Once a Good Girl.... Wendy S. MarcusЧитать онлайн книгу.
never told anyone you raped me. Look, we had sex. It was my first time. You’re huge. I’m not. I panicked. So what? No permanent harm done.”
He didn’t like the way she turned away when she said, “No permanent harm done.”
Aside from the euphoria of experiencing the best sex of his young life with a girl he’d managed to fall in love with, and the rage of having to choose between standing trial and possibly spending years in prison or leaving town for good and never contacting her again, he held little recollection of the specific details of that fateful night. Except for the sublime feel of her, which he’d never managed to duplicate with any other woman.
“Did I hurt you, Tori?” The thought he might have made him sick.
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “Any physical discomfort went away a lot sooner than the pain of you leaving me without a word as to why.”
She had no idea what he’d gone through after she’d been taken home? “The sheriff told me you accused me of rape. He dragged me off to jail, let me sit in that stinking cell for hours.” While he’d summarized the evidence against him and recounted stories of what prison inmates did to rapists.
To her credit, Victoria looked genuinely surprised.
“It scared the hell out of me.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Well, it did.”
“If you’d known me at all,” she said. “If you’d loved me as much as you said you did, if you’d trusted me at all, you should have known in your heart I’d never have done such a thing.”
But she’d been inconsolable, wouldn’t talk to him. She’d pushed him away when he’d tried to hold her and comfort her, fought her way out of the car—just as the sheriff had pulled up beside them. He’d had no idea what was going through her mind.
“At the very least,” she added, “I deserved the benefit of the doubt and a phone call to clue me in to what was happening.”
“How was I supposed to call you?” Didn’t she get it? “I was in jail. And a seventeen-year-old boy with no parents to stand up for him and a twenty-year-old sister too busy partying to care what happened to him didn’t get the proverbial one phone call in this town. I was given two choices. Take my chances with a trial or leave town.” A kid like him with a bad reputation and no one reputable to stand up for him would never have won a court battle against a family from the upper echelon of Madrin Falls. “I didn’t see any way out but to leave. When I was released from custody, a deputy followed me home. I had ten minutes to pack and he escorted me out of town.” And followed him another hour after that.
“You haven’t been near a phone any time since?” Victoria asked. “Weren’t you at all interested in how my father reacted to finding out his only daughter had tumbled, half-dressed, from the back seat of your car when she was supposed to be studying at the library?”
Honestly, as angry as he’d been, he’d still suffered twinges of guilt, wondering. Her uber-strict father was not a nice man. Kyle had thought about calling her. But never had, lowlife loser that he’d been, too busy, working to survive by day, boozing it up and releasing his rage in bar fights at night. Too intent on cultivating his hatred of the establishment, the haves who controlled the have nots, to realize until now that if the sheriff truly believed him guilty there’s no way he would have let him leave town. Idiot.
“I loved you,” she said. “I believed you when you said you loved me.”
“I did.”
“You did not. Or you would have found a way to get in touch with me to make sure I was okay.” The hurt in her eyes coaxed him forward. The familiar urge to soothe her and make her smile kicked in. She held up a hand between them. “Don’t. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m over it. So there’s nothing more to discuss.”
She looked at her watch, inhaled deeply, exhaled, then pulled her cellphone out of her pocket and dialed. Keeping her eyes closed, she pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Hello, it’s—” she said into the phone.
A woman yelled back at her.
She held the phone away from her ear. “I know. Strike one. I’m sorry.”
More yelling.
“I’ll get there as soon as I can.” With a press of a button she cut off the irate voice in mid-rant.
“I’ve got to go,” she said to Kyle. Balancing on her left foot, with one hand on the railing, she bent to pick up her purse and briefcase with the other. She looked so sad he actually felt bad for her. “Let me help you,” he offered, reaching for her briefcase.
She clutched the strap to her shoulder. “I don’t need your help.” She mumbled something under her breath that sounded like “Not anymore.”
“At least let me examine your ankle. You may need an X-ray.”
“I don’t.”
He watched her limp to the door leading to the fourth floor. “It’s unsafe for you to drive.”
“Go back to work, Kyle.”
“I’m done for the day. How are you going to press on the gas and brake pedals? Let me take you where you need to go.” Give him a chance to make amends.
The little color that remained in her cheeks drained out. “No.” Her voice cracked. “Really, I’m fine.”
They entered the half-full elevator.
Looking straight ahead, Victoria asked, “Shouldn’t your dog be wearing a vest or something to make him look … more … ?”
“Service dogs wear vests,” Kyle explained. “She’s …” he reached down to pat Tori’s head “ … a therapy dog. Therapy dogs are meant to be petted and cuddled. A vest interferes with that.”
When the doors opened, Kyle and Tori followed Victoria out. As she hobbled through the lobby, Kyle noticed she didn’t acknowledge one person she passed, and no one went out of their way to acknowledge her.
In the parking lot she stopped next to an old black Camry that looked a lot like the one her Aunt Livi had bought a few weeks before he’d left town.
He made one last attempt to convince her not to drive. “So, who’s this Jake and why’s he so important you’d risk your life to pick him up rather than accept a ride from me?”
CHAPTER TWO
OKAY. That’s it.
Victoria tossed her briefcase on the back seat of her car, slammed the door shut and waited to the count of five before turning on Kyle. She spoke slowly, fought to maintain an even tone. “Jake is none of your business. My life is not your concern and I’ll thank you, in advance, to stay away from me for the short time you’ll be in town.”
“Like it or not, most of my patients are on your floor and, once my therapy dog program is approved, I plan to accept the full-time staff position I’ve been offered.” He leaned toward her. Challenging. “The next time I leave town it will be on my terms.”
“You make it sound like approval for you to bring your dog to work is a given. It’s not. We’re firm at three for and four against. I’m against.” As was her mentor, the director of nursing.
“We have four weeks to change your mind.” He patted his dog’s head, looking unconcerned.
“No one can be as good as the two of you are touted to be. The patient outcomes and lengths of stay will speak for themselves.”
“Oh, we are that good, honey,” he said confidently.
“Don’t call me …”
“Come