The Value of Vulnerability (32 page)

“Come on.” He pulled
open the outside door and dragged at her sleeve. “Where are your keys?” he demanded, playfully frisking her.

“Hey! No.” She pushed him, hard. “Stop,” she told him coolly, just so there was no mistake.

“Hey,” he echoed. “That Ford guy your boyfriend? You never told me you were seeing someone.”

“It was on the DL.”

He laughed unevenly, leaning a hand on the wall behind her. “You like it on the down low?”

“Back off, Joe.” Her voice was cold as her fingers curled around her keys in her pocket, selecting the inner-door key by touch, holding it ready. Debating options, unsure of how this would play out and unsure whether Joe was a serious threat (she could be overreacting, right?), she slid the key between her index and middle fingers, prepping a hopefully unnecessary weapon. “You’re drunk and you’re being an idiot.”

“Come on, Erin. We’ve been friends for years. No benefits, though.” He tugged at a button of her coat and it came off, skittering across the terrazzo tile. “Oops.” He leaned forward, his breath fanning her face. “Just a little kiss. For an old friend.”

Before she could react, his hand slid into her coat to grip her waist. He did not seem so drunk anymore. In fact, his face was entirely lucid.

And a little scary.

“Take your hands off me. Now.” Drawing a breath, angry with him, with Ford, and with herself, she slapped his face not too lightly with her free hand.

“Hey!” Stepping back a bit, he grasped her wrist in a completely sober and iron grip. “Come on, baby! No need for that. Aren’t we friends?” he said slyly as he bent forward again in an attempt to kiss her, his other hand going to her breast.

It was all so surreal. But suddenly it clicked: this was not a
pass
. It was an attack.

Erin snapped.

She kneed his groin, hard. He screamed as he doubled over and she shoved, toppling him.

“Son of a bitch! Son of a
bitch
,” she hissed, breathing hard. “Who—what the hell do you think you’re doing? God, Joe!” She unlocked the inside door, looking down at him in disgust. “Some friend,” she spat, stepping through and pushing the heavy door until it latched shut.

“Erin!” Struggling to his knees in obvious pain, placing a palm on the glass between them, it was clear he realised he had overstepped propriety. “Come on. I’m just playing.”

“
Playing?
Attempted rape is
playing
? Go to hell.”

As she dashed for the elevators, jumbled thoughts rolled through her brain, coalescing into one single urge.

Call Ford.

She couldn’t do that
. Couldn’t admit to him that he had nailed the situation exactly. Anger rose again, blind anger directed at everyone and everything. Pressing the button to summon an elevator, she began to shake in reaction as she stepped on a car.

Three years. Three
years
she had known Joe. And Ford saw in a matter of seconds what she hadn’t even had a hint of in
three years
.

How stupid was she?

Her phone rang and she opened the line, but could not speak.

“Erin?”

“
Ford!
” She burst into tears at the sound of his voice.

“Where are you?” he demanded, his voice clipped.

“El—el—elevator. Home. Al—almost.”

“Are you safe?”

“Yes, yes. I’m just—”
so furious I could scream!
She dashed an angry hand across her eyes. “I’m okay,” she regained enough control to get that out. “You were right about . . . Joe . . . I kneed him good,” she laughed shakily.

“Good girl,” he said tightly. “I’ll be right there. Hold on, sweetheart. Stay on the line.”

Gulping for air, fresh tears flowed. “I would have invited him up. I would have let him have my couch for the night. If you hadn’t told me . . .”

“Shh. I wish I’d been wrong.”

“So do I.” She stepped off on her floor and ran for her door, fumbling with the keys. “I feel so stupid! I’m inside.” She threw the deadbolt.

“Pour yourself a drink. It’ll help. You’re in shock. And chock full of adrenaline.”

“I’m fine. Really. Angry. Really angry.” She shuddered, shedding her coat and throwing it aside as if contaminated. “I want a shower.”

“Wait ’til I get there. Stay on the line. I’m in my car, just a couple minutes from the DVP. I’ll be there soon.”

Clipped though his sentences were, they still comforted. He kept her talking as she poured a shot of Jack Daniel’s. She downed it, feeling the burn and heat spread through her.

“Snakebite,” she muttered.

Ford chuckled roughly. “That’s my girl. Tell me about the rest of your night. Talk about that.”

So she told him about singing karaoke for the first time and, at his insistence, gave a sample of her contralto.

“Bloody hell, that’s sexy.”

“It’s off-key.”

“That’s sexy, too. Perfection is boring. Tell me more.”

Recounting the night calmed her further and she even laughed over some of the anecdotes. He laughed with her, encouraging her.

By the time he arrived, she was almost fully recouped. Disbelief still lingered, but the shock of the actual attack had ebbed. She held up defensive hands as she let him in.

“Don’t touch me. I want to shower first.” Taking in his pale and tight features, she sought to reassure him. “I’m really fine, Ford. It was a—an exuberant pass, not attempted rape.”

“Right,” he replied with a level tone that still managed to convey his doubt. Standing in the bathroom doorway, he watched her carefully as she stripped. “How are you doing?”

“Better. Maybe I overreacted.” She compressed her lips. “It was a blur. I couldn’t believe it was happening. Maybe he didn’t mean anything by it.”

He swore bitterly. “How many times did you tell him no?”

“Once for certain. ‘Don’t touch me. Get your hands off me.’ That sort of thing.”

More swearing, and then, “More than sufficient.”

“Yeah, but he was drunk. I think. I don’t know.”

“Stop excusing him. Look at your wrist, damn it.”

She hissed at the purpling circle of bruise on her right wrist. “Hells.”

*

He drew air into his lungs with an effort. “Have your shower, sweetheart,” he said softly. “Are you all right on your own?” At her nod, he backed out of the doorway. “Take your time.”

“You’ll stay?” she asked, panic in her voice.

“Of course.” He looked away from her fear for a brief moment, wishing she were ready to be touched, wondering if she would ever want to be touched again. “Don’t worry, Erin. I’m right here. Shout if you need me.”

He left her, finding the open bottle of Jack on the kitchen counter. He used the same glass she had, throwing back a shot with relief. And then a second. He dialled Spencer Ward’s cell.

The conversation was short and to the point.

Then there was nothing else to do but wait for Erin.

Shedding his coat, he hung it in the closet, picking up hers from the floor to do the same. Threads hung where the material had torn as a button had come off. Had it happened in the attack? Erin was rarely extravagant in her dress, but even her casual clothes were always just-so. She would never go out with her coat torn and missing a button.

He paced while he waited, nausea and anger clenching him. He didn’t know what to do. When had he ever been faced with something like this?

You shouldn’t be thinking of yourself.

Well, obviously. But he was.

He should have done more than warn her. Put security on her, had Woods fired—there were many things more he could have done. He had only suspected
. He did not
know
, and it had stayed his hand.

Never, ever, had he failed to act on his instincts.

He poured another shot, but didn’t drink it, staring at the golden liquid as if it might provide answers.

People have always wanted things from you
—but for once the preamble to reflection failed to settle him. He needed another approach.

And Erin didn’t want anything. She
needed
something. Comfort. Reassurance.

Do you even know how to do that sincerely?
She always saw through his façade, so it had to be real.

Empathy. Could he empathise?

The event wasn’t so tragic. It could have been much worse, and even she was dismissive of it.

But could he imagine how she must have felt? Trapped, betrayed, hurt—her voice told him she had felt all that.

And definitely, he understood betrayal.

Memories brought anger.

Movement in his periphery caught his attention and he turned to see her, hovering in the archway where the short hall met the living room, fingering the lapels of her robe and shifting her bare feet in blatant display of uncertainty and timidity.

Never had he seen her so diminished. One thing was certain: this should never have happened. Not to this woman. Not his confident, playful, loving Erin.

He could not speak. Emotions he had never felt in his life crowded his senses. He refused to identify the flood, and did his damnedest to hold it all in check—not for future examination, but permanently.

She took a step towards him. Light gleamed off the tears that wetted her cheeks. “Do you . . . will you . . .” A quiet sob left her. “You don’t want to touch me, do you? Like at Zuzu’s that night. When you wouldn’t touch the hand that he had touched.”

He crossed to her and swept her into his arms. “I was afraid, now, that you wouldn’t want to be touched,” he breathed into her wet hair.

Moving them to the couch, he nestled her on his lap, cradling her trembling body, slowly rocking her.

This seems appropriate. What else?

He kissed her temple. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. I should have stopped it, tried harder to convince you.”

“I didn’t listen very well,” she said. “I wasn’t even thinking when we got in the cab. Steph was with us, but she was first out. It was my fault.”

“
No.
No.” He swallowed. “Do you want to file a police report?”

“Oh, no. Ford, honestly, it wasn’t that bad. I mean, it was horrible, but I hurt him a lot more than he hurt me, I promise you that
.” She chuckled unevenly. Fresh tears followed and she hid her face against him. “It was through my clothes, Ford. He didn’t touch
me
.”

“Do you want to call someone?” he asked, hating that he sounded cold, but could not risk a gentler tone just then, despite his avowal to be comforting.

She raised her head, sniffing a little, pulling herself together. “Tomorrow maybe. I’ll talk to my sister after work.”

“No work for you tomorrow. You’re not to go in. I’ve already spoken to Ward.”

“But I have—”

“No.” A forced smile widened his mouth. “No means no, Erin.”

Huffing at his little joke, she did not offer any more protest. After a while, she grew sleepy and he carried her to the bedroom, lying down beside her, fully clothed, to hold her as she slept. He stayed awake, still battling the emotions that were creeping in on his carefully constructed cool disposition.

***

The next morning, Spencer called to check in, offering his sympathy and apologies. Joe had been summarily dismissed with cause. Apparently—as she reported in rebounding humour to Ford—it was bad form to sexually assault a co-worker.

Ford was not amused by this report.

At any rate, Spencer told her that with a low performance review, Joe already graced the short list for downsizing in the next quarter.

“Too bad it wasn’t sooner,” Spencer said, likely the basis for his apology.
He offered to send Stephanie as company, but she declined, not quite ready to tell the tale.

Ford regarded her soberly through the phone call, finally rising to stare out the window towards the lake. She wanted to reassure him, but his uncommunicativeness all m
orning kept her silent as well.

Not only had he not spoken much, but he hadn’t touched her. Had avoided touching her. She had awoken alone in her bed.

Ford despised Joe, and Joe had touched her. All Erin could think about was Ford’s expression of disgust when talking about him those weeks ago.

A conversation would probably sort this all out, but she wasn’t in the mood for it. She was exhausted, and navigating the tangled mind of Ford Howard was not something to be done without a full battery charge.

“I’m sure you have better things to do than babysit me,” she whispered, half hoping he would protest. Clearing her throat, she smiled as he glanced back at her with hooded eyes. “Why don’t you go and—and I’ll call you later.”

Nodding, he left her, with little more than a kiss on the top of her head. Once she had locked the door behind him, she slumped to the floor against it.