. Said since I was now self-supporting that he’d taken the liberty of removing all of the things from my life that were a burden. He also mentioned that my cell phone would be shut off within the hour and my checking account had been closed. So essentially, he took everything from me in just an evening. The sad thing about it is that I sat under his roof and played fucking bridge with my mother and her friends while he was pulling the strings that would make his daughter homeless.” She stops, closes her eyes briefly, and then inhales a deep breath. It’s as if the utter cruelty of her father’s actions are truly hitting her. She shakes a little and I so desperately want to hold her. Before I can, she continues. “He kissed me on the head like he was proud of me, all the while he was sticking a knife in my back and laughing his ass off.”

“Oh baby,” I choke out, “I’m so sorry that he did something like that to you.” I hear my words and know they’re completely inadequate. Hell, I’m in too much shock to formulate flowery speeches at this point. I point at her knee and ask, “How did this happen?”

In a small voice, sounding so very much like a child, she says, “I didn’t know where to go. I was going to call Lia but remembered she is out of town with Lucian. I was wet and cold, so I just started walking. The rain was really coming down, and I saw a store with an awning, so I ran for it. I wasn’t looking where I was going, though, and tripped on the sidewalk. I went down pretty hard.”

I swallow around the huge lump in my throat and quickly finish patching her up. I see a shiver go through her small frame and extend a hand to her. “Let’s go find you something to wear and get you into bed. Um—the spare bed,” I add quickly, wondering why I can’t keep my foot out of my mouth tonight. Her unexpected presence has me so rattled I’m making a fool out of myself.

She takes my hand and stands beside me before giving me a look filled with sadness. “Trust me, I know you don’t want me anywhere near YOUR bed. You’ve made that more than clear in the past.”

Congratulations, Max, you’re an asshole. Even though I hadn’t meant my words the way she’d taken them, I still feel like shit. I’d simply been attempting to reassure her that she was safe with me. I hadn’t wanted her to think she had to sleep with me. In my rush to tell her exactly that, I’d made a mess once again and only ended up hurting her. “Rose, that’s wasn’t what I meant—”

“It’s fine—really. I appreciate all that you’ve done, believe me. So if you could show me where to sleep, that would be great. I’m exhausted.” She yawns as if to prove her point, although she’s careful not to make eye contact.

One thing is becoming clear to me during tonight: She’s more upset about what happened—or didn’t happen—between us than I’d realized. Other than a few glimpses I’d convinced myself I didn’t actually see, she’s been very blasé about our encounters. At times, I’ve thought she might care for me, but I’ve never been able to get a true lock on where she was in her head. She used our sexual attraction as both a distraction and a way to keep an emotional distance between us. And I’d been more than happy to let her because I was no more ready to commit to a real relationship than she was—or so I’d thought. But where had the hurt in her eyes come from? This is exactly why you didn’t want to get involved. I’d been devastated by love before and damned if I ever wanted to repeat it. Rose had complicated written all over her, and it fucking scared me to death. She also drew me in like a moth to a flame and that was even more terrifying. I didn’t want to be with her—but I couldn’t stay away. Where did that leave us? Eventually, you either made a decision or life made it for you as it had tonight. She shakes my hand, and I realize I’ve been standing here in the spare bedroom staring off into space. Real smooth, Decker. “Um … I was going to—?” My last word comes out as a question because I have no idea if I missed something.

“Get me a shirt?” she says slowly, no doubt thinking I’ve lost it.

While I zone out, she’s still in a wet towel after being up all night. Perfect. “Sorry,” I mumble before jogging back to my room and pulling a Carolina Panthers T-shirt from one of my drawers. I give it a quick sniff before taking it back to her. I have no idea why guys always check to make sure their laundry doesn’t smell. Probably a leftover habit from my college days when I’d wear clothes several times before taking the time to launder them. The smell test was a necessity back then. “Here you go,” I say as I hold it out to her. She mumbles her thanks, and then shifts awkwardly. “I’ll, um, just be down the hall. You should have everything that you need in the bathroom. If you don’t, just let me know.”

“All right.” She gives a brief smile. “Thanks.”

And with that, I’m out of reasons to stay. If things were different, or maybe if we’d had some type of closure to our flirtation, we possibly wouldn’t both appear so uncomfortable right now. After the evening she’s had, I wish I were free to sleep with her and offer her the comfort she must surely need. Instead, we’re acting as if we’re little more than strangers. She’s had her hand on my cock and I’ve had my fingers inside her, with my tongue down her throat. But you’d never know it now. If one of us made the first move, then the other might relax enough to reciprocate. It’s clear, though, from her earlier comment that she won’t be doing that. She feels rejected by me. She called me to help her, but it’s like she still thinks she is a burden. Her eyes, when she told what her father had done, were so defeated. Hurt. Pained. Does she really fear I’d hurt her? That I’d turn her away?

Before I can do something that I might regret, she takes the decision from my hands and walks toward the bathroom, shutting the door softly behind her. I sigh, before leaving to make sure the house is locked up. I’m grateful tomorrow is Saturday and I have nowhere to be. I generally work from my home office for a few hours, but I am free to sleep late. I hope that Rose is able to relax enough to as well.

Surprisingly, I’m out soon after my head touches the pillow. Visions of the broken woman next door to me haunt my dreams, as does the realization that tonight is the start of something that neither of us may be prepared for. We've danced around each other for nearly a year. I've been attracted and drawn to her natural charisma and sassy attitude from the beginning but have been determined not to get involved. Seeing her so despondent tonight hasn't changed my opinion of her. She's still incredible. Is tonight the start of something for us? Should I be running and screaming, "Danger, Will Robinson?" I'm not sure I'm ready to trust a woman with my heart again. Perhaps after dealing with her father, she can't trust hers either. A perfect storm can’t be stopped, though. You can only hold on and try to ride it out—hoping you’ll survive the aftermath.

---

I feel it building. I panic as I try to control my breathing. No! Don’t let me have an attack in Max’s house. What if he hears me? But as usual, the man upstairs is busy and I’m on my own. I push up from the bed and stagger into the bathroom. I begin opening drawers, trying to find a bag of some sort, but there is nothing. My breathing is becoming more rapid, and I’m seeing spots by the time I make it to the kitchen. In some part of my mind, I’m grateful Max left a light on.

There is no time to be picky. I upend some bread and use the plastic wrap to breathe into. I sway on my feet, afraid I’ve left it too late this time, but the dizziness finally begins to abate and the dots before my eyes are slowly clearing. Thank God. I lean against the counter for another few minutes until I’m feeling more under control.

That’s when I see it—a knife sitting in the sink.

It’s not that I’m scared. No, it’s exactly the opposite. The hand still holding the bag shakes as I focus intently upon the sharp, stainless steel blade. I need it—so fucking badly. More than I ever have before.

Suddenly, it’s in my hand. I have no conscious thought of moving, but I must have. The one thing that has chased the worst of the shadows from my life. The sharp relief that it brings will push the bad thoughts away—at least for now. Lia told me several months ago about Lucian’s battle with cocaine and how proud she was that he had gotten help for his addiction. She’s also mentioned he hadn’t wanted Lia to know because he’d felt ashamed that she was dealing with all that had happened in her life without a crutch while he was not. And that was almost exactly the same reason I’d never told her about my cutting. It made me feel weak and embarrassed, and it was so far from the image I’ve worked hard to present to the world. Rose Madden was a strong, kick-ass woman, not a scared girl who resorted to self-harming to cope.

I am falling apart, though, and fear I will have a complete breakdown unless I can divert my attention. I’d once read that your body can only process one pain source at a time, and over the years, I’ve found that to be true. If I’m suffering from emotional pain, then I can mask it by cutting. A thin line between my thighs can provide as much relief as Vicodin. Sure, the pain from the incision hurts, but it’s a different type of discomfort. Strangely enough, I equate it to a good spring cleaning. It clears the cobwebs and allows me to enjoy the space within and around me once again. Am I rationalizing? Almost certainly, but it works. The network of silvery scars left behind is just collateral damage.

That first nick of the razor had been an accident. My father’s criticism had taken its toll, and it had happened while rushing through my shower before dinner. His cruel words about tardiness last night hit me again. Does he really despise me this much? Watching that thin line of blood trickle down my thigh had … settled me. Soothed. By the time I was getting dressed, I’d completely forgotten about my earlier upset. From something so seemingly innocent had been born a dark secret that I had managed to keep from everyone in my life except Jake.

Clutching the knife at my side, I creep silently back down the hallway, careful not to wake Max. I don’t know what I would do if he stopped me now. I’m already anticipating the feeling of solace as the blade slices into my flesh. I’ve committed and justified it. I never change my mind when that happens.

I shut the bedroom door and then walk straight into the bathroom. As a precaution, I tug Max’s shirt over my head, not wanting to accidentally ruin it. I’ve learned that bloodstains are almost impossible to remove. I unroll a length of tissue paper next and then find a spot on the cold, ceramic tile where I can easily spread my legs. It’s not lost on me that I approach this routine almost clinically. It’s so engrained in me that it’s as if I’m on the outside observing someone else.

The knife feels unfamiliar in my hand as I tighten my grip on the handle. I normally use a razor or sometimes a needle. I probe my skin, looking for a location that isn’t riddled with scars. Finally, I find a relatively smooth area near the crease of my leg. The skin is thin and more sensitive there but also tends to bleed more. Perfect. It’s harder to gauge the depth in a fleshy area. I lower the tip of the blade, making a small incision. A thin line of crimson wells up, and I watch it idly, waiting to see if it will trickle down my leg.

After what seems like forever, a small amount of blood breaks free from the cut, making a tiny downward track. I frown. There should be more blood. I need more blood. I barely feel the sting from the nick. There isn’t enough pain to quiet my racing thoughts. The blade must have been duller than I thought.

So I move it a few inches over and go deeper this time. “Shit,” I hiss as it slices through my skin like butter. There is no waiting for the results this time. I see blood before I can even remove the knife. I can only stare, riveted by the vivid red against my pale skin. Then fear hits as I realize that I’ve cut deeper than ever before. Fuck!

The blade clatters to the floor as I grab Max’s shirt from the floor and attempt to stop the bleeding. “No, no!” I repeatedly chant as panic seizes me. I’m dizzy, but I can’t get up to look for my bag from earlier. “Max,” I croak out, barely aware that I’m calling for him. “Max, help me!” I sob one more time, not thinking there is any way he can hear me. But then the sound of the bedroom door slamming open reaches me and there he is.

“Rose! Fuck, what happened?” He drops to his knees and begins running his hands over me, beginning at my neck. I have no idea why he’s looking for an injury there since I’m holding a shirt to my leg.

“I cut myself,” I wince as my injury throbs. There is nothing but the sounds of our rough breathing in the room. Then he seems to freeze. I look up and see the exact moment he spots the knife I’d tossed to the floor.

“Why?” he murmurs quietly almost as if he’s talking to himself. I’m so tired that I’m having a hard time keeping pressure on the cut. I’m crashing the way I sometimes do after the high of cutting begins to ebb. My hand slips, pulling the T-shirt away. So much blood. Which seems to jerk him into action. He opens the cabinet behind him and grabs another towel, holding it firmly against me. In a strained voice, he asks, “Did you do this to yourself?” Before I can answer, his attention is drawn to the myriad of scars running up and down my thighs. He swallows visibly. “Oh baby, what’ve you been doing to yourself?”

Silent tears of shame roll down my face, dripping onto my chest. This is it. The time has come. Someone else knows my secret. Confident, carefree Rose is a fraud. Her mommy and daddy pick on her and she’s too weak to handle it. I attempt to cover the evidence with my hands, not wanting him to see any more than he already has. “Don’t look,” I say huskily. “Please, Max, I’m so ugly.”

He raises his other hand and runs it soothingly down my face until he’s cupping my wet cheek. “Shhh, you don’t need to hide from me. I see nothing but a beautiful woman who is hurting. Let me help you. We’ll go to the hospital for stitches and then—”

“No!” I say in near hysteria. “I can’t go there. They’ll see—”

He seems to understand what I’m trying to say, even though my words are garbled. “Honey, the cut looks pretty deep. It needs to be stitched up.” I shake my head frantically, and he stares at me seeming lost in thought. Finally, he takes one of my hands and puts it on the towel. “Keep pressing tight while I get my phone. I have a friend who should be able to help us out.” He is back almost immediately. He hands me another T-shirt, and that’s when I realize I’m completely naked. Without saying anything, he drops his hand to hold the towel in place, while I pull the shirt over my head. Of course, he doesn’t want to see me naked. Could his rejection be any louder? Especially now that he knows the truth about me. Rose, the fraud. When I’m finished, he pushes a few buttons on his phone. “Matt, there is a guest at my house with a cut that needs stitching.” He nods once, and then says, “Thanks, man. I owe you.” He ends the call and tosses his phone down onto the floor. “He’ll be here soon.”

“But who was that and why would they come at well after midnight without any real explanation from you?”

He looks down at his hands and appears to be carefully choosing his words. “I’ve known Matt for about ten years. He’s a good friend and just happens to be a surgeon.”

“And he agreed to help me, just like that?” I ask incredulously.

Looking solemn, he says, “I’m not the type of man who asks for many favors, Rose, so Matt knows this must be important.”

I glance around me, seeing the knife still sitting on the floor. “Um, do you think we could move to another room before he gets here?”

He surprises me by leaning forward to drop a kiss on my forehead. “Of course. Hold tight to the towel,” he instructs as he gets to his knees before sliding his arms under my knees. I don’t even think to protest. Instead, I wrap my free arm around his neck and hang on as he swings me easily into his arms and gets to his feet. “We’ll go to the kitchen. The light is probably best there. Do you—need some underwear?”

Is it my imagination or is his neck slightly red? It’s hard to believe that anything would embarrass the tough lawyer. I’m happy for the distraction, though, as my leg continues to throb. “Do you have a supply of women’s panties?” I ask, trying to sound playful, even though I’m strangely jealous at the thought.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “No. Sorry, honey. I was thinking more along the lines of a pair of my boxer briefs. They’ll be too big, but it’ll give you some … covering for now.”

Then it hits me. My bare ass is resting on his arm. Holy shit. I’m freaking out over that when he caught me cutting my leg? Unreal. My face is hot as I mumble, “Oh, um, that would be great.”

He lowers me gently onto a chair, then leaves to find some underwear. He comes back, handing me a pair of blue boxers that are silky soft to the touch. “Wow, these feel better than mine.” My gaze automatically drops to his crotch area as I imagine him wearing them. I have no idea how it’s even possible for me to have such thoughts after everything that has transpired in the last eight hours, but something about Max makes me forget about how screwed up I am. Maybe that’s why I’ve always been drawn to him. My father uses his strength to intimidate and control, but instinctively, I know Max is different. He’s every bit as strong and determined, but he would bring out the best in the woman by his side, not attempt to crush everything that she is. Have I inherited my weakness from my mother? Or has my father crushed me too?

Max turns his back while I gingerly put my feet in the boxers before standing awkwardly to pull them up. They are big but comfortable. I fold the fabric back to expose my wound before sitting back down. We both jerk when the doorbell rings. “That’ll be Matt,” Max says before going to escort his friend in. I find myself cringing when Max returns with a man who could pass for Brad Pitt. I attempt to smooth my hair down self-consciously before I realize it will hardly matter. He’s going to see the mess I’ve made of my legs. I doubt seriously he’ll give a damn if I’m disheveled. He’ll probably think it goes with the disaster that I am inside. Max comes to stand behind me, putting a supporting hand on my shoulder. “Rose, this is Matt Foster.” We shake hands briefly as Matt stares at me with eyes that seem to see into my very soul. Something about him says he’s seen too much. Energy literally flows off him in waves, but there is also world-weariness in his expression that makes him just as human as the rest of us.

He pulls a pair of glasses from his jacket pocket, and I can’t stop the grin that briefly curves my lips. He gives me a wry smile in return. “One of the many downsides of getting old,” he says lightly. I would estimate he is no more than forty, but he could easily pass for someone younger. Like Max, the hint of muscle flexing as he moves says that he takes care of his body. I wonder idly if there is a Mrs. Foster and think that if so, she’s a lucky woman. He goes to the sink and washes his hands before coming back to where I’m sitting. “Now, let’s see the cut that Max spoke of.”

Dear God, I don’t want to show this stunning man what I’ve done. My knees clamp together, and Max, as if feeling the tension in my body, steps closer and takes over. His hand grips mine and moves it away from my injury. After Matt moves another chair in front of me, he pulls a pair of gloves from the black bag he brought and puts them on. In a clinically detached way that makes me absurdly grateful, he eases my legs apart to get a better look. The cut is still seeping blood as he probes it with his fingers. I see the moment he takes stock of the plethora of silvery scars below it. A glance so quick that I wonder if I’ve imagined it passes between the two men before Max clears his throat and asks, “What do you need me to do?”

Matt gets back to his feet and throws his gloves in the trash can. He rummages through his bag, bringing a vial and a syringe out first then something that looks like a staple gun, as well as a couple of sealed packets. He puts on another pair of gloves before quickly cleaning the cut and the surrounding area. The sting of pain is strangely welcome, yet it’s odd to be experiencing that minor rush with an audience. I swallow audibly as he approaches me again with the now-filled syringe. “I’m not going to lie, Rose, this will hurt. But the area will numb quickly and should stay that way for several hours.”

I squeeze Max’s hand tightly and nod for him to go ahead. When the needle makes contact with my skin, I hiss. Why is it that I can cut my own skin and only feel relief, but when someone else dares to do something similar, there is only pain? Possibly because I’m not the one in control of what’s happening to my body? Is it as simple as the need to be in charge? “Ouch,” I whimper, as the sharp point seems to go straight through to the bone.

“Just breathe, baby,” Max instructs, and that’s what I do. Listening to his calm voice, I disconnect from what Matt is doing and focus on the man at my side. I feel pressure on my leg as Matt holds the wound together and the staple gun hovers above it. “Look at me,” Max says, and I turn to face him once again. I’m so distracted by the warm tenderness in his eyes that I am almost surprised when I hear the click as Matt begins. True to his word, the shot has done as he promised and the staples don’t really hurt.

In a surprisingly short amount of time, I hear Matt say, “There. All done.” He’s even covered the area with a bandage at some point. I thank him before Max follows him out of the room.

When they’re gone, I stare down at the white gauze now covering a section of my thigh. I’m so sleepy that I can barely remain upright. The secret I’ve kept for all of these years is out. I feel so exposed. Physically, I am covered, yet emotionally, I’m exposed. Two people now know that Rose Madden is a cutter. Maybe tomorrow I’ll find enough energy to care, but for now, I want nothing more than the sweet oblivion that sleep can bring. While most people might be afraid of the monsters lurking in the dark, the things that haunt me rarely wait until nighttime.

---

“Who is she?” Matt asks me tiredly as we step out the front door. Matt is a good friend, but I knew there was no way he would leave without wanting to know more.

“It’s complicated,” I reply, thinking that about sums it up exactly.

Matt shakes his head. “Don’t give me that line, man. This woman is hurting herself. You know that, right? Some of those scars on her are years old. This isn’t something she just started experimenting with.”

“I know,” I admit. “I mean I didn’t know until tonight, but I saw the same thing you did. I’d just—shit, I’d never have imagined her doing something like that. She has always seemed so happy and carefree. A little nuts sometimes,” I laugh, “but still it shocks the fuck out of me.”

Matt puts a hand on my arm and gives me a level stare. “She’s in crisis, Max. She needs help. Are you in a relationship with her?”

“No,” I say as I try not to panic at his words. “Until tonight, I hadn’t seen her in a while. She’s best friends with Luc’s wife.” Lucian and Matt aren’t friends, but they do know each other socially. “We’ve danced around something more than a few times, but it hasn’t gone further than that, and I have no intention of allowing anything to happen in the future.”

In the glow of the porch light, I see the concern on Matt’s face. “You need to be very careful with her. I’ll email you some information later on physicians I know who deal with this type of thing. She was just inches away from hitting a major artery tonight, and she may have bled out before you could have stopped it.”

My gut clenches as I voice my biggest fear. “Has she been attempting to kill herself?”

“No, generally it’s just a very bad way of dealing with stress, emotional pain, or even trauma.” Before I can feel relief, he adds, “But it can escalate over time, and it’s possible that she could kill herself by accident.”

“Fuck,” I whisper, shaken to the core. “I can’t believe this. I have no idea what to do, other than to watch her every minute of the day. Somehow, I don’t think she’ll allow that, though.”

“Probably not,” Matt agrees. “Understand that it’s an attempt to be in control of something and while that may happen while she’s doing it, afterward, it generally brings feelings of shame. So not only is she dealing with whatever caused her to start cutting in the first place, but she’s also more than likely deeply embarrassed by what she’s doing. I would be surprised if anyone else in her life knows about it. If they don’t, this could go two ways. She may be relieved that someone has finally found out … or she may be afraid of what you’ll think of her now that you know. So be as supportive as you can and try to encourage her to speak with a professional or someone in her life who she trusts.”

“Thanks, Matt,” I say as I give him a one-armed hug. “I appreciate you coming over.”

“I’m here for you,” he says sincerely, “and I’m here for Rose. Call me at any time if you have concerns.” I walk back into the house and close the door behind me. This whole evening seems like some kind of dream to me. Was it mere hours ago that I received the call from Rose? Everything since has been a blur.

Instead of returning right away to Rose, I make a quick detour to clean the mess from the guest bathroom so that she won’t be faced with it when she does go back into her room. I’ve just set the trash bag in the laundry room when I look up to see Rose standing uncertainly in the hallway. “Are you okay?” she asks, and I fight the urge to laugh, even though it’s not funny. Shouldn’t I be the one checking on her?

I give her a wry smile and walk to where she is standing. “I’m fine, sweetheart. What do you say we call it a night—or a morning? I don’t know about you, but I’m beat.”

She drops her head, refusing to make eye contact as she says, “Yeah, I’m tired.” I automatically place a hand on her lower back and lead her back toward the guest room. She stands in the doorway looking very young and uncertain. “So—um, I guess I’ll see you in a bit.”

I pull her into a brief hug because she looks as if she needs it as much as I do. “I’m just down the hallway. If you need anything, let me know. I’ll leave my door open.” She pulls away and I try not to feel like I abandoning her as I continue to my own bed. As exhausted as I am, though, I have to wonder if I’ll be able to sleep knowing that Rose is lying next door, possibly even more broken than I am.