“But you’re terrified to lose her if you tell her what Blaine, John and Stellan did to you that night.”
I look at her. “It’s not just about losing Lindsay. I’m ashamed, okay? I’m filled with residual shame and disgust. If that were all, I wouldn’t be here. If word ever got out about what they did to me, my business would die. People hire me to protect them. Image is everything. Having it known that the owner of a security company was once drugged and -- ” My throat goes dry again, but I have to say the words.
Have to.
Not because Salma wants me to, but because some part of me drives forward, knowing I can’t get over this until I own it.
“ -- and they...abused me like that.”
She nods once, slowly, a form of praise that I wish I could absorb.
“And doing it while I couldn’t fight back, after forcing me to watch them defile my girlfriend is a career ender in my field.” I have to change the subject. Deflect. Disengage. Talk about anything but me.
“Which worries you more? Losing Lindsay or losing your reputation and business?”
I snort. “I don’t need my business. Between my inheritance after Mom and Dad died and some side work I could always have, I’m fine financially.”
“So it’s losing Lindsay that terrifies you.”
“I wouldn’t say terrifies.”
She doesn’t respond.
Terrify. Fuck that. I’m not terrified at the thought that Lindsay would find out about what those fucking beasts did. I’m not.
“Drew. You were hospitalized for weeks as a result of the damage they inflicted on you.”
I start to shake. It comes from within, vibrating out of my ribs, feeding into my arms and legs.
I can’t control it.
I can’t control anything.
“You’ve been so focused on Lindsay and her trauma that I think we need to process your view of her reaction. When she finds out -- ”
“She’ll only find out if I tell her.”
And hell, no, I’m not telling her.
“When you’re ready, that will be a major step toward healing. For both of you.”
My eyes go unfocused. The shaking doesn’t stop. Rage stored in my bones tries to work its way out. When I first started coming to see Salma, I needed to run out of the room. I felt too raw, too exposed, to be around her. She tolerated it. Encouraged me to leave and compose myself.
Took months to feel safe.
Took nearly two years to be done.
Here I am, back in the same place.
But different.
Does Lindsay feel like this? Home for a week, already mired in scandal. Except this time, I’m the source of the scandal. Those assholes set me up, and now Harry’s listening to all the wrong advisers.
For all the “right” reasons.
“I don’t have time for the emotional fallout of having what happened to me revealed to Lindsay. It’s another complicating factor. Right now, there’s already too much going on. Her safety is paramount. Sifting through the past has to wait.”
“Sifting through the past may be the most important way you can keep her safe, Drew.”
I close my eyes again.
Damn it.
Now I remember why I kept coming back to Salma.
Because she’s right.
“They’re threatening her. Directly. Cut her brake lines and nearly caused a crash. Now Blaine’s sniffing around her at her father’s declaration rally. Hell, he weaseled his way into getting Harry to endorse him for Harry’s old House seat. They text threats to her and make it look like it’s coming from a phone she bought. It’s all manipulated, calculated, and it’s impervious. We can’t figure out how they’re doing it. Someone on the inside is helping them. They’re sharks circling to find the right time to bite. I cannot introduce yet another element of complexity to this situation.”
“You’re not introducing it. You’re identifying it. Acknowledging it. By doing so, you help to remove the power the past has over both you and Lindsay.”
“Power?” I lean forward, shoving a hand through my hair again. “They have no power over me. I’ve systematically stripped their influence out of my life.”
“You wouldn’t be sitting here if that were true, Drew.” She taps the newspaper. “And they wouldn’t have been able to do this.”
All I can do is blink. I freeze, as if I’m trapped in my body, paralyzed. Blood rushes to my head, away from my heart, flowing into my fingers and toes.
My chest stops moving.
The world stops.
“Look,” I say, the word coming out of my mouth with so much effort. Instead of thinking in sentences, I’m working with syllables here, one at a time, chained together to form words that link with other words to make my thoughts come out. I inhale, then exhale, and say, “If that is true, then four years were wasted.”
“Why do you think that?” she asks kindly.
“Because I spent all this time getting ready for Lindsay. Making sure she’d always be safe.”
“Are you sure it was Lindsay you were protecting?”
“What?” Anger pours through me like my skin is just a mold, and fury fills it.