Page 30 of Caught from Behind

Fuck, her face is full of pity when I glance over at her.

“You?” she whispers.

Yes, it happened to me.

I can’t give voice to that. I fucking can’t.

“Honey.” Her fingers tense. “I’m so sorry that was done to you.”

I don’t know what I expected—maybe for her to pull back, to reject, to add to the shame I already felt. Not this. Not her sadness on my behalf and her continuing to touch me.

“It’s not like you’re thinking,” I say quickly. “I wasn’t raped or anything. I just…I used to drink a lot, drink too much really, and?—”

The memory slams into me so abruptly that it steals my breath away, that it sends my mind into a tailspin. Suddenly, I can barely concentrate on the road.

Saying no.

Pushing her away.

My brain so damned fuzzy. My limbs so fucking heavy.

Saying no again. The word almost impossible to form on my tongue.

But I had. I KNOW I had said it. More than once.

“Riggs,” Ella says sharply, those fingers squeezing on my leg, her palm coming to my cheek. But it’s her scent—all flowers and woman—that pulls me back out, that grounds me.

I know her, even in the darkness.

Snapping back into reality, I realize that, somehow—thank fucking God, somehow—I’ve found a turnout and stopped the car.

“Breathe,” she whispers.

I do just that for long minutes.

“We don’t have to talk about it?—”

“No.” I clamp my eyes shut. “It’s not like you think. I just woke up one morning after really indulging, after taking it too far, and there was a woman in my bed.”

Her expression doesn’t change and she doesn’t retreat to her seat.

Just keeps touching me, grounding me.

“I told her no,” I say. “I told her I didn’t want it and—” My throat closes up but I push the words out, find myself saying the same thing aloud I’ve said a thousand times in my own head. “It’s fine.” I shrug. “I overindulged and everyone does stupid shit when they overindulge. But I drank so much that I didn’t use a condom and she gave me an STI. After that, I promised myself I would never be that stupid again. Never get so sloppy drunk that I couldn’t control my actions, control my body, my words and thoughts—” I grind my teeth together. “And where I put my dick.”

Ella’s a statue.

So fucking still that I don’t think she’s breathing.

Then she unsticks, her chest expanding on a huge breath.

Her fingers flex on my thigh, my face, and then she’s abruptly pulling back, popping open the car door, stepping out onto the snow-covered turnout.

Leaving me.

Not good enough.

My stomach has a giant knot in it, but before I can process how truly shitty this feels, I hear?—

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