Page 51 of Things We Burn

The single word was enough.

It was enough to make what he did a crime.

“He didn’t rape me,” I forced out the words. “Didn’t get that far, at least. But he … did enough.”

Gerald’s fingers, dry and probing, making their way past the elastic of my pants, pushing my simple cotton panties to the side before pushing inside.

It hurt.

It shocked me.

I left my body, not entirely understanding what was actually happening to me.

But then I did.

And my knee went to his balls.

His finger left me in a rush, brutally, causing more pain, but it gave me the opportunity to run.

I squeezed my eyes shut then forced myself to look at Kane. His face was a cool mask. “I came back to the kitchen the next day. I don’t know what I was thinking. Don’t know why I didn’t report it to the police.” I couldn’t keep Kane’s eye contact, my gaze flitting around the bathroom skittishly. “Because I was in a foreign country, was what I told myself,” I sighed. “Because it would draw attention to me in a way I wouldn’t like. I would never ever be able to make a name for myself as a chef. I’d always be the girl who accused Gerald DuBois of sexual assault. I wouldn’t be believed. I’d already assumed that much. It would be he said, she said. The student of the great man who was nothing but ordinary. I wanted him to pay. I did. But I didn’t want it to be at the expense of my career. My future.”

Shame bloomed in my cheeks.

“It was selfish and cowardly,” I admitted in a small voice. “Going back into that kitchen was, second to watching my father get buried, the hardest thing I ever did.”

I’d thrown up in the alley before I walked in.

“But I went in,” I whispered. “And he was there. And he looked at me, smiled tightly, politely, acting like nothing ever happened. Although I was no longer his golden student. Much to the delight of the others in the kitchen. I made sure I was never ever alone in his presence again.” I clenched my fists at my sides. Kane was close to me but he wasn’t touching me.

“I finished out my time there then left. Worked in other kitchens. Buried myself in that.”

Though I didn’t feel brave enough, I looked at Kane. His face was still expressionless. But he was shaking with what might’ve been rage, his chest rising and falling quickly.

I felt awkward, unaware of what to do with my admission out in the open air. Air that was stagnant after being buried for so long.

Kane jerked, as if I’d thrown water on him. His eyes lost that glazed look to them, and he squinted at me. His fire was back, mixed with a kind of rage I’d never seen on his face.

He cupped my face in his hands. “You, Avery Hart, are many, many things. Two things you absolutely aren’t are selfish or a coward.” His words were steely, hard as iron. “I’m not gonna lie, Chef, hearing that makes me want to make calls, get on a plane and go kill the fuck with my bare hands. I know that’s my ugly, baser nature speaking, but fuck if his death doesn’t sound sweet to me.”

He took in an audible breath, never breaking eye contact.

“Spent my life working on that. That rage that put me in a cage. That turned me into someone I don’t want to be, so I’ll continue working on that. Moreover, I will not make this about me. I’ll say it plainly, Chef. I’m sorry that happened toyou. So fucking sorry. Men are scum. And I don’t mean ‘some men,’ I mean most of us. Almost all of us.” His thumb brushed my bottom lip. “But I’ll endeavor to be worthy of you. And I’ll treasure that you felt safe enough with me to tell me that just now.”

My heart danced at his tender, sincere words. I wanted to cry. Sob against his chest. Kane would let me, that I knew. He wouldn’t be afraid of my tears, my feelings.

But I didn’t want that. There was still a stubborn, maybe emotionally stunted part of me that thought tears equaled weakness. So I held on.

Kane was watching me, searching my expression as if he were waiting for me to take the lead on what to say next.

When I didn’t speak, he stroked my temple. “What do you want from here? I can run you a bath. Get you in the shower. Put on a movie. Whatever you need.”

I rubbed my lips together. “Sex isn’t anywhere in that list,” I pointed out.

He grinned slowly, but it was muted. “After sharing that, dredging that up, I didn’t know if you’d want to be touched like that right now.”

I nodded, a gesture meant to push back the tears again more than anything. Kane was so considerate. Thoughtful. Empathetic.

I clutched on to the hem of his tee, tugging it up. He let me pull it over his head to reveal his tattooed and muscled torso.

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