A unt Blair picked me up from JFK .

I'd taken a cab there, but when she texted me yesterday to ask if I wanted lunch and I'd told her I was in Philly for a few days, she offered to pick me up and we could get lunch after .

Now, as I sat across from her at one of our favorite bistros a few blocks away from Times Square, I couldn't stop thinking about an interview I'd read online from Whitley McCrane .

She'd given the interview to one of the online sites last night and it had since been read and shared hundreds of thousands of times .

It wasn't because of the 'alleged' affair either .

That was barely even remarked on .

Whitley knew how to spin the media, that was for certain. She'd found somebody to talk to that understood women's issues and the entire focus was on her rape. Much of the story was about how freeing she found it to no longer have to pretend that the entire ordeal hadn't happened, not to have to hide away from it anymore .

"Darling...you're a million miles away again," Aunt Blair said softly .

Shifting my gaze to her, I thought again about what Whitley had said in that article .

Freeing.

What would it be like to be free ? Free of the nerves and the fear and the insistent shame that crept up on me when I was unaware ?

"Honey?" Aunt Blair leaned over and touched cool fingertips to the back of my hand. "Are you okay ?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it. When I opened it again, the words came pouring out like somebody had opened a floodgate .

"Mom's brother Parker raped me. When I was fifteen. He'd been bothering me for months, and I never told anybody because he told me all these lies about how they'd never believe me if I went to them and try to tell..." Everything tumbled out and I couldn't stop it .

Aunt Blair's face was rigid and taut, but her eyes burned hot, then iced over, before burning once more. She listened to every word I said, her hand still resting on mine .

At some point, I turned my palm upward and she laced our fingers .

Still I talked .

"I couldn't stay in Chicago anymore. Mom's family blamed me. It was like it was my fault he'd done something so awful, my fault that he'd gotten caught, my fault that he raped me. They couldn't believe we'd gone to court, were appalled he'd have to go to jail..." My voice hitched, and for a moment, I had to stop and look away .

Aunt Blair just waited, her hand in mine, warm now and steady .

Once I looked back at her, she squeezed my fingers gently. "Keep going," she advised. "You got this far. Don't stop now ."

"They didn't get it," I whispered. "They were angry with us . They blamed us . Mom no longer talks to them. I wasn't there when my grandmother died, I didn't go to her funeral. I didn't want to go. She yelled at me, Aunt Blair. She called me a liar and a whore ..."

My voice broke .

Aunt Blair slid in around the table and settled close to me on the booth, using her body to shield mine from anybody who might be nosy enough to look deep enough into the shadows to see. "She's a horrid old cow, then. It was her fault too. Her fault, and her husband's, for not raising him to be a better man than that. She knows it too. Deep inside. But it's easier for weak people to lash out and blame others." She rocked me a little. "That's why you went to Iowa for college, isn't it? And why you moved here? You had to be away from there. From him...from them ."

"Yes." Covering her forearm with my hand, I leaned against her, uncaring that we were in the middle of a restaurant at the time. Nobody seemed to be paying us any attention anyway. "He did a year in prison, got out for good behavior...good behavior ."

"The judicial system sucks eggs in this country, sweetheart." Easing back, she studied me for a long moment, then gave a slow nod. "You're good. Aren't you ?"

"I'm getting there." Managing a smile, I said, "Hardly anybody knows. Mom and Dad, of course. It barely even hit the papers back home. Mom's family, fighting to protect their boy and all. But...I don't...I can't tell people. I practically hide from the truth myself ."

Brushing my hair back, she asked softly. "So, what changed ?"

Needing some space, I eased away and looked out over the restaurant. My water sat in front of me, mostly untouched, and I reached for it, needing to wet my throat. After a long drink, I put it down, then looked over and met my aunt's eyes. She'd understand. Better than most people, I suspected. I didn't know how I knew that, but she would understand .

"Whitley McCrane ."

Her brows rose over her eyes. "Ahhh...I see. I didn't realize you knew her ."

"I don't. I just..." Hesitating a little, I managed to swallow. My voice was husky enough that I don't think she even thought much of it. "I read about it. People were talking about her, and I saw an article ."

It wasn't that far fetched a story, or even much of a lie, because I had heard people talking about her. I'd just had the information beforehand .

"Whitley said..." Blowing out a slow, careful breath, I closed my eyes and reminded myself that I didn't want to start crying in here. I didn't want to freak out in here. I could do this. "She said she felt free after it was all out there. She said she wished she'd had the courage to come forward on her own, but that whoever had done it...they'd done her a favor." I laughed weakly, but the sound, soft as it was, had a note of disbelief. "She gets raked over the coals and countless online new magazines dragged her name through the mud, and she's happy about it. Because they told the story she didn't have the courage to tell ."

* * *

"C an I ask you something personal?"

As we idled to a stop in front of my building, I gave my aunt a narrow look. "Kind of a weird time to ask me that, isn't it ?"

"Considering that I can lock the doors and keep you inside until you answer?" She wagged her brows at me. Then thumbed the locks so they locked. "Ha, ha. No. Seriously, Michelle. You've...changed over the past few weeks. You're more confident. More focused. Steadier." She inclined her head. "Stronger. I asked you once, and you said no, but I can't help but think I'm missing something ."

My gut clenched .

"Honey, are you seeing somebody?" she asked, reaching over to touch my cheek .

"No." I met her eyes and shook my head, completely honest this time. "I was. But things...didn't work out ."

"Why not ?"

"That's...personal," I said stiffly. "There was an issue. He didn't believe me over something important. He ended it ."

"Maybe you should go after him and make him believe you." Her hands took mine, and she squeezed. "It sounds like he helped you find out who you are...and you found out you're a very strong woman, Michelle. It takes one hell of a man to help a woman discover that about herself. So, fight for him ."

* * *

F ight for him.

A part of me wanted to, but there was no way that was going to happen .

Not when he believed what he believed .

It was one thing to have a misunderstanding, but I wasn't going to fight upstream to make him see that I hadn't done anything wrong .

Tears burned my eyes, and I didn't try to fight them back. Instead, I let them come and wipe them away on occasion. Staring out the window into the overcast New York City afternoon, I wondered what might have happened between us if he'd maybe, just maybe asked instead of accused, if he'd given me a chance instead of just deciding I was some bloodthirsty paparazzi .

New York had its share of them .

I didn't think much of the sort of reporter who'd chase a woman and her children down in search of some story. I didn't think much of photographers who lurked around trying to catch pictures of celebrities at their worst .

Maybe it was a job, but it was a pretty shitty one, and it was one that made other people feel lousy .

That wasn't me .

I'd never taken a single assignment I couldn't feel proud about, and I'd refused more than a few because I hadn't felt right about trying to tackle them .

Maybe if he'd known me ...

"But he didn't." Tipping my head back, I stared up at the sky and blew out a breath. Jake hadn't known me. He'd just decided he knew enough .

Fight for him ?

Fight for...what? Us ?

There wasn't an us .