Lucy drew a chair close and stroked her hair. ‘Not like an idiot. You suddenly looked so . . . sad. Unbearably sad. You . . .’ She let the thought trail and huffed out a sigh. ‘You used to do that after . . . well, you know. Evan. Zone out, with that expression on your face. I was afraid you were back . . . there.’
There. Back in the huge deserted factory where she and Lucy had been held for hours. Where Evan had intended for them to die. Both of them.
Gwyn wrinkled her nose. ‘It smelled like fish.’
Lucy snorted a surprised laugh. ‘Yeah, it did. Fish factories usually do.’ She gave Gwyn’s hair another stroke, her voice softening. ‘Are you okay?’
Gwyn considered the question carefully and was relieved to discover that yes, she really was okay. ‘I am. About Evan, I mean. About all this? Probably not, but mostly because . . .’ Closing her eyes, she leaned into Lucy, taking comfort from her solid frame. ‘I’m so worried about him, Luce.’
‘I am too. What did you say to him, right before he left the room?’
Gwyn sighed. ‘Basically that he needed to keep himself alive. Because he was important to me.’
‘Ouch,’ Lucy murmured, her hand going still in Gwyn’s hair.
‘I know,’ Gwyn said miserably. ‘I need to fix this.’
Lucy resumed her stroking. ‘Not unless you mean it. Do you?’
Gwyn didn’t pretend to misunderstand, but the word was so damn hard to say out loud. Yes. Just say yes.
‘It’s acceptable to feel however you feel,’ Lucy said when Gwyn still hadn’t said anything after a minute of silence. ‘Thorne will . . . He’ll be okay.’
But the unspoken truth hung in the air between them and Gwyn felt her eyes sting. He wouldn’t be okay. Neither will I. ‘Why is this so hard?’ she whispered.
‘Because you feel how you feel,’ Lucy murmured, ‘even though you don’t want to. You care for him. We both do. But that’s not the same as loving him.’
‘I know that,’ Gwyn bit out, feeling Lucy flinch. ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I didn’t mean to snap at you.’
‘It’s okay,’ Lucy said with a hint of humor. ‘I’m used to it.’
‘You shouldn’t be. Nobody should. Goddammit, I’m . . . I am not a good person, Lucy. I’m mean and selfish and . . .’ She halted abruptly when her voice broke. ‘Dammit, I do.’
‘Do what?’ Lucy asked cautiously.
‘Love him,’ Gwyn choked out, so glad her face was hidden behind her hair.
‘Okay.’ Lucy drew the word out, making it more of a question. ‘How so?’
Gwyn jerked her chin up, peering at Lucy through narrowed eyes. ‘How do you think?’
Lucy shrugged, exasperated. ‘I don’t know. You haven’t actually told me anything.’
Which was true. And the admission made her eyes sting again. ‘Why can’t I just say it? Other people just say it. All the fucking time. Love you, love you, love you,’ she sing-songed mockingly. ‘What the hell is wrong with me that I can’t just say it?’
Lucy drew a breath. ‘Okay. Let’s step back here. There is nothing wrong with you. You’re not abnormal. You’ve had a trauma. Tell me something, honey. Did you ever tell Evan that you loved him?’
Gwyn reared back as if Lucy had slapped her in the face. ‘What? No.’
Lucy lifted her hands in a placating gesture. ‘Okay. Asked and answered.’
Gwyn looked away. ‘But I was about to.’
‘Ah.’
She glared at her friend from the corner of her eye. ‘What does “ah” mean?’
‘It means that the last time you felt this way, it ended really shittily.’
‘You can say that again,’ Gwyn mumbled. ‘So, what do I do?’
‘How should I know? I’m far better with dead people.’
Gwyn chuckled, just as Lucy had intended. ‘You liar. You love JD. You love your kids. You even love my sorry ass.’
Lucy smiled. ‘I do. All of the above. It wasn’t easy for me to say the words either, you know. At first. To JD. Now, to my babies? I tell them every day how much I love them. They’ll probably get tired of hearing it at some point. I’m not going to be my parents. That abusive cycle stops with me.’
‘Why wasn’t it easy?’ Gwyn asked, suddenly brutally aware that whatever issues Lucy had been having at the beginning of her relationship with JD had been dealt with alone. Because I was deep, deep in the fog. God, what a shitty friend I am.
‘Stop it,’ Lucy warned. ‘I can see what you’re thinking and it’s not true.’
‘What am I thinking?’ Gwyn challenged.
‘You’re feeling guilty because you weren’t there for me when JD and I first started out. Ha! I knew it,’ Lucy crowed when Gwyn rolled her eyes dramatically. ‘So you weren’t there for me. It turned out okay, I swear. I understood. I was in that smelly fish factory too. Remember?’
‘Yes,’ Gwyn bit out. ‘I remember. And yet you got over it.’
Lucy laughed, then stopped and blinked. ‘Wait. You don’t really think that, do you?’
‘Well, yeah. You’re . . .’ Gwyn waved a hand from Lucy’s head to her toes. ‘Well adjusted.’
‘I guess it’s nice I appear that way, but I’m not, not really. I still have nightmares.’
Gwyn blinked up at her. ‘You do?’
‘Of course I do. JD does too. He wakes up screaming sometimes,’ she added in a whisper. ‘But keep that to yourself. He has a reputation to protect.’
‘I won’t say a word,’ Gwyn whispered back seriously. Because this was serious.
‘Thanks.’ Lucy smiled sadly. ‘Maybe the difference is that coming out of the fish factory, I got my Prince Charming and you got . . . the memory of Evan.’
‘I’m glad you got your Prince Charming,’ Gwyn whispered fiercely, because she was. ‘This isn’t me being jealous of you.’
‘Oh, I know that.’ Lucy sighed. ‘I kept hoping that you’d be okay, you know? Because you were asleep for most of it. He’d drugged you and you were still asleep when he got me.’
Gwyn drew in a breath, forced her face to appear calm, even though she was screaming inside. No. I wasn’t asleep. She exhaled slowly. Not thinking about that. Not happening anymore. It’s over. It’s not happening anymore. It was the mantra her therapist had drilled into her over and over. It stopped the downward spiral into panic. Most of the time.
‘Gwyn?’ Lucy said very quietly. ‘What have you not told me?’
Gwyn shook her head, slow wags back and forth. ‘Don’t ask me. Please. I can’t go there. Not right now.’
A long, long silence stretched between them before Lucy cleared her throat. ‘Does Thorne know?’
‘No.’ Gwyn choked out the word.
‘Then you need to tell him.’ Lucy’s voice had grown impossibly gentle. ‘At least tell him that there are things he doesn’t know. He’ll give you time.’
‘He’s wasted years on me already,’ Gwyn said bitterly.
‘He doesn’t see it that way.’ Still so damn gentle. ‘You know that.’
‘I don’t know anything. Except that . . .’ She closed her eyes, because they burned. Two tears escaped and she quickly dashed them away.
‘Except that?’ Lucy prodded.
‘I don’t want him to hurt.’ Gwyn swallowed hard. ‘I don’t want him to think it’s him, when it’s really me. I’m broken.’
‘No, honey, you’re not broken. You’re healing. There’s a difference.’
Gwyn opened her eyes to stare at Lucy, her vision blurred. Healing. Not broken. That too was true. That too she knew deep down in her bones.
Lucy was appraising her thoughtfully. ‘Do you love him that way? You know?’ She waggled strawberry-blond brows and made kissy noises.
Gwyn snorted, grateful for the subject change. ‘Are we twelve?’
Lucy smiled. ‘Maybe. So? Do you? Do you think of him that way?’
Gwyn huffed a breath. ‘Of course. Doesn’t everybody?’
Lucy pursed her lips, eyes now sparkling with either amusement or mischief. But at least it wasn’t that gentle compassion, because that was like a knife in the gut. ‘I can honestly say that while I’ve appreciated Thorne’s very fine form, I have never thought of him that way.’
Gwyn frowned. ‘You are lying to me.’
‘Nope.’ She held up three fingers. ‘Scout’s honor. And yes, I was a Girl Scout, so it’s a valid vow.’
‘Never? Not even once?’
‘Nope. Not even once. He’s always been like a brother. And I would never think that about my brother.’ She shuddered. ‘That’s just . . . so wrong.’