CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I rub the back of my neck, feeling slightly claustrophobic in the cab of my own damn truck. Both of us still pretending our argument and the conversation afterward the other night never happened.
It’s my day off and as a peace offering, I asked Bree if she wanted to go fishing with me. Her enthusiastic yes gave me hope we’d moved past the awkward spot in our friendship. But she hasn’t spoken more than a few words on the hour-long drive.
I pull into the small convenience/tackle store near the reservoir and shut off the truck.
“Stay put. I’m going to grab some worms.”
The tension in the truck melts as Bree scrunches up her face into the same yuck expression she made as a kid. “You still haven’t made your peace with live bait?” I tease.
“It’s gross. Can’t we use lures?” she asks.
“Yeah, if the bait doesn’t work.”
As I stride over the asphalt, a truck door slams behind me. I glance back and find Bree hurrying to catch up with me.
“You don’t have to come in.”
“I want to use the bathroom. Unlike you, I don’t like to pee in the woods.”
“One time, Bree. Once.” I hold out my hand and relief spreads through me when her soft fingers curl around mine.
The small shop has minnows and worms. Bree doesn’t care for either, but I buy some of both anyway. I want her to have fun today. Best way to do it will be keeping her fishing line in the water.
“What’s the bucket for?” Bree asks as she joins me at the register.
“Minnows need something.”
“Poor fish.”
I nudge her with my elbow. “Go grab some waters and whatever snacks you want.”
She ambles over to the candy display and goes right for the chocolate. At least some things haven’t changed. “Do you still like peanut M&M’s?” she asks, waving the yellow packet at me.
“Sure.”
At the last minute, I remember she needs a fishing license. We take care of that at a different counter.
Finally, we return to the truck.
“I haven’t been here in years,” she comments as I drive us through the park’s front gate.
I take one dirt road after another until I find the right spot and park.
“The water’s low,” she shouts from the other side of the truck.
“We’re in a drought.”
“Think we’ll catch anything?” she asks, coming around to my side.
“Hope so. Or we’re not eating tonight.”
“That doesn’t sound very encouraging.”
She helps me carry our gear, and we hike down to a spot not a lot of people know about.
“You didn’t warn me we’d be hiking,” she grumbles as we trudge through the woods. I peer over my shoulder and slow my pace so she can catch up.
“Your brother and I found this spot last year. Caught a lot of trout, and no one bothered us all day.”
When we finally find the spot, I mutter a curse at all the discarded fishing line, beer cans, and other garbage littering the shore. So much for it being a spot no one knows about. Bree pulls an extra plastic bag out her pocket and helps me pick up the area. Once it’s tidier, I rig the poles up.
I can’t seem to stop watching Bree. Her long periods of silence bother me. I’m not sure if she’s still angry with me or it’s a sign of something else.
The words I want to say to her ping-pong in my head before I line them up the way I want. “How’s therapy going?”
Without turning around, she answers, “Okay.”
Well that’s not very informative. Should I probe for more information, or leave her alone?
I choose to probe. “Do you like the person you’re seeing?”
Finally she turns around. Her lips push into a curious pout. “Why do you want to know so bad?”
Every answer I come up with is bound to insult her. I want to be sure she’s comfortable with the person so she keeps going. “Just making sure you’re okay.”
Her lips curve up. “Oh. I thought you wanted to report back to Vince or something.”
To be honest, she has a point. Vince will bug me for an update soon. Even though I know Bree’s spoken to her brother a bunch of times, Vince counts on me to give him the “real deal,” as he so tactfully puts it.
“No. You can talk to him about that yourself.”
“I haven’t talked to him in a few days.”
I hide my surprise by casting my line out again. My mouth quirks when the bait lands exactly where I’d been aiming.
“Still got it,” Bree says. The crunch of gravel makes me turn my head. She drops down onto a rock next to me.
“You watching your rod tip?”
She points to her pole, which is nestled in some rocks. “You’ve been asking me that for close to fifteen years.”
“Nah. We haven’t even been here an hour.”
She doesn’t laugh at my lame joke. Instead, she picks up a rock and drags it through the dirt in intricate patterns. “You’re going to mess up your pretty nails,” I caution without thinking.
The rock falls from her hand and she stares at her fingertips as if noticing the sparkling polish for the first time. “Chad hated when I wore any color but pink. Said it made me look cheap and trashy.”
Anger beats against my forehead. Chad better pray he never gets out of jail. “You could never be anything but sweet and beautiful,” I say as calmly as possible.
She wiggles her fingers in the sunlight, flashes of blue and silver dancing on the tips.
“It’s pretty.”
My opinion doesn’t seem to register. She wraps her arms around her legs and lays her cheek against her knees. “She wants me to take an antidepressant,” she murmurs so softly I almost miss the words.
Bracing my pole against the same rocks Bree used, I lower myself to the ground next to her. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
She picks her head up and finally looks at me. Tears sparkle in her eyes, shredding me inside. “You don’t think it makes me weak?”
It’s impossible to keep my distance any longer.
I slip my arm around her shoulders and pull her closer. “No. Never. It’s okay to get help if you need it.”
While she ponders that, I consider whether I should share something with her I’ve never even told her brother.
“I took one for a while.”
She pulls back and studies me for a second. “Why?”
I blow out a breath, considering if I’m really going to talk about this with Bree. “My second year on the job, I shot someone.” Memories rush back and a chill expands in my chest.
“What? How come you never told me?”
I’m not sure if she realizes it but she takes my hand, pulling it into her lap. That’s the Bree I know. The girl who always wanted to comfort everyone around her. “I couldn’t talk about it. It was in the local papers. Masked guy held up the liquor store downtown. He had a gun on the owner when we arrived. Ignored me when I asked him to put the gun down. He swung it my way, and I shot him. That’s what we’re trained to do with an armed suspect.”
Stunned silence stretches between us for a few beats. “Liam, I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “You did what you had to do, though. You probably saved the store owner.”
“Sometimes I still see his face after we took the mask off. He was just a kid. Barely eighteen—”
“Old enough to know better,” she insists.
“He was tweaked out on meth.”
“Doesn’t sound like he gave you much of a choice.”
“The gun wasn’t loaded.” There it is. What’s bugged me ever since. What would’ve gotten me kicked out of the department if it hadn’t been for the numerous witnesses and the video proving the kid turned his gun on me first.
“How could you know that?”
“I couldn’t. But the thought of how young he was wouldn’t leave my head. He could’ve straightened himself out. Gotten help. Something.”
“Unlikely.” She pauses and squeezes my hand. “So, you talked to someone?”
“I’m sure it seems obvious, but cops don’t like talking about their feelings. They don’t like to admit that they can’t handle the ugly stuff. So, the department requires mandatory counseling after a shooting.”
A soft smile turns her mouth up. “That’s a good thing.”
“I didn’t see it that way at the time.”
“What happened?”
Damn, I hate reliving that period of my life. But the eagerness on her face is the first strong emotion she’s shown since our fight, so I continue. “I couldn’t sleep or eat. I was a miserable dick to everyone around me.”
“You weren’t…in trouble or anything, were you?”
“At first. There was an investigation.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Her outrage on my behalf lifts some of the lingering bitterness in my chest. “A kid lost his life.”
“But it wasn’t your fault.”
“It didn’t matter. I didn’t do myself any favors by acting like a jerk to everyone who tried to help me.”
Her cheeks flush and she drops her eyes to the ground. “So, how did you get back to yourself?”
“My parents. Dad dragged my ass out of bed. Mom found a doctor. I couldn’t go back to work until a psychologist cleared me. But I didn’t dare go to the department doc until I had my head on straight.”
“It’s a good thing your mom and dad were there for you.” Her voice cracks and a few tears roll down her cheeks.
I cup her face with my hand and she leans into my touch, briefly closing her eyes. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need, Bree. You just have to ask.”
“God, Liam. Don’t you ever get tired of helping me out? I’ve been a mess since we met.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Come on. Vince and I always needed a place to stay when things went to shit at home.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
“No. But look where I am. I haven’t turned out much better.”
My fingers drop to her chin and I turn her to face me. “Listen to me. You’re amazing. Don’t let this one guy define you.”
She shakes out of my hold.
“Bree, eyes on me,” I snap, using my sharp cop voice. Her eyes meet mine, and I search for the right words to get through to her. “I’ve seen enough of these guys. They’re smooth. Good at convincing a woman it’s all her fault. It’s not. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I feel so stupid.”
This time, I pull her into my arms and kiss the top of her head. “You’re such a sweet, smart, loving beautiful woman. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re a hometown hero.” A quick smile brightens her face.
“I’m no hero, Bree.”
“You’re my hero,” she insists.
“Br—”
One of our poles clatters against the rocks, startling us apart.
“Fish on!” Bree yelps, wriggling out of my embrace. She jumps up and races over to her pole.
The second she grabs her rod and starts reeling it in, my rod tip dips down.
Bree’s hoots of joy are contagious, and I also yell “Fish on” even though we’re the only ones in the area.
We reel them in side-by-side.
Bree’s trout dwarfs mine. By a lot.
“Aw, it looks like we caught a mama fish and her baby,” she teases.
Laughter bursts out of me, and she smiles even wider. “Yup. I think you caught yourself a trophy there.” The only thing that matters to me is that she’s having fun. This is what I wanted today to be about. Bree doing something she’s good at and enjoying herself.
“You’re going to be delicious with lemon and garlic,” she says to her fish.
“For a girl who was worried about the worms and minnows, that’s awfully mean.” I bend down, releasing the smaller fish back into the water.
“Did you have another recipe in mind?” she asks innocently.
“Hold it up. Let me snap a picture for Vince.” She flashes a wide smile and then makes a kissy face at the fish.
After I fire the pics off to her brother, I stuff my phone in my pocket. Bree pushes the fish in my direction.
“Seriously? You still won’t take your own fish off the hook?”
“Hell no. Hurry up. Let’s catch another one. Otherwise you’re going to starve tonight.”
“Yours is big enough for two,” I point out.
She gives me an exaggerated head shake and her shoulders jiggle with laughter. “I’m not sharing.”
“Ingrate,” I mutter, wriggling the hook out of the fish’s mouth and slipping it into the cooler. As I stand up, Bree surprises me by pressing her body up against mine and wrapping her arms around my waist. Her cheek rests against my chest. “Thank you for today.” She tips her head up and smiles so sweetly, I can’t help but kiss her.
Is it the curve of her full, pink lips that invites me to take a taste, or something else? Doesn’t matter. The urge overwhelms me. I cradle her jaw with one hand and capture her mouth with a gentle kiss. It’s soft and tender at first.
How had I never noticed how perfectly we fit together? Her smaller, softer body conforms to every hard and hot part of mine.
She pulls back, staring up at me. “I think you got fish scales on my cheek,” she whispers.
I touch my forehead to hers and breathe out, “Sorry.”
She reaches up, and I meet her halfway. Once again the dizzying sweetness of her lips on mine. Our lips meet over and over. Simple kisses. Her fingers dig into my shoulders as she tries to get closer. My hands drop to her hips, pulling her in tight.
Her lips part and I stroke my tongue against hers. She tastes sweet, like chocolate and cinnamon.
For the rest of my life those will be my favorite flavors.
She moans into my mouth and I open my eyes briefly.
Whether it’s from the heat or activity, some of her makeup has smudged, leaving the bluish-green bruising visible this close up.
What the fuck am I doing?
I squeeze her hips and gently push her back. “Stop, Bree. Baby, stop.” My voice is so hoarse I barely recognize it.
She blinks up at me.
I don’t let go of my hold on her hips. My thumb sweeps under the hem of her shirt, brushing warm, bare skin.
Her big blue eyes pin me in place and she opens her mouth, but no words come out.
Rocks tumbling down the hill and the snick-snick of snapping twigs enters my consciousness. Stuck in this moment with Bree, I don’t recognize what those sounds mean until someone clears their throat.
Tamping down a string of curses, I pull away from Bree. Disappointment, then embarrassment, passes over her face.
I turn to find a DEC officer behind us. “Can I help you?” I ask in the gruffest tone I can call up.
The guy isn’t deterred. He doesn’t blink, apologize, or acknowledge what he interrupted. Another officer stumbles down the rocky incline, landing next to his partner. “We’re checking fishing licenses today, sir,” the first officer says.
Silently, I’m cursing the intrusion, but I yank my wallet out and hand over both our licenses. One of the officers accepts the documents while the other one circles around our cooler.
“Care to open this for me, sir? We need to check—”
“Yeah. Here,” I say, cutting him off, while leaning over to flip the lid open.
“Nice Rainbow Trout. Probably a trophy.”
“My friend caught it,” I say, nodding at Bree. So far she hasn’t uttered a word or moved from my side. I’ll admit, I like having her up against me. Especially when the officer spends a little too much time running his gaze over her legs.
My arm tightens around her waist, making it clear who she belongs to.
Hoping to move them along, I accidentally flash my badge when the officer hands our papers back.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize—”
“No problem.”
Mercifully, the officers finally leave. Bree moves away, picking up our stuff.
“Bree?”
“That’s never happened before.”
The kiss or the license check?
“They’re always patrolling around here,” I answer.
She nods and walks to the water’s edge to pick up the dropped pole.
Shit, I’m not sure what to do here. Every instinct says to spin her around and kiss her some more. But she’s obviously uncomfortable.
I made her uncomfortable.
I did the right thing, stopping the kiss. In the future I’ll need to be more careful around her.
Today was supposed to be about her relaxing and having fun, not getting mauled by me, and I fucked it up.
I can’t let that happen again.
My lips still tingling from our kiss, I can’t concentrate on the fishing pole in my hands.
Liam kissed me!
The scent of fish still lingers from where he touched my cheek and I inhale deeply, remembering how it felt to have his fingers pressed against my face. His mouth on mine.
“Hey, the bait doesn’t seem to be working anymore. Want to switch to lures?” Liam asks, pulling me out of my fish-scented daydreams.
I force a smile onto my lips. “Sure.”
He props his sunglasses on his head and pulls a sparkling lure out of his backpack. He concentrates on rigging up the pole way more than seems necessary. Obviously trying to pretend our kiss never happened.
I’m tired of pretending with Liam.
“Liam. What was that?”
“What?” he mutters without looking up.
“Liam, look at me.” A trembling ball of want tumbles in my stomach while I wait for him to glance up.
And when he does, something that resembles regret flashes in his dark brown eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Wow. His apology shouldn’t hurt, but it does. It hits me in the ribs, crushing me.
“It’s fine,” I mumble, turning to stare out over the water.
After a few seconds, he casts the line and pushes the pole into my hands.
“Bree, what I meant was, I shouldn’t have kissed you. Taken advantage of you.”
“Taken advantage?” Doesn’t he realize how insulting that is? “Did it seem like I didn’t want to kiss you?”
My pole jerks down before he answers and I want to chuck the damn thing in the water and demand he answer my question.
“Fish on!” Liam cheers. “You got it?”
“Sure.” I put all my anger into reeling it in. This fish is a feisty one and puts up a good fight. “I’m a little scared to see what’s on the other end,” I joke.
He settles one of his big hands over mine, guiding me. “You got it,” he encourages.
When the fish is close enough, he splashes into the water’s edge and scoops it up with a net.
“Good size smallmouth bass,” he says. “Probably four or five pounds. Nice job.”
I lean over to get a better look while he works the hook out of the fish.
Thoroughly pissed-off with his current situation, the bass flips and flops, still fighting hard.
“Ow! Fuck!” Liam bellows, staggering backward a few feet.
“What happened?”
“Hook went through my finger. Shit that hurts.”
“Let me see.” I take a few steps closer.
Mistake. Blood pours through the wound, small rivers traveling down his hand. So much worse than I thought, considering how calm Liam is. “Can we pull it out?”
“No.” He sucks in a deep breath. “Treble hook. Barbs.” Each word comes out clipped and laced with pain.
“What are we going to do?” I ask, unable to hide the panic in my voice.
“First,” he says after taking a deep breath. “Cut him loose and put him in the water. Every time he flops around, it’s making it worse.”
Fingers shaking—hell, my whole body won’t stop trembling—I dig out a pair of mini-scissors from Liam’s backpack and snip the line.
“Now what?”
“Can you pack up our stuff?” he asks a whole lot calmer than I’m feeling.
“Yes.” I’m grabbing stuff before he’s even done with the question. Catching sight of the two DEC officers who’d interrupted us earlier, I call out to them. “Hey! Help!”
“Bree stop, what are you doing?”
“Getting help.”
“They’re not going to be able to do anything for me. Come on. Hand me the cooler.”
“You can’t carry—”
“My other hand is fine. Hurry up, this hurts like a bitch.”
He’s cradling his hand against his chest. My eyes zero in on the hook—lure still attached—sticking up obscenely while blood continues to drip down his finger. “Liam, it’s bad,” I whisper.
His mouth twitches into a quick smile. “I’m fine.”
“What’s wrong, miss?” one of the officers asks from the ledge above.
“He’s hurt. Hook through his middle finger.”
Liam’s right, the two officers are no help. One offers us a first-aid kit and recommends wrapping gauze around it to keep it clean.
Even I realize that gauze around the pointed hook will only make things worse.
Liam stares them down. “No, thanks. How far is the hospital from here?”
“Oh, you don’t want to go to the ER. You’ll be there all night,” the officer says. “There’s an urgent care center right over the Empire county line.”
Liam grinds his teeth and glances at me. “Yeah, I know it.”
At the truck, I turn and hold out my hand to Liam. “Keys.”
He has the nerve to look at me and then the truck. “I can drive, Bree. I’m fine.”
“Seriously?”
“I can drive with one hand.”
“No, Officer Caveman, you can’t. Hand them over.”
His mouth curls into a half-smirk. “They’re in my pocket.”
Carefully, I slide my hand into his side pocket.
“I can’t even enjoy this,” he says, making me laugh.
He directs me to the urgent care clinic.
“You know the place?”
“I’ve been there once or twice,” he mumbles.
It’s dusk by the time we arrive. Not many cars fill up the parking lot, but I still struggle to pull his big truck into one of the tight spaces.
“Good job,” he says when I finally straighten out. There’s no mocking in the words, but I stick my tongue out at him anyway.
“You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to,” he offers.
“Of course I’m not letting you go in by yourself.” I’m surprised he’d even suggest it.
He slides out of the truck and meets me on my side. “Okay, let’s get this done so we can grab dinner. I’m starving.”
“You’re awfully calm for a guy with a jagged piece of metal through his finger.”
“Trust me, it hurts. I’m trying not to dwell on it too much”
No one’s in the waiting room, and Liam saunters right up to the counter.
“I guess I don’t need to ask,” the receptionist says, greeting him with a sympathetic smile.
She fires off a round of questions. Liam answers everything calmly, while slipping an arm around my waist and drawing me closer.
He’s the one who’s hurt yet he’s trying to comfort me. Great.
“Hey, Linda, can you check if there’s an open room?” the receptionist asks.
Liam’s entire body stiffens. I can’t figure out why until I glance up at the pretty nurse standing in front of us.
Of all the urgent care clinics in the world—seriously, universe?
Because there’s no doubt in my mind this is Liam’s ex.
Especially when the receptionist hands him a clipboard full of forms to fill out. “I can do that for you, Liam. I still remember all your details,” she says with a flirty smile.
Unprofessional much?
Awkward, actually. The receptionist stares, her gaze darting between Linda and Liam.
“That’s okay. I’ve got it.” I snatch the clipboard off the counter and tug Liam over to one of the waiting room chairs by his uninjured hand.
“I take it that’s your ex?” I mutter as I start scribbling down his information.
He grunts out an affirmative sound.
I tap the pen against the clipboard a few times to get his attention, and he helps me fill in the few details I don’t know.
Linda returns and shows us into a room. “So besides the hook in the finger, how’ve you been?” she asks.
“Fine. You?”
Clearly I have no claim on Liam. The irrational side of me doesn’t see it that way, though.
Liam said she was older, but she doesn’t look it. She’s dainty. Almost doll-like. Idly I wonder if it makes her job harder. If people take her seriously.
“My friend, Bree.”
Hearing my name snaps me out of my fog and I raise an eyebrow at Liam.
“Oh, you’re Vince’s little sister. Right. I’ve heard all about you,” she says, instantly dismissing me and focusing her lovesick gaze on Liam.
“Uh,” I answer lamely.
Brilliant.
At least she finally helps Liam. She sets up his hand for the doctor, then gently disinfects the area around the wound while subtly shoving her boobs in his face.
“How’s work?” she asks him.
“Fine,” he answers in a clipped tone that doesn’t invite follow-up questions.
Liam winces and I lose it. “Can’t you give him some Advil or something?” I snap, since it doesn’t seem like Nurse-Can’t-Take-A-Hint plans to do anything other than stare at Liam and give her push-up bra a workout.
“Sure.” She settles her hand on his shoulder. “Unless you want something stronger?” she asks.
He reaches up with his good hand and removes her hand from his shoulder before answering. “Can you see how much longer the doctor will be?”
That seems to be enough to remind her to do her damn job and she hurries out of the room.
“Did you know she worked here?” I ask as soon as she’s gone.
Liam’s eyes close briefly. “Yes.”
“That’s why you didn’t want to come here?”
“I was hoping she wouldn’t be working tonight.”
“She was working it all right.”
He huffs out a laugh, but otherwise ignores my comment. “Come here,” he says, holding out his uninjured hand to me.
I step closer and wrap my hand around his. “How’s your finger?” I ask because there really isn’t much more to say.
“Hurts.”
The door swings open. “How are you, Mr. Hollister?” the doctor greets.
Finally.
Liam grits through the shots to numb his hand, barely flinching. When the doctor pulls on the hook, trying to determine the best way to remove it, I sway on my feet.
“Bree? You all right?” Liam squeezes my hand, forcing me to concentrate on his face. “I’m okay, baby. I can’t feel a thing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Go sit down. You look pale.”
For once I’m thankful for his bossiness and take a seat.
I manage not to embarrass myself by passing out and we don’t run into Nurse Linda again before leaving the clinic.
“I’m sorry our day was ruined,” Liam says when we’re on our way home.
“You’re sorry?” I nod at his finger wrapped tight in gauze. “You took a hook through your flesh and you’re apologizing to me?”
“Let me make it up to you.”
Another kiss would be a good start but there’s no way I’m suggesting it.
“The ice cream shop near Vince’s is open. Want to stop there for a cone?” he asks.
“I’m not five anymore, Liam. You can’t cheer me up with an ice cream cone.”
“Well, it will cheer me up,” he says, wiggling his injured hand at me.
I take the exit that leads to the small ice cream shack and we pull into the parking lot right before closing. After stepping out of the truck and swatting away a swarm of mosquitos, I’m taken back to when Vince and I used to scrounge for enough change at the bottom of my mother’s purse to walk down here to buy ice cream on the hottest summer nights.
“Are you all right?” Liam asks, brushing hair off my face.
I force out a laugh. “Just remembering all the times Vince and I came here when we were kids.”
“You still like chocolate sprinkles on yours?”
“Nah. I’m too old for sprinkles.”
“You’re never too old for sprinkles.”
I trail behind him to the window, where a bored teenager slides the glass open and taps her pencil against her green notepad. “We’re about to close,” she informs us.
“Two small twist cones,” Liam orders.
She rattles off a total much higher than the change Vince and I used to carry here would’ve ever covered. “Pricey,” I say after the girl closes the window to go fill our order.
Liam shrugs.
“Bree, is that you?” A high-pitched voice calls out. I barely have a chance to turn when a girl barrels into me and squeals. “I thought so. How are you?”
“Lucy? Oh my God. I’m fine. How are you?”
Her gaze ping-pongs between Liam and me. “I always knew you two would end up together.”
I almost choke and we haven’t even been handed our ice cream cones yet.
“We’re not…we’re hanging out. I just came home from college.”
“Oh, that’s right. Weren’t you dating…” Her voice trails off as recognition sinks in. Great. Someone else who read about Chad’s arrest in the paper. Even though they didn’t use my name in any of the articles, it’s not that difficult to figure out who the “live-in girlfriend” he pummeled is.
“We broke up.”
“Good…I mean. Oh. Well, have fun.” She smiles nervously and tosses a bunch of napkins in the garbage before jogging back to her car.
Liam hands me my ice cream, but I’ve lost my interest. He seems to understand my shift in mood and steers me over to one of the picnic benches near his truck.
We eat our cones in silence. When I can’t finish mine, Liam takes it and chucks it in the trash can. I’m shaking and on the verge of tears when he returns.
When are these feelings going to go away?
“Talk to me, Bree,” he says quietly.
Across the parking lot there’s a family with two small children who have more ice cream in their hair than in their mouths. Otherwise we’re alone.
“I’m so ashamed,” I whisper, unable to keep the words inside for another second.
He wraps his arms around me, pulling my body against his and rests his chin on the top of my head. One of his big hands strokes over my back in a calming gesture. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
I pull back enough to tip my head and search his face for the truth. “I let it happen.”
A stony hardness enters his eyes. “You didn’t let it happen, Bree.”
“But I did.” I bury my face against his shirt again. “You were right. This wasn’t the first time. I made excuses for him. He swore he was sorry and he’d never do it again. Said he loved me so much…” My voice trails off because I realize how stupid and gullible I sound.
Bree’s anguish scrapes over my heart, leaving me raw and ready to explode. “He’s a manipulator. I’m sure in his twisted head he thought he loved you, Bree.” The words burn like ground glass in my throat, but they’re probably true and I think she needs to hear them.
“I hated it here so much. Growing up. Everyone always looked down on us.”
My body stiffens with her words. I remember how all she used to talk about was getting out of this town and never coming back. “I didn’t.”
“No. You were always a good friend. Are a good friend. To Vince. And to me.” She adds that last part almost as an afterthought.
“I wish I’d been a better friend to you.”
She shakes her head. “I believed him when he said he wouldn’t do it again. He always made me feel like somehow it was my fault because I made him so crazy and jealous.” She stops and looks up at me. “I know how stupid that sounds.”
“It’s not stupid at all. You’re going to be a psychologist. You know how these things work.”
“Exactly!” she explodes and I realize too late that was the wrong thing to say. “I should’ve recognized the signs, the cycles we went through. The tension, the blowups, the apologies and promises. And the whole time I just kept telling myself it wasn’t that bad, or he didn’t mean it or if I was a better girlfriend it wouldn’t have happened.”
Listening to her describe what she’s been through leaves me somewhere between anger and anguish. Between wanting to comfort her and wanting to kill Chad. She may have glossed over the details, but I’ve taken enough classes on how to handle domestic violence situations to know what each of those phases entails.
“I can’t stand being here,” she says in a harsh whisper. “Did you see how Lucy couldn’t wait to get away from me?”
“Do you think you stayed with Chad so you wouldn’t have to come home?” I ask and brace myself for her answer.
“Maybe there was part of me that thought coming home meant I was a failure. Besides, Vince and I don’t seem to get along anymore.”
Something I’m afraid is my fault. After the night he caught us kissing, things were tense in our friendship until Bree left for school. Then we never spoke about the incident again. “I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.
She ignores the apology. “Lucy won’t be the only one. People always judge the woman. ‘Why’d she stay for so long? Maybe she liked it. The first time a man hit me, I’d leave. You can’t help someone who won’t help herself.’ I’ve heard them all. Hell, I’ve had those same thoughts.”
Guilt threatens to crush me. “Bree, that’s not what I…I’m sorry about the stuff I said the other night…about everything. I’d never judge you like that. I don’t judge you at all.”
“Not even a little?”
“No. I’m mad at myself. I wish I’d known. I hate that you went through any of that by yourself.”
“One of the first cops who questioned me asked what I did to piss Chad off so badly.”
My blood boils. “Who?” I snap.
She gives me a small smile. “I can’t remember his name.”
“I’m not surprised that happened. I encounter guys in the department all the time who have zero empathy or compassion for the people they’re supposed to serve and protect.” I’m hesitant to use the word victim, because I don’t want her to think that’s how I see her. “But it doesn’t matter. No one has the right to judge you. You dealt with something horrible no one should have to go through. You’re out.”
I wish she’d nod or say something more reassuring than mmhmm.
“Chad’s in jail where he belongs. There is no reason you can’t go anywhere you want with your head held high.”
Finally, she nods slowly, trying to take in my words.
“I should’ve left sooner.”
“Should’ves do us no good, Bree.”
“My mother always said I was so stubborn, and I’d end up hurting myself more in the long run because of it.”
Her mother cared more about her boyfriends than her children, but I keep that observation to myself. “I think what she meant was you’re tenacious.”
“I doubt that.” Her mouth pulls into a half-smile. “She didn’t hand out many compliments.”
We’re quiet for a few minutes and she seems to shake off the seriousness of our conversation. She pokes a finger in my side. “So, your ex is pretty.”
At first I’m thrown by the change in conversation. Ex-who? What?
“Did you love her?” she asks.
Linda, right. Yeah, because the metal stabbing through my finger wasn’t enough of a pain. I needed to run into my ex to really cap off the evening. I don’t know what I did to piss off the universe today, but Karma sure did have fun kicking my ass. “I cared about her,” I finally answer.
“She’s obviously still interested in you.”
“I’m not interested in her,” I answer quietly.
Her mouth opens as if she wants to ask more questions, but instead she tilts her head toward the truck. “Let’s get you home and get some Advil in you. That anesthesia will start to wear off any second now.”
“It already is.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because you’re more important.”
She leans up and presses a soft kiss to my cheek. “Thank you.”