“I didn’t lock the door.”
I wait for the judgement in his strong features but there’s nothing but tenderness. He swipes his thumb against my wet cheek. “Were you hurt anywhere else? Was your roommate .?.?.?”
“No. The guy managed to strip her but nothing else happened. I think they were there to mess with us—or who they thought we were. And the cuts were the worst of my injuries. The few bruises faded within a week.”
He curses under his breath, then stands abruptly, like he’s ready for battle. “What did they want from the other girls? Did you ever find out?”
I nod. “They came back two days later. Found the right apartment that time. And they didn’t make it out of there in one piece. The cops came and arrested them. The girl they were after was a stripper. Turned down some guy one night and he didn’t like it. That’s all I know. I didn’t ask questions. My roommate and I didn’t want any suspicions. If we’d called the police the first time, there wouldn’t have been another break-in.”
“If you called the police, they might have gotten away and not come back,” he points out. After a breath, he asks, “So you never told anyone?”
I shake my head. “Only Willow.”
“Was she the other girl?”
“No. I barely knew my roommate at the time. Willow is my best friend. She’s been my rock over the last few years. Texts every night to check on me.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything? Wesley could have—”
“Blamed me for moving to New York in the first place? Calledme stupid for not going to the hospital or locking my door? He wouldn’t understand.”
Wilder glances at my arm, then looks at me, his voice softer now, calmer. “Have you talked to .?.?. someone?”
I scoff. “Like a therapist? Yes. For several weeks after. It was worthless. Talking in circles, repeating the worst moment of my life to someone who .?.?.” I take a breath. “Someone who would never understand.” I close my eyes. “It’s not like I expected the nightmares and panic attacks to stop overnight. But I got a little tired of hearing ‘time will heal’ and it wasn’t my fault.”
He sits back down on the bed. Staying close. “You stopped going.”
“I stopped going and I .?.?. dropped out of NYU. I didn’t want to be that person sitting across from someone making it sound like moving on is easy with a few simple steps.” I laugh. “After a while, you start feeling pretty dumb. Like, why am I sitting in this room repeating myself and how it felt. Why is she asking the same things different ways? It’s like she wanted me to understand something I clearly wasn’t.”
“Is that what you were taught?”
“Not really. But it’s how I felt.”
He runs a hand down his face but doesn’t stand. Instead, he takes my hand. There’s no pity in his features. He actually smiles a little, lightening the mood. “So what do we do, Blue? How do we help you get some sleep?”
“It’s better now,” I lie. “I have like seven locks in my apartment back home.”
“Like seven?”
“Exactly seven, actually. It’s overkill, I know. But it was Willow’s idea. She thinks the action of locking a door over and over again should reinforce feeling safe. Either that, or assuring I don’t get my security deposit back on the apartment.” I laugh bitterly.
After a beat, he kisses my forehead then stands, pulling his shirt off. His back is to me as he walks to the armchair, while I try not to drool as I take in every inch of muscle on this man.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He turns like it’s obvious. “There’s only one lock on your door here.” Gently, he lays the shirt over the backrest and turns to me.
But my eyes are not on his face or his eyes, like they should be.
“Rose,” he starts as he moves back toward me. He’s about to say something I should probably hear. It may even be a question. But I can’t tear my eyes off his broad chest. He’s carved perfection. Reaching me, he lifts my chin to meet his warm blues.
“I’m not one to miss the need for a woman’s consent when it comes to spending the night.” He strokes my cheek. “But I’m not leaving you tonight.”
Warmth spreads through me and I feel my shoulders relax. I smile weakly, shifting in my bed.
He straightens, unbuckling his belt, his eyes on me until he slides his jeans off and turns, resting them over his shirt on the chair.
Is this some kind of slow torture? Or a dream .?.?.?
