Chapter 29

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Inside Lieutenant Gomez's office, Officer Kingsley stood from the chair at the arrival of Ingrid. Glen held on to Ingrid's hand and kept her beside the open door. One wrong move or upset, and he'd have her outside, on his motorcycle, and tucked safely away at home.

Ingrid's fingers fidgeted inside his hand. He held on tighter. Regardless of her attempt to hide her relationship with him from Evan's father, he was going to shove his involvement in Officer Kingsley's face. He wanted him to see who supported Ingrid. Let him take that information back to Evan.

Nobody was going to get through him and hurt Ingrid again.

"Ingrid." Stewart stepped forward.

Wayne shifted and stood between Ingrid and Stewart. "You asked to talk with her. She's accommodating you. Give her space, or you'll find Notus escorting her out of here."

Stewart gave a brisk nod. "Ingrid? It's good to see you."

Ingrid stepped forward. Glen stiffened his arm, objecting to her moving closer. She shifted her feet keeping her balance as Glen anchored her to his side.

"I'm sorry for what my coming home has caused you, Stewart." Her voice warbled. "I never wanted to cause any upset between you and...and Evan. It's one of the reasons why I left without saying anything."

Stewart rubbed the side of his jaw. "He paid for you to go to cosmetology school."

"No." She shook her head. "I ran away the night you took Evan to the shooting range after buying him a pistol for his birthday. He lied about sending me away to school. I lived on the streets in St. John's and Portland the last two years because of the threats he made toward you and my parents if I told anyone about what he was doing to me. The only thing I could do to keep everyone safe, including myself, was to run away."

"That can't be true. One of us would've seen you if you were homeless," said Stewart.

Ingrid exhaled. "Normal people don't realize how invisible the homeless are. People walk by us every day without giving us a glance. They step over us at night, pretending we're not sleeping on the cold ground or soaked from the rain. Families enjoying the park move away and eat, laugh, play where they can pretend that we're not digging through the garbage cans looking for anything we can sell or eat."

Stewart dropped his arm to his side. "I have proof you were studying to become a hairdresser. I have two years' worth of emails letting me know how you were doing and how excited you were to graduate soon."

Ingrid dashed away a tear. "My parents mentioned the same thing, but I never sent any emails. I was hiding from Evan. You bought the gun—"

"He would never harm you," said Stewart, his voice louder than before.

Ingrid leaned against Glen. "He did. Many times."

Stewart shook his head.

"Remember when Evan told you that I fell and hit the chair, breaking one of my ribs, and drove myself to the hospital? He bragged about how brave I was to go by myself while he played racquetball with a co-worker." Ingrid sucked in air. "I never fell. Evan threw the chair at me. That's how it broke. That was the first time he hurt me. I never went to the emergency room after that because I was ashamed and scared. My injuries were always kept hidden because Evan threatened to hurt my parents if I told them."

"No..." whispered Stewart. "You fell."

Ingrid looked up at Glen. He squeezed her hand. Her need to have him believe her outweighed her desire to make Stewart believe his son was guilty.

Glen looked at Stewart. "If you invited her here to try and convince her that an abusive past never existed, we'll be leaving."

Stewart held up his hands. "I'm trying to understand the situation."

"What I think Stewart is trying to say is he believes there are some inconsistencies in the claims made in the report." Lieutenant Gomez leaned back in his chair. "For his peace of mind, he wanted to ask Ms. Peterson a few questions."

"On any other case, prosecutable by the law, this meeting wouldn't be allowed. The P.D. would never allow someone to question the views of the victim," said Glen.

Gomez tapped the paper on his desk. "Unless Ms. Peterson takes out an order against Officer—"

"No. That's not what I want to do." Ingrid sighed. "I don't have anything against you, Stewart. I just want you to be careful. Evan has a side of him he's never shown you but if he feels cornered, you being his dad won't stop him from hurting you. He's controlling, and he gets mad easily. He threatened to hurt you, and my parents, if I told anyone about the accidents. That's why I kept quiet and pretended everything was okay between us. I believe he will hurt you, just like he hurt me."

"There are no accidents in abuse," said Glen, turning to Ingrid. "You don't have to explain yourself to him, or anyone."

"He doesn't...I can't," she whispered. "I think I want to leave."

Glen wrapped his arm around her. The meeting had been a mistake.

At the door, Stewart said, "Ingrid, Evan would never hurt you."

Ingrid's feet stopped, and she careened forward, grabbing Glen's vest to stay balanced. He held on to her, taking her weight as she managed to turn and face Evan's father from the hallway.

She opened her mouth, closed it, and shook her head. Glen frowned. He'd never seen her defeated. It wasn't in her nature. She was a survivor.

"You're done." He propelled her away from the room, through the lobby, and outside.

At the motorcycle, he handed her the helmet. She latched the chinstrap, staring out in thought. He couldn't put her on the back of the seat until he was sure she'd pay attention.

He reached into his pocket, pinched a few sunflower seeds, and put them in his mouth. Under the parking lot lights, he kept his gaze on the front door of the police station. The last thing he wanted was Officer Kingsley to come out before he could get Ingrid home. She'd had enough opposition from the Kingsley family.

She deserved better.

"I knew he wouldn't believe me," she said. "I should never have come."

"Put it behind you." He sat on the motorcycle. "I'll take you home."

She climbed on the Harley, wrapped her arms around him, and he pulled out of the parking lot. The late hour left the streets free of traffic. He let up on the throttle, not ready to arrive at her house and leave her yet. Going by the number of texts and voicemails she'd left him every day this week, he'd started to wonder how much comfort she got from her parents to still need him.

From the little amount of time he'd seen them all together, Ingrid was the bond that kept the family together. For some reason, Ingrid felt it was her responsibility that everyone was happy and taken care of. She never asked for anything in return. He'd started to believe she had no idea how to ask for help. Not from him, and definitely not from her parents.

Ingrid slipped her hands underneath his vest. His balls tightened, and pleasure swept through him. No amount of telling himself to keep his distance helped control the way he reacted to her. Hell, today, he'd gone up to the top deck on the cargo ship during work and the fucking breeze smelled like Ingrid. Fresh and energizing.

He pulled onto South Oak Street, shifted down, and rolled to a stop in the Peterson's driveway. Ingrid continued holding on to him. He cut the engine and took off his helmet.

A raindrop hit his face. He looked up at the dark sky. The overcast day, brisk breeze, and drop in temperature earlier had hinted at a summer storm coming through.

"You better get inside before the sky opens up," he said, patting her thigh.

"I don't care about the rain." She braced her chin on his shoulder blade. "Did you know that two large garbage sacks will cover a sleeping bag? It'll keep you dry if you sleep on high ground."

His chin fell to his chest, and he stared at the gas tank between his thighs. He never imagined what she had to do living on the street during the rainy months or even the nights it dropped down below freezing. He liked to think that she spent her time in the homeless shelters, but he knew that wasn't always the case.

"Garbage sacks are like gold. Everyone wants them." She sighed. "If I followed the city maintenance man on Thursday around eight o'clock in the morning when he emptied the litter bins on Lombard Street, I could take a few when he drove out of sight before anyone threw away their garbage. They were unused and clean. I always took a couple extras to trade for food."

There were many things he'd done in his life that he regretted. None of them compared to what Ingrid had gone through. His chest constricted. She'd learned to put her pride aside and do what was necessary to survive. He'd seen the way she'd lived before running away from Kingsley. She was not a girl used to going without.

She came from a middle-income family to one who lived within their means after her dad's accident. Maybe her ability to adapt came from her circumstances, and in the end, her skills at accepting changes gave her the strength to live for two years without any help, money, or shelter.

The rain grew heavier. Ingrid continued to hold on to him. He'd be soaked by the time Chuck relieved him from his shift of watching over Ingrid. Except, he wanted to stay. She needed to talk, and he wanted to listen.

He couldn't go there. Not again.

"I hate this..." She raised her head off him. "I don't feel like I fit in here anymore."

"With your parents?" he asked.

She slid off the bike without answering him. Standing in the rain, she stared at him as if looking for the answers. He had none because he'd felt disconnected before.

Bikers never fit in the way people believed. The need for freedom and the desire to ride came from that voice that said, you're different.

Ingrid would realize someday that life wasn't easier for her living on the street. Sometime soon, she'd understand that she'd adapted, and that changes a person. Just like Thalia being murdered when he was Ingrid's age had changed him.

Comfort would find her when she accepted the changes, and she started to take her day-to-day living for granted again. Her mom was probably asking her questions she was uncomfortable answering. He'd witnessed the pity coming from her mom and Ingrid felt it. He curled his fingers into a fist. No wonder she was wound up tight and uncomfortable. Only time would heal her relationships with other people, but there was no going back to how they were. She'd need to find and grow new friendships with other people who know her now, not then.

The rain mixed with the makeup outlining Ingrid's eyes, blurring the pain etched in her gaze in black. If only he could wash away every boundary, every problem, every responsibility, he'd make her feel comfortable in her world, in her skin, in his life. But, it'd never work. He was old enough to be her father. Over time, she'd look back and realize he'd done the right thing letting her go.

"I miss you." Her voice had cracked, and he wondered if there were tears in the rain on her face.

His heart pounded, and everything inside of him wanted to get off the bike and haul her into her bedroom. "You should get inside before you're soaked."

Ingrid ignored his advice and stepped forward, disregarding the downpour happening on both of them. If he looked, he'd bet steam rolled off his wet clothes. He ran hot for her. His blood, his personality, his love.

"Glen?" She stopped beside him. "Can you touch me?"

"Why?" The word ripped out of him like barbed wire.

She opened and closed her mouth, then finally said, "So that I can touch you back."

If he started, she'd finish, never giving up on him. He fed off her willingness, eager for more. He was hanging, his feet slipping out from under him, and the noose tightening.

He reached out and hooked his finger inside her small hand. She latched onto him, and a gasp escaped her lips. Her powerful need for him was his undoing. Somehow, he tugged, and she climbed onto his lap, straddling his thighs with nary a hesitation. He barely felt her settle on him and he cupped her wet face in his hands needing to know she was in front of him.

Ingrid raised her hands and cupped his jaw. Together, they held each other.

The rain beat down on them.

The air grew thicker, and he was glad for the cleansing water washing the guilt of holding her away. A cleanse from the desire to have her in his life and wanting her.

She made him weak. Nothing could keep him away from her.

Not time.

Not distance.

Not direction.

He still found himself coming back to Ingrid, again and again. She was worth every bit of fight it'd take to keep her in his life. There was only one thing stopping him. Her happiness.

"Blue?" He brought her forward and laid his forehead against hers, taking in her sweet scent that seemed more pungent in the storm. "I need to let you go."

"No." Her hands tightened on him. "You don't."

"You deserve to go on with your life and become...whoever you want to be. Go to school. Cut people's hair. Find someone closer to your age and—"

"What? Fall in love?" She moaned in frustration, crying out on a sob. "I have fallen in love. With you."

"That's not love." He closed his eyes against the sting of the raindrops blurring his vision. "That's gratitude for helping you, but there will come a time when you don't need my help. Reality will set in, and you'll want more from life than settling for someone my age."

"Never." Her head went back. "You're wrong. It's not just me who want this. You need me, too. I can feel it, Glen. It hurts."

She slid off his lap as easily as she'd climbed on him. He leaned forward and caught his forearms on the handlebar of his Harley. Her parting shot hung heavy over him, darker than the clouds in the sky.

Ingrid knocked on the door, and when her mom let her in, she slipped inside and shut herself away from him. He sat in the driveway, shaken to his bones. She was wrong.

He needed her more than she needed him.