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She walked back toward him, just to be sure she was close enough in the event of an emergency, and then sat on a boulder, leaning back against the one behind.
And knew she was overthinking to the point of paranoia. Lacey’s backyard was completely walled in.
The incident at the beach had been random. She’d put herself directly in harm’s way by staying at the beach, alone, after it started to get dark.
As long as she didn’t do that again, she’d be fine.
There was no boogeyman out to get her. No darkness lurking around every corner.
A sense of calm came over her.
And then was gone. She shivered.
“I have to call Steve because I have to take control or risk letting my attacker succeed in taking it from me.” She’d had to go through training at the Lemonade Stand before she could conduct classes with the residents. She had chosen to take advanced victim-advocate training as well through a program offered by the Stand.
But until Michael had said those words at the hospital, she’d never seen herself as a victim.
“Yes,” he said now. “But that’s not why I blurted it out when it was really not my place to do so.”
“Of course it was your place.” She sounded irritated. But she wasn’t up for any of his not enough talk. She needed him to be with her, or not. Be her friend all in or walk away. Not just because of the attack. But because the way she’d felt after the attack—that need to talk to Michael—had shown her very clearly what a dear friend he’d become.
If he didn’t feel the same way, now was the time for her to know. Even in her disoriented state she recognized that much. She was going to have a bit of rough road ahead of her. A woman couldn’t work with victims for a year and not be aware of emotional residuals to physical violence.
He’d told her he loved her in the car. Because she’d said the same to him.
It had been the decent thing to do given the circumstances.
He’d dropped her hand right afterward.
“I have to know, Michael. Right now. Are you with me or not?”
He stared at her. Assessed her. She held his gaze. She wasn’t some kind of crackpot having a breakdown here. “I’m a woman holding on, and what I know is that tonight...after it happened...I wanted to talk to you. Like, if I talked to you I knew I’d be stronger. I just had to hold on to talk to you. The thought of talking to you kept me holding on. Like even if I wasn’t strong enough to fight for myself, I could fight to hold on so I could talk to you.” She was babbling. Not sure she was making any sense. “That scares the hell out of me, because I’ve only ever felt that kind of thing for Lacey, but now’s not the time for dealing with that. What I have to know is that you’re in this friendship, too. That you care, too. If it’s one-sided, I have to get out now. Because I have a feeling, over the next weeks, I might need a friend.”
“And I’ll be there.”
“
Not because I’m a victim, Michael. I need you there when I’m better, too. Even if I don’t have rough weeks ahead. I need to know that you need me, too.”
What in the hell was she doing?
A part of her—maybe rational, maybe not—knocked at her mind to make her aware that she could be walking into a minefield.
The other part, the more pressing part, didn’t care.
She was clutching at air.
Doing what she had to do to survive.
She needed to know he’d meant it when he said he loved her, too.
Not like Bo loved her. Not Hollywood. But the way family loved. Like her and Lacey. And him and Willie. The kind of love that lasted through the bad times. That lasted for a lifetime.
Willie. Michael already had a lot on his plate. CEO of his own quickly growing business. A family that hounded him. And a little brother whose successful future could be hanging by a thread.
A slow build of panic started to rise.
“I haven’t been good with words...the kind you want...for a long time.”
