Meaning she was fucking twelve. Twelve. God, my father was disgusting.
“You don’t know shit,” I muttered, immediately pissed at myself for talking to her like that. I was supposed to be the one who saved her. I needed to watch my mouth.
“I know enough to tell you it’s hopeless, going back there, going back to him.” She squeezed my hand, reminding me that I hadn’t let hers go. Our fingers were linked, palms pressed together, and I liked it. Holding on to her like this, despite my sweating hand, made me feel good. Safe. “Come into the police station with me.”
I kept walking, stifling the groan of frustration that I wanted to let fly. She was still young. Probably sheltered, not so innocent anymore but enough so that she believed the world could still be inherently good. No bad intentions allowed. She had parents to go back to, who wanted her. A safe home, a place where she felt loved and supported.
Me? I had nothing. No options. A father who kidnapped and raped little girls for sport and a mother who abandoned me long, long ago. “They’ll just put me in a foster home.”
“Wouldn’t that be better than being with him?”
What was that old saying? The devil you know is better than the devil you don’t? How messed up was that?
But that was my life in a nutshell.
When I didn’t say anything she continued. “What about your mom?”
“What about her?” I sounded hostile and I pressed my lips together, fighting tears. Fucking tears. For a woman who ditched me the first moment she got a chance. I’ll probably end up having serious mommy issues when I’m older, swear to fucking God.
“Where is she?”
“Not a part of my life.” That was all I wanted to say. I sent Katie a look, one that said no more questions, and I was fairly certain she got the hint.
We came upon a red light and waited for it to change so we could cross the street. The police station was close by, on the street we were about to approach, and we’d need to turn right once we crossed. A few more blocks and we’d be there.
A few more blocks until I let go of Katie forever.
I accept my vanilla latte and watch him from across the table, marveling yet again at his good looks, at the fact that he asked me to go for coffee with him and I accepted. We’re on some sort of weird date—I can’t imagine calling it anything else—and he’d instigated it. Meaning he wanted to continue spending time with me.
Me. Katherine Watts. Poor, pitiful Katie.
I didn’t know what to make of it.
As usual, I ran through the gamut of possible explanations. He’s really a reporter. He knows exactly who I am and is trying to get close to me. My new favorite theory—he was sent by Mom and Brenna to trip me up. As a test to see if I’d be dumb enough to fall for his tricks.
If these theories are wrong and he doesn’t know who I really am, as soon as he finds out he’ll bolt. Not that I could blame him. I’m not easy. My past is difficult. Who wants to be with a girl who was repeatedly raped and beaten at the age of twelve, only to never allow herself to be touched by another man again? Who wants to follow that up?
No one, that’s who. Not even this guy, not if he’s normal. Any guy my age or close to it would cut and run.
We’d stood in line together, me checking the giant chalkboard menu that hung on the wall behind the front counter. Ethan made a few recommendations, letting me know what he planned on ordering, and once I made my decision, he told me to go claim the lone empty table in front of the window overlooking the Pacific before someone else snagged it.
When I offered money to pay for my drink, he looked offended.
I scurried over to the tiny table and settled in a chair, staring at the wide blanket of blue topped with whitecaps. The wind was vicious, whipping the ocean into a froth of choppy waves, and there weren’t many boats out there. Most of them had already come in for the day.
Staring at the ocean could sustain me for only so long and I tilted my head, checking out Ethan as discreetly as possible while he stood patiently in the long line. The place was busy, the interior quaint, with exposed brick walls and rough-hewn wood planks. The glass case gleamed beneath the lights, full of delicious-looking pastries and cookies, and a tray of chocolate cupcakes topped high with thick vanilla frosting that looked extra tempting. But I wasn’t hungry and besides, I was too nervous to eat.