Not Since You (6 page)

              Carrie lifted her chin and peered into his face with those wide, silvery gray eyes. "Call my number and see if she rings."

              Zack tightened his grasp around her waist so she didn't escape. "Let's just take her to the vet's, instead."             

*****

              The surgery would take about an hour; they'd call his cell when the procedure was done. Zack led Carrie down the steps and opened the door of his pickup for her. She climbed in and stared straight ahead. "Fifteen hundred dollars," she moaned softly to herself. "And the cost of a new Smartphone."

"You can use my phone if you need one."

She turned and looked at him, still with that deer-in-the-headlights shocked kind of look. Maybe worse, now that she'd had to pay the vet. "I don't need to use your phone. I need…I need… Oh, God." She leaned back against the headrest. "My whole
life
was in that thing, Zack. Everything. And how are people going to reach me?" She closed her eyes. "At least the neighbors won't be able to contact me when she runs away and destroys something. That's a good thing…"

"I know what you need." He put the truck into gear and started for the beach. It was a perfect summer's night, clear, with a cooling breeze coming in off the bay. The dusky sky was still pink with the promise of a hot day tomorrow, and he knew a walk on the cooled sand would be therapeutic for both of them. When he parked in the lot by the town beach, she didn't argue.

              Without speaking, they got out and before long walked in sync on the hard-packed sand on the water's edge, carefully avoiding the ebb and flow of the waves. They walked without speaking. The hiss and shush of the water meeting land filled his head with a soothing rhythm, while the dull thud and boom of the waves farther out was like a heartbeat.

A dog raced by, barking happily as its owner tossed a stick into the water, bouncing out into the surf and practically dancing on the surface until it had to swim. Even then, the dog's goofy smile was visible. Zack thought it should close its mouth before it drowned, but it was too happy.

"Too bad Ellie's not here," he mused.

"Her fault. If she hadn't eaten my phone, she might have been. Then again, it's probably a good thing—I was ready to strangle her anyway."

"I haven't dealt with many Irish wolfhounds, but the ones I've known have been great. Do you know they call them 'gentle giants'?"

"Giant pains in the ass, if you ask me."

"She's just untrained, that's all. She needs discipline. Generally, they're pretty calm. And they're patient. Great with small kids, small dogs… If they weren't so huge, I think more people would have them for pets." He stopped and watched the dog bring back the stick and run down the beach after its person. "Where did your grandmother get Ellie?"

"The gates of Hell, probably."

He turned to look at Carrie. She was so bitter. So different from the girl he'd known. Though, he supposed, she had a reason to hate him. And the dog.

"An Irish wolfhound is an unusual choice for an elderly person."

              "Nana was unique," Carrie said. "She wasn't like most elderly people. Look at how she—died."

              "Still…" He bent and picked up a small conch shell, with a spiral in its center. He brushed the sand off it and handed it to her. She studied it, tracing the spiral with her fingertips.

              "I finally got in touch with her lawyer tonight. Before—before
El Beast
ate my phone. He said he had no idea the dog existed. It was like she fell from the sky." Carrie sounded sad. "Or erupted from The Pit."

              "Come on, Carrie. She's not
that
bad. Is she?"

              Carrie fixed him with a hard stare; it showed her age. Not that she looked aged, but all her life's experiences were in those silver eyes. She wasn't the girl he'd known, any more than he was the boy she'd left. "We just dropped her off at the vet's because she ate my phone after destroying half the neighborhood. And you say she's not that bad?" She bent, picked up a rock and flung it into the waves. "Are we talking about the same dog?"

"If we worked with her, she'd be fine."

She shook her head. "I've used almost all of the money Nana left me, paying for the damage this dog has done in only two days. If she does anything else, I'll have to go into my savings to pay for it. I don't have that much to start with. I don't know if I'm going to have enough to get even a quarter of the work done." She shoved the shell into her shorts' pocket and started walking again.

Zack fell into step beside her. "Do you like living in Texas, Carrie?"

"It's all right. I've got friends, an apartment."

"Anyone special?" He tried to keep his voice neutral, though a sharp flair of jealousy pierced his heart at the thought of Carrie with any other man.

"No. Not really." She turned to look at him. "I'd rather not talk about that, if you don't mind."

"Fair enough." He too picked up a rock and skipped it out over the water. "I've read the articles you wrote, you know. Sarah Googled them and printed them out, or tracked them down at the library and made a scrapbook."

She stopped. "Sarah? Did that? Why?"

He took a deep breath. "The night of the prom. I never got to tell you what happened—"

              "I'm not sure I want to know, Zack. I felt used and dirty. I thought you loved me, but I was wrong, and I felt stupid. But that's old news, now. I'm over it." She spun to face him, holding up her hand, palm out. But he'd waited eighteen years to discuss this with her, and he wasn't going to let one flat palm stop him. This might be the only chance he got.

He reached out, grasped her hand with his and brought it to his lips. He nipped her knuckles gently before pulling her against him. She struggled—a bit—but not as much as he expected. Would it be possible for him to tell her what had happened without revealing everything? He owed that to Sarah.

              But he owed an explanation to Carrie, too. He took a deep breath.
Sorry, Becks.

              Carrie didn't want to be leaning against Zack's long, lean body, pressing against him as intimately as if they were having sex with their clothes on. But she didn't
not
want to be, either.
Damn you, Zack Mahoney
, she thought. But she said nothing. She just leaned away from him. He let her move away—though he didn't release her hand.

              She started walking, his warm hand enveloping hers as neatly as she remembered. It felt right, even though she didn't want it to. It hurt so much to be so close to him; it hurt just as much to pull away. She sighed. "Okay. What? You and my best friend had a relationship, behind my back. What more do I need to know? You played us both, like the jock you were, because I was leaving to go to school in Texas. And you married her. So, tell me something I don't already know."

              His fingers tightened around hers, and he took a deep breath. "Okay. I will. The night of the prom, Mike O’Hare raped Sarah in the parking lot."

Chapter Six

Carrie had heard it said that a person could feel sideswiped, or that the ground could shift under their feet, but she hadn't ever experienced that for herself. Until now. Her knees sort of gave way, and she fell onto the sand; it was cold. So, so cold. Zack sat down beside her—he lifted her up, pulling her against him, with his arm around her. "You okay?"

              "Sarah was…raped?" She thought of how Sarah had been clinging to Zack in the hallway, how he'd sort of huddled over her, like he was protecting her. She'd run the scene through her head a million times already; it had seemed like he was shielding Sarah from
her.
But if she really had been raped, then it made sense. Except she couldn't quite believe it; it seemed too convenient. After all, Sarah was dead. She couldn't verify the story. "Why didn't anyone find out about it?" Always the journalist, she realized. Cynical. Asking questions. Looking for the hook, or the loophole. Even with this.
Stop. Don't ask. Just listen.

              Beside her, Zack shifted. "I wanted to take her to the hospital right away. I suppose if I had, you and I wouldn't be having this conversation right now." He sighed. "We probably would have been married and…well, anyway. I did what she wanted instead of what I knew should be done. I took her to the motel—she was supposed to go to that after party. Remember that?" He shook his head. "Instead, I took her to the motel room I'd already rented as a surprise to share with you—and she took the longest shower I'd ever seen anyone take."

We would have been married.
Carrie couldn't get those words to stop revolving in her mind. She tried to listen to what Zack was saying, but it was as if she were watching her entire life—a different life—unfolding before her eyes.
Married. To Zack.
She'd have children. She'd have the family she'd always wanted but had shoved aside along with the rest of her childhood dreams, the night of the prom.

Zack kept talking. "You know, my dad was a cop, my grandfather was a cop. I knew that we should report Mike, that Sarah's shower was washing away all the evidence. I also knew that she'd have to be poked and prodded and go through all kinds of invasive shit. It would probably go into the paper, and everyone would know. Don't forget—eighteen years ago, people weren't as sensitive to the rights of rape victims as they are now. She probably wouldn't have dealt with a female officer and a social worker. She would have been questioned by a middle-aged, jaded cop who would have made her feel like it was all her fault, saying shit like, 'Why'd you go out into the car with him if you didn't want sex?' I knew that.

"I also knew that Sarah's parents didn't make a lot of money, but Mike's did. So who would have the better lawyers? The high school athlete whose father was the CEO of a corporation, the kid with the Ivy League college scholarship, or the pretty girl whose father worked in a local factory, the big-breasted blonde with plans for community college? You know people would have said she was doing it to get money out of Mike, seducing him with her looks and making up a lie, or some shit like that."

Something struck Carrie—even though she'd told herself to listen and not be cynical. "You thought all that? A kid of eighteen?"

His dark eyes met hers, boring deep. She knew then. He had. That was Zack. It had always been Zack. He had a cop's sense, the ability to put himself in other people's shoes and know what they were going to do. He had realized what was going to happen to Sarah, and he'd done what she wanted because he knew she couldn't handle it otherwise.

He also had the willingness to take on others' problems as his own and try to help them. And try to save them.

Even marry them, if necessary.

Stupid bastard. Stupid, heroic bastard.

Saving people and keeping them safe was as natural to him as breathing. Saving dogs, too. Saving anyone. It was who he was.

A deep sense of shame engulfed her. Knowing that about Zack should have proved that he also would have been the
last
person to cheat on her, especially with Sarah. She should have realized and trusted him no matter how things appeared.

Instead, she'd made things worse, running out, getting a ride home, making the gossip mill churn about what had happened. If she hadn't taken off, then no one would have noticed if Zack and Sarah never showed up for the after party, and people wouldn't have assumed he dumped Carrie for her. And he and Sarah would never have had to work to hide Sarah's secret.

It was me. I was the one who failed. Not Zack, not Sarah. Me. I should have trusted him. Trusted them. I should have been there with her, too.

Bile rose in her throat; she pushed her knuckles into her mouth, biting on them as tears filled her eyes.

Selfish. I was selfish!

"I'm sorry," she choked. "I'm so…I didn't…"

"You don't have to say it," Zack said, and she realized that even now, he was saving her the way he saved everyone.
Damn him for being such a hero!

She wanted to hit him.

She wanted to hug him and never let him go.

"Oh, Zack," she whispered and put her arms around him with her cheek pressed against his shoulder, fitting up against him like the other half of a broken whole. Where she belonged.

Maybe knowing he'd been married to Sarah had been her penance. If she'd done the right thing,
she
would have been married to him, and all would have been the way it was supposed to. But she hadn't, and—she wasn't.

He'd married Sarah instead, only three short months after the prom.

Three short months.

Three months.

Something nagged at her, poked at her mind, even though she tried hard to shut off the journalist in her head. Asking questions was as much a part of her personality as saving others was Zack's. She'd spent plenty of time wondering why people behaved the way they did. So why would Zack and Sarah get married so quickly after the prom and graduation when they both had plans for college?