Page 19 of Countdown

Raina looked at her box, picked up her fork, then put it down again.

“Okay, I know I said I’d wait until you’re ready, but I think you’re ready even if you don’t want to admit it. Talk to me, Raina,” he finally said. “You’re going to explode if you don’t.” He raised a brow, silently inviting her to do as he’d urged.

She eyed him. “You’re right. I am.”

“Then talk.”

Raina sighed, then looked down. “In case you haven’t picked up on it, I have kind of a ... weird past,” she said, her voice low, her words slow and drawn out. “A painful one. I don’t like to talk about it. With anyone. Usually.”

“I’ve noticed. I get it.” How could he convince her that he was a safe place to unload? Why did she find it so hard to let down her walls and just trust him?

Because you’re not trustworthy?

The little voice in his head taunted him, and he wanted to bat it away like an annoying fly, but it continued to buzz with persistence.

A soft groan escaped her. “No, you don’t.” Her hand clenched, then relaxed, only to fist once more on the table.

He refused to ask her again. At least not out loud.Trust me, so I can fix it.He flinched at the involuntary thought.

“It’s just not that simple.”

“Okay then.”

To give her credit, she did sound like she was in agony over the whole thing.

Minutes ticked past while she studied her hands, obviously thinking. “Why does it matter so much to you?” she asked softly. “I mean, I know we’re friends, but this seems to be something ... more.”

Because it was. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, andif you don’t let someone help you, then it’s possible something will happen. I just want to make sure nothing happens.”

She blinked at him. “That was cryptic.”

“My sister’s husband killed her.”

Her mouth formed a smallOand he nodded. “She wouldn’t let me help her and she died, so if I’m a little pushy...”

“That’s why.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Yes, it was. It is.”

“When?”

“Six years ago. And she and I had a similar conversation to the one you and I are having. So, I think I’m having a few PTSD moments.”

She swallowed hard. “I see.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” She studied him, her gaze so compassionate that it almost did him in. “You’ve been a very good friend to me, Vince. Thank you.”

He blinked. “Uh ... you’re welcome.” He’d been a goodfriend. That was kind of a kick in the pants. Afriend. Better than those she’d known most of her life?

“Which means I need to be the same to you,” she said. “I need to give you a heads-up, because forewarned is forearmed, right?”

Even though he was slightly confused, he kept that to himself. Then the rest of her words processed. “What do I need to be forewarned about?”

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