Safe at Last (Slow Burn #3)

“Gracie? Gracie, are you all right? What’s going on in there? Do you need my help?”


She hastily scrubbed at her face, but before she could respond, the door burst open and Zack filled the doorway, his expression grim and worried. Then he evidently saw what she’d tried hard to conceal and his entire face softened.

He knelt on the floor of the small, enclosed space and took her hands.

“Hey, are you all right?” he asked gently. “Are you hurting? Do you need help getting back to bed?”

She closed her eyes again, shutting out his image. He’d aged well, although his eyes had changed. They looked older, haunted, as though he’d endured hell. As though he had grieved—was still grieving. But why?

Her head pounded, and she ached, but it had nothing to do with her injuries and bruises. Some hurts went beyond the physical. Some ran soul-deep and did far more damage than those inflicted by her attackers.

Those injuries and hurts would heal, would go away and be gone as if they’d never occurred. But the hurt Zack had inflicted would never go away, would never cease to hurt, and she’d never recover from them.

“Gracie, talk to me.”

She opened her eyes to see his narrowed eyes blazing with concern. God, there was nothing she could do. No way for her to avoid him.

“I-I’m okay,” she stammered out.

“You don’t look okay,” he muttered.

“Look, Zack, this is hard for me. Can you blame me? After what you did? How can you sit there and look at me and expect me to act as though nothing ever happened? God, are you some kind of sociopath?”

She choked the last of her statement out and then angrily brushed at new tears that slipped down her cheeks. Damn it. She hated being so vulnerable in front of him, of him seeing her so weak. Hated that old wounds were once again raw and bleeding, as though they’d never truly healed. And she supposed they hadn’t. They never would. She could lie to herself, be firmly in denial just so she could endure each day, but in the end, nothing had changed. She could never get back all that she had lost.

His lips thinned and his jaw ticked. Anger blazed in his eyes and it looked very much like he wanted to say something but he remained silent. Then he rose to his feet and simply reached over and carefully picked her up.

Ignoring her surprised protests, he carried her back into the hospital room and laid her on the bed. Then he arranged and plumped her pillow, briskly fixing her bedding as if the incident in the bathroom hadn’t occurred.

When he was done, he pushed her hair from her face and forehead, his fingers lingering against her skin. His expression grew sad and distant. It looked very much like tears welled but she had to be imagining that.

He trailed a fingertip down her cheekbone as though he couldn’t resist touching her in some way. She should shrink away. She should be repulsed. And yet she closed her eyes, trying to keep her own tears at bay. Hadn’t she cried enough? At what point would the past cease to make her cry?

His touch took her to another time, a sweeter, happier time when they were together and she was convinced they’d be together forever. Before she lost everything that mattered to her. Before her life was destroyed and she’d been left to pick up the pieces alone and shattered.

But when he leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead, it was simply too much. She turned away from him, the tears coming faster.

He let out a sound of pain, as though he were the one wounded. She wanted to laugh—or cry more—over the irony. He hadn’t suffered as she had.

“We’ll work this out, Gracie,” he said in a low, anguished voice. “Now that I’ve finally found you I’m not letting you go. If it takes the rest of my life I’m going to make you understand.”

Understand what? The question tugged relentlessly at her lips but she pressed them together to prevent the words from spilling out.

She didn’t want to understand why he’d done the unthinkable. She just wanted him to leave and never see him again.

Was that too much to ask?





NINETEEN


ANNA-GRACE had dozed off after a sleepless night when she was awakened by noise in her room. It had been impossible for her to sleep with Zack propped in a chair in the corner. She could feel his gaze on her even when she wasn’t looking at him.

Conversing with Wade had been impossible, and so the room had remained awkwardly silent until the two men had finally drifted off to sleep. She had spent the entire night agonizing over her situation and wondering if there was a way out.

From beneath slitted eyelids she watched as Zack tiredly rubbed his face and walked out of the room. Her heartbeat accelerated and she hurriedly glanced around to find Wade, who was awake and using his laptop by her bed.

“Wade,” she called softly.

His head yanked up, and his eyes narrowed in concern. “You okay, Anna-Grace? Do you need anything?”