Page 108 of The Love You Fight For
“What the hell happened?” Her face falls as she looks over mine.
Guess my full face of makeup isn’t that effective.
I close my eyes and shake my head.
“If this doesn’t have what we need, we move forward with what we have,” I say.
I open my eyes and stare at the neon open sign in the diner window. It looks just like the one at The Outpost. I force a smile, then look back at Agent Sexton.
“It will have to be enough,” I tell her, and then I get back into my car.
I drive another hour before the tears start. Slow and steady at first, and then I’m wracked with sobs. They turn so violent that I have to pull off the road so I don’t crash.
I cry, and I cry, and I cry. And then I scream.
Everything washes over me in a rush. The disgust. The guilt. The fear. The anger. The bone-deep, exhausting sadness. I see him on top of me. I feel his arm on my throat. His hands on my body. Between my legs. His lips on my skin. His face and voice and hands morph into someone else. Someone older. Someone even more cruel. Someone even more forceful. Then I climb over the center console, throw open the passenger door, and vomit into the ditch.
I throw up everything in my stomach. My throat burns and my head aches. Even my eyes hurt by the time I’m finished. Then I sit with my head between my knees, and I think ofWalden.
TWENTY-SIX
A knockingon my door wakes me.
When I glance at the clock on my nightstand, it’s after three in the morning. I check my phone, but I have no missed calls or texts.
Quickly, I get out of bed, throw on a pair of shorts, and head to the front door.
When I open it, I lose my breath.
“What happened?” I ask.
My fear and anger are obvious. I gather Sam into my arms and hold her to my chest. I smooth back her wet hair and run my hands up and down her back.
“What happened, baby?”
I move back so I can look at her. Her cheek is sporting a light bruise. Her lip is swollen. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her left one displaying a burst blood vessel. I feel terror and rage. Terror to think of what the woman I love has been through, and rage for whoever caused it.
“Can I come in?” Sam asks, her hoarse voice barely a whisper, and it spurs me into action.
I steer her into the house and take her to the couch, then I kneel in front of her and survey her some more. I brush her hair back offher face and run my thumb lightly over the bruise on her cheek. Her eyes flutter shut, and she leans into my touch.
“What happened?” I ask again, and her face falls.
It’s like a dam breaks.
She hiccups on a sob, tears flooding her face in a steady stream.
“You’re going to hate me.” She squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head. “You’re going to hate me.”
She drops her head in her hands and sobs.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Chris. I’m so sorry.”
“No.” I rub her back. “I could never hate you. I could never hate you, princess.”
“You don’t know what I did,” she says.
She won’t look at me. She won’t open her eyes. Her body wracks with another sob, and my heart breaks. My heart shatters for her.
