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“Friends?” She scoffed as more tears slid from her eyes. “I was raped, Connelly. I was raped by three men I thought were my friends. And when I told them no, tried to fight them off, they pulled a gun on me.”
He flinched at the reminder. What she’d gone through that night… it was unthinkable. Unbearable. “They were never your friends.”
If she heard him, she didn’t acknowledge it. “How can I ever trust anyone again?”
“Do you trust me?”
She pressed her lips into a thin line and turned to stare at the sunset.
It hurt, and the hurt rankled. He clenched his jaw, swallowing down the bitter taste of regret. “Do you blame me for leaving you alone in the hotel that night? Leaving you with those men?”
“You couldn’t have known,” she whispered. “You thought they were your friends, too.”
“But you blame me anyway.”
The silence between them stretched out, filled only by the soft rustle of the wind through the spring leaves and Rebel’s soft snore from where she lay curled up with the towel at Veronica’s feet. Twilight encased them in its cool embrace.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last, breaking the silence. “I know that doesn’t make up for anything, but I’ll be sorry for losing my temper and leaving you there until the day I die.”
“No. I shouldn’t have made a big deal about...” She trailed off and took a breath. “About what happened between us that night. About that kiss and where we seemed to be headed with it. It scared me because you’re... you. And I never saw you as more than a friend until suddenly, that night, I did.”
“I’ve always wanted more than friendship with you.” He said it suddenly, almost too candidly, and the words seemed to hang in the air between them, the ghost of a truth he had long kept secret. In the thick silence that followed, he could hear his own heartbeat too loudly in his ears.
Veronica turned and stared at him, her teary eyes wide in surprise, her mouth opening slightly as if to speak. But no words came out.
He shifted uncomfortably, feeling more naked now than he had in the bathroom with nothing but that ugly hand towel. “I probably shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, you should have. I...” Her voice trailed off. “I need to go back inside.”
He didn’t move as she set Alfie down and stood. Didn’t move as she passed by him close enough that he could smell the familiar scent of her favorite lotion—warm vanilla and dark cherry. Didn’t move as her fingers brushed the back of his hand in a light touch. A kind of peace offering. He longed to reach out, to pull her into his arms and convince her to stay.
But he didn’t.
As she reached the door, her slender fingers lingered on the pull of the sliding door. She didn’t look back at him, but he could see her shoulders tense. “I don’t blame you for what happened to me, Connelly. I blame you for using it for fodder for one of your books.”
That finally got him moving. He burst out of the chair, hating that he made her flinch. “It wasn’t like that.”
“It was a betrayal I can never forgive.” She opened the door and stepped inside, shutting the door with a firm thump in his face.
He pulled it open and followed her. “No. You’re not walking away from this conversation. Not again.” He crossed to the bookcase in the living room and pulled his book off the shelf. “Did you even read the whole thing?”
Temper sparked in her eyes as she poured wine into the waiting glass. “Fuck, no. Why would I?”
“Because I didn’t write it about you, Veronica. I wrote it for you. To remind you how strong you are. To remind you that you can conquer any-fucking-thing.” He slapped the book down on the island beside her glass. “Even fear.”
chapter nineteen
“Read it. And if you still think I betrayed you, I’ll deserve all of your hatred and more.” Connelly went to the front door and whistled to the dogs. They charged in from the back deck, tails wagging. “We’ll be out front. And I’m staying tonight, but I’m not sleeping on the porch again. I’ll take the couch.”
He stepped through the door and disappeared outside. She hated him for that, for the ease with which he could leave if he wanted.
Veronica downed the glass of wine without taking a breath, then stared at the book like it was a vile creature.
The Shadows Within.
She traced the embossed letters on the cover with a trembling hand. She didn’t want to read it. She was afraid it might reveal more about her than she was ready to face.
But she faced a killer today. She went for a walk and sat on her deck. After all that, she wasn’t about to back down from this simple challenge.
