Page 64 of Tough Love

I pointedly flick my eyes toward the living room. “I’ve got company. Want to join us?”

A frown draws his eyebrows together as he steps inside, barely waiting for me to shut the door before he marches through to find Jess staring back at him.

“Uh, hi?”

Evan’s shoulders noticeably relax. “Hi.”

“Evan, this is my friend, Jess.” I position myself between them, unsure what exactly had him on edge. “Jess, this is Evan. He was the officer who picked up Briar the day of the accident.” I give her a wink on the sly; he has no idea I’ve told her about him.

“Nice to meet you.” Jess slides off the sofa, shaking his hand before she gathers a handful of lollies and repositions herself on the single armchair.

Obvious much?

I settle at the far end of the sofa, leaning into the rolled arm to avoid seeming as though I want to be hanging all over Evan. I mean, sure, I do, but I don’t want to bethatobvious. He drops onto the other cushion, his weight causing me to lean into him slightly all the same.

“Did I interrupt something?” He nods towards the mountain of sugar between us all.

“Girls’ night in,” Jess answers.

“I thought that involved wine and romantic movies,” he replies, narrowing his eyes. “Or have I been lied to my entire life?”

I shrug. “You know I’m not the romantic movie type.”

“And the wine’s in the fridge,” Jess adds.

We giggle, gaining an amused smirk from Evan.

“Don’t let me hold you up from the important stuff then.”

Jess’s eyes flick my way, and I know exactly what she’s wondering: how do we continue what we were talking about with our new company?

Evan glances between the two of us, the pregnant silence flashing a neon sign at him. “Should I go?”

“No,” Jess and I say in unison.

“It’s just….” I sigh, glancing at Jess. “We were talking about old times. I’ve never told Jess about what happened to me in school.”

His entire body tenses; the sofa vibrates underneath us. “Oh.”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Jess dismisses with a wave of her hand. “We can carry on another time.”

I glance to Evan, who eyes me with an intensity I can’t place. He doesn’t seem alarmed, or worried, kind of apprehensive? “I don’t mind if you don’t?”

His Adam’s apple bobs, and he sucks in a huge breath that makes his thick chest rise and fall, slow and measured. “It’s your call.”

He knows.

He was there in one capacity or another at the time. And like he said, news travelled fast in our small town, and unlike the usual result when whispers spread through dozens of people, the stories in our small neck of the woods didn’t stray far from the truth.

Everybody knew that the Harris girl got raped by the oldest daughter’s boyfriend. Everybody knew I was laid up in hospital for a week before being discharged to be cared for by family.

He’s heard it all—just not from me. It’s the little details that only I know. Like how Mum used to come home from the shops with her mascara ever so slightly smeared and the eyeliner she’d applied that morning gone. It tore at her pride to accept charity, but at the same time she knew people had our best intentions at heart when they would see her at the supermarket and buy me a magazine to read, or throw a chocolate bar in her shopping bag for me.

That’s what stung me the most about the whole ordeal: everybody knew it was wrong, and yetnobodystood up and petitioned the decision when Tristan was discharged without conviction.

We were the only two people there, Tristan and I. It was my word against his, and hindsight is a fantastic thing when you realise your selfish behaviour and actions in the weeks prior did nothing to uphold your character as a reliable complainant.

“Should I get the wine?”

---