Still the One (31 page)

Katie softly stroked her hair. “Did he rape you?”

Had he? Memories of that night swirled through Gracie’s head. “No. I mean, I don’t think so.”

“Did you tell him no?”

“I—I tried. But I was drunk and stoned, and I don’t think I ever got the words out.”

Making out had been fun, at first. Romantic. Exciting. He’d had a sleeping bag in the back of his pickup, and they’d stretched
out on it and kissed and touched. She’d felt all kinds of thrilling sensations she’d never experienced. And then she’d realized
that this guy had moved from stroking her thighs to pulling down her underpants, and he’d already unfastened his jeans.

“Wait…,” she’d said—or maybe she’d just meant to say it. The vodka and pot had made everything seem fuzzy, like she was seeing
things through a pane of painted glass. She remembered that a sign had flashed out the back window—hotcakes. She’d felt like
she was in a thick gray fog, or having a dream, but just starting to wake up. “Slow down,” she’d told him.

“I can’t, babe. You feel too good.” Her panties were moving down her thighs. He pulled off her shoe and edged one leg out.

Through her fog-enshrouded brain, she felt a skitter of alarm. “Wait. I don’t want…”

His fingers had been back at her crotch.

“Please. I’m not… I’ve never…”

“Okay.” He moved his hand. She thought he was completely backing off. He’d cradled her face and kissed her. “It’s okay. Put
your arms around my neck.”

She thought they were going back to just kissing. Relieved, she wound her arms around his neck.

And then he’d rammed into her, hard and fast. It felt like a red-hot butcher knife, splitting her in two.

“I—I screamed,” she told Katie.

“Did he stop?”

“Yeah, but not right away.”

He’d thrust into her again, then again. His eyes had been closed, his mouth all twisted. She’d screamed again, and he’d driven
into her even harder. His face had been right above hers, contorted in a scary kind of way.

“Get off!”

She’d wanted to push him away, but her arms were locked by his body weight, and all she could do was flap her wrists. His
breath blew hard into her face. He’d grunted and thrust, and then it was all over.

“It happened so fast,” Gracie told Katie. “I didn’t know he was even going to, and then he did, and then… he was done.”

“Wow. That was awesome,” he’d said when he rolled off her, as if everything was just fine.

Shaking, Gracie had climbed out of the pickup bed, then promptly vomited on the parking lot.

“I—I just wanted to get away. My aunt’s place wasn’t far, so I—I ran.”

She’d only had one shoe, and her panties had been clumped around one ankle. She’d nearly tripped over them. She’d stopped,
pulled off the shoe and her underwear, then run as fast as she could.

“Do you know what kind of truck it was?” Katie asked.

Gracie shook her head. “Just a pickup. It was black. Or maybe dark blue.”

“Did you see the license plate?”

She shook her head.

“Do you know anything about the other kids with him? Their names, or where they were from?”

She shook her head. A fresh sob rose in her throat. “What am I going to tell my baby when he’s old enough to ask?”

“It’ll be okay, honey.” Katie rocked her. “It’ll be okay.”

Zack’s fingers knotted in his palm. He wanted to smack something—specifically, the face of the prick who’d done this to his
daughter. “That’s all she knows?”

“Yeah.” Katie nodded. “I’m pretty sure she told me everything.”

“That’s not much to go on.”

“I know.”

Katie had waited to tell him until she’d taken Gracie to work at the retirement home the next morning. Zack had been sitting
at his office desk as she delivered the news, but now he needed to move, needed to dispell the energy blazing inside him like
an oil field fire.

He paced the room. “Damn it. The odds of finding this guy are worse than nil. We don’t even know where to begin looking.”
He stopped as a new concern hit him. “Was she tested for STDs?”

Katie nodded. “I called her ob-gyn. It was an automatic part of her pregnancy workup. She’s okay.”

“Well, thank God for that.” Zack strode back across the room. “The asshole didn’t even wear a condom!” He froze and looked
at Katie. Guilt oozed to the top of the toxic sludge in his chest. He ran a hand down his face. “Hell. That’s the pot calling
the kettle black, isn’t it?”

“It’s not the same.”

“It was no more okay for me not to wear one than it was for this guy.”

“We were different, you and I. Entirely different. We knew each other. We were friends. I was… willing.” She looked down at
the desk, then back up, her mouth curved in a wry smile. “More than willing.”

She abruptly rose from her chair and carried her coffee cup to the kitchen. He followed her.

“She should file a police report,” Zack said.

“I asked her if she wanted to.” The cup clattered as Katie set it in the stainless-steel sink. “She said she doesn’t want
the baby to be burdened with that kind of baggage. Besides, she isn’t sure she really told the boy no.”

“Damn it, any hesitation on the woman’s part is a no.”

Katie looked at him, her eyes soft. “Too bad all men aren’t like you, Zack.”

Something jumped between them, something beyond chemistry, something deeper and more tender. She turned away from him again.
“Gracie’s agreed to talk to a counselor. I’m taking her for her first session tomorrow afternoon.”

“That’s good.” Zack rubbed his jaw, rage and outrage and a raw, nameless pain bubbling through his veins. Everything Katie
was saying made sense, but damn, it was all passive. He needed to take some action. He strode the length of the kitchen, biting
the inside of his mouth.

“Are you okay?” Katie asked.

Okay? He had homicide brewing in his heart. “I’m so damn mad I can’t stand it.” For the first time in his life, he could understand
how someone could be angry enough to kill. He paced back into the kitchen, balling his hands into fists. “I’ve got to do something.”

“You said it yourself, Zack. It’s impossible to find this guy. And any attempt to do so is just going to upset Gracie further.
The best thing you can do is nothing.”

“I’ve never done well with nothing as a goal.”

“Well, then, here’s a positive goal. Go take a long, hard run, and get your feelings under control. Gracie knows I’m telling
you this, and she’s really worried about what you’ll think of her.”

His chest hurt. “She is?”

“Yeah. She needs to know that you care for her and accept her and aren’t judging her.”

“Why the hell would I judge her?”

“She’s ashamed, Zack. She feels like she brought this on herself. And regardless of how she acts, your opinion means a lot
to her.” Her gaze rested on him. “If you’re angry, she’ll think you’re angry at her.”

“God.” Zack looked at Katie, drawing strength from the softness in her eyes. “So what do I do?”

“Let her know you care about her and this doesn’t change that. Reassure her that you’re going to let her make the decisions.”

“But this guy should be locked up!”

“We don’t know who he is or where he’s from. You yourself said he’d be impossible to find.” Katie’s eyes were soft, almost
pleading. “Zack, Gracie can’t handle a big legal deal right now.”

“You’re right, but damn it…” Zack blew out a sigh.

Katie picked up her purse and headed for the foyer. “I’ve got to meet with my contractor, then get to the salon.” She pulled
out her car keys. “Think you can handle picking up Gracie this afternoon?”

Oh, God. What was he supposed to say to her?

Katie must have read his expression. “I have appointments all afternoon, but if you need me, Bev can cover for me.”

I need you.
He almost said the words, but years of habit kept him silent. “Nah. I’ll be fine.”

She gave him a long look, and he got the feeling she could see right through him, right through the boiling cauldron of anger,
to the fear at the white-hot center. “I’ll call you this afternoon and see how things are going,” she said as she went out
the door.

Zack paced the house some more. The more he thought about this A-hole and Gracie, the madder he got. He wasn’t good at dealing
with anger. He usually just stuffed it down, but this was too big to stuff. This thing blew off the lid.

For lack of a better plan, he opted to take Katie’s advice. Despite the heat, he ran five miles, then took a cold shower.
That barely took the edge off. His chest still felt like a pressure engine about to blow.

He needed to hit something. He stormed to his computer and looked up boxing clubs, then drove to a ratty old gym in Hammond
and reserved an hour with a punching bag.

He tied on the rented gloves, pulled back his right arm, and rammed his fist at the bag, right at face level—right where he
wanted to hit Kirk or Dirk or whatever the bastard’s name was. Dirt. He’d call him Dirt. He threw a punch with his left, hitting
the other side of the A-hole’s imaginary face, and muttered a foul oath. He threw another right, then a left, battering the
punching bag with one-two punches, combining every blue word he’d ever heard in new and inventive ways. Wth every blow, he
cursed Dirt and Dirt’s mother. He called down various plagues on all of Dirt’s personal body parts. He wished him catastrophe
upon catastrophe, all of which would result in his slow and torturous death. He wanted the scumbag to suffer. He smashed his
fists into the bag again and again, until his knuckles were bruised, his muscles burned, and his hour was up.

Breathing hard and aching all over, he limped to the shower. He stood under a stream of hot water, then washed up and headed
back to Chartreuse.

He was waiting in the parking lot when Gracie got off work.

She stepped out the door, looking small and vulnerable. Everything about her looked sad and lost and a little off-kilter—her
choppy black-and-blue hair, her bulging belly, her big saggy purse. A tenderness so intense he could barely breathe swelled
in his chest as he watched her.

She scanned the parking lot, spotted his car, then dropped her gaze to the pavement. The tenderness moved to his throat and
formed a lump so large and unwieldy he couldn’t swallow. Oh, God—she was ashamed, maybe even scared. She didn’t want to face
him.

He watched her skulk to the car, her eyes downcast, one hand on her belly. A wave of emotion crashed over him, immersing him
in a truth so profound that for a moment, he couldn’t move.
He was no longer unattached. He was attached at the heart, double-bound to this girl and her mother. Gracie and Katie were
his girls, and he’d do anything in his power to protect them, to take care of them, to make them smile.

He climbed out of the car and circled it just as Gracie reached the passenger door. She froze, unsure what to do. She wouldn’t
look him in the eye.

“Gracie.” His voice cracked as he said her name. “Gracie, honey—it’s okay.”

He opened his arms, and she fell into them. He could feel her baby bump pressing against his side, could smell the scent of
Juicy Fruit gum and Clearasil. His heart felt like it was breaking and growing at the same time—as if it had a shell around
it that was cracking open, and some new, awkward life-form was floundering out, as clumsy as a just-hatched chicken.

He patted her back as she clung to him and sobbed. They stood there for a long time, long enough that a couple of senior citizens
waddled out of the building to stare at them. “Are you okay?” he finally asked Gracie.

“Yeah.” Gracie pulled back and sniffed, wiping at her eyes with the backs of her hands.

Hell. He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t any good at this touchy-feely stuff. He shifted his stance and blurted out the
most comforting thing he could think of. “Want to go test-drive some cars?”

Her eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah. Let’s drive over to Hammond and check out some wheels. Maybe Kate can meet us there when she gets off work, then we’ll
go for Chinese or Mexican or something.”

“Okay. Cool!”

Just like that, things were back to normal. Zack gave a sigh of relief as he climbed into his car. Sometimes you didn’t need
to get all wordy. Sometimes the things people needed to hear weren’t things that were said out loud. Sometimes they just needed
to know that everything was okay, and the best way of showing that was to act as if nothing had happened.

He hoped the same approach would work with Katie. Yakking about his feelings had never been his style.