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Did Conner rape me?
Panic grips me. If it was Conner all this time, then I tortured the wrong man.
A gag is the only warning I get before my stomach tries to eject my dinner. I rush for the bathroom, cats protesting when one gets knocked to the floor in my haste.
After retching up everything I’ve eaten for at least two days, I brush my teeth and look into the mirror at myself. I spent years in therapy. Years repairing what Emery had broken. And to think I’d paid hypnotists hundreds to try and regain the memories that seem to be flooding out of me now.
And I can’t make them stop.
I want them to stop.
I’d seen a body when Conner took me out of the house. And a sob chokes out as I close my eyes and wonder if it was my sister.
I left her behind.
That entire night fractured my mind into bits. Such tiny, inconceivable shards that my mind tucked the memories away, hiding them from me for my own protection.
“I’m stronger now,” I tell myself, repeating the mantra over and over, each time my voice getting more confident.
It’s why they’re coming back. Because I’m ready to face them.
I’m strong enough to face them.
Stomping into the room, I open my phone and hit call, pressing it to my ear.
“I thought you’d never call,” the voice on the other end says.
“Well, I have. Now, talk.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
Gage
Walking through the Westpoint House is jarring. The inside is ruined beyond repair. The upper levels are inaccessible. And the downstairs bathroom, where I now know Carina was lying on the floor as I doused the historic house in gasoline, is in disrepair. But the tub is still intact. I clear my throat of emotion as my phone rings in my pocket.
Without looking, I answer it. “Yeah?”
“I need you to make a house call.”
It’s Trevor, and I know it has to do with the Bancrofts and their crooked landlord.
“Send me the info. I’ll head there now.”
“Alright, sounds good. You okay?” he asks, and I know it’s because of the tremble in my voice.
Looking at this hell she’d escaped makes me want to run right back to her and hold her to me as tight as I can. But she turned me out. She’s processing. She deserves it. Shit, I wouldn’t blame her if she never spoke to me again. Even if inwardly I’m in a state of flux. I was used to being on the outside, the man in the shadows. Now I’m not. I’ll forever pine for the feel of her flesh, the grip of her when she comes with my name on her lips.
“I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Just send the info.”
Trevor sighs. “Sent. Be careful. And don’t go if your mind isn’t right, man.”
How do I tell him that this is what will make my mind right? Because admitting that is admitting to myself that I’m more like my father than I want to confess to.
Getting back into my car, I don’t look back at Carina’s past. To mine. Because if we’re going to get through this, it’s what we have to do. Even if she can’t go forward with me in her life, I hope she can move on without me. She deserves to be happy.
Even if I have to watch that happiness from the cold outside the house.
Peeling onto I-5, I head toward Seattle.
