I grabbed her glass and held it out to her. “To good friends and good music.” I held my glass in the air and she bumped hers against mine. We drank them down quickly and slammed our cups on the counter.

“All right.” She cleared her throat and her eyes fell closed. She began to sing in a low, sad tone as if she were in pain.

The flames lick at my fingertips as I’m drawn to the fire,

I want to run but I’m consumed by the overwhelming desire,

To let you in and break apart these walls,

That contain me, don’t blame me, I’m trying not to fall,

But it hurts to ignore it and it hurts to lie,

By myself in this bed when I’m starting to cry.

Her eyes rose to meet mine and I was speechless. It was as if she took the words directly from my heart.

“Did you write that . . . here?” What I was really asking was whom she was writing about.

She slowly nodded. Her face was nervous and unsure.

“It’s perfect.”

“Thanks.” Her voice was quiet. “I’m not sure where to go from there. I’m kind of . . . stuck.”

“You’re not free . . .” I let my words trail off as I remembered her text message. I wanted to beg her to explain what it meant, but I knew she would close herself off again. “Would you like me to help you? We could figure it out together.”

“Yeah . . . um . . . let me grab my guitar.”

I poured us each another drink and carried them toward the main area of the room. Sarah sat down on the bed, her legs folded in front of her and her acoustic guitar on her lap. She strummed a few chords as I sat down next to her, my body angled toward her.

“Thanks.” She took the glass from my hand and her eyes stayed on me as she drank it back. I did the same and took our cups, setting them on the nightstand.

“I like that,” I said as she strummed. I watched her mouth as she slowly began to sing. Her voice was unbelievable. “Let’s work on a chorus.” I grabbed the paper and her pen and began to jot a few lines down.

At night when I close my eyes, I think of you in another life,

No longer hiding

What I’ve been fighting

We took turns strumming the guitar and writing. Sarah loosened up and was starting to act like her old self from the tour. She was focusing on getting out her feelings, and nothing but honesty was in her lyrics.

“Why are you not a singer?” she asked as she poured us another drink and my eyes scanned her soft legs from the bed.

“That’s for the pretty people,” I joked.

She shot me a flirtatious glance. “You’re pretty.” She sat down next to me, her bare thigh against my jeans.

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted.” I took my glass and held it in the air. “What to?”

“To this . . . this is nice . . . ,” she sighed.

“To what?” I asked as my eyes searched hers.

“This . . . us.”

“To us. That’s better.” I drank down my shot.

She smiled and tossed hers back. “You really are more than just a pretty face.”

That caused me to laugh loudly and I bumped her with my shoulder, but she winced in pain.

“What? What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Sarah . . .” I leaned away a few inches so I could pull up her short sleeve over her shoulder. A purpling bruise marred her creamy skin.

“What happened?” The playfulness had left my tone. “Did he do this?”

“No. Jesus, E. He doesn’t hit me.” She shook her head and looked down at her lap. “I was fucked-up the other night. I couldn’t snap out of it. I tripped going into the bathroom.”

“When you texted me and I didn’t answer.”

She slowly nodded and I felt like such an asshole. I ran my hand through my hair as I turned more toward her, our bodies dangerously close. I reached out, my eyes on hers as I took my finger and slowly pushed up the leg of her shorts to expose the barely healed scar.

“And what about this?”

She pushed her shorts back down and her eyes watered over. She glanced toward the door as if she was contemplating running.

“You don’t have to hide from me, Sarah. You never did before, and you don’t have to now.”

“That’s from a long time ago.” She wiped at a tear as she struggled not to break down.

“Please don’t ever do that to yourself again. Please . . .” Her eyes met mine and my heart stopped.

“Okay,” she whispered. Her bottom lip quivered and I knew she was trying so hard to be strong.

I reached out and ran my thumb over her lip and her breathing stuttered. I wanted to lean over and kiss her, but I forced myself not to. I would be whatever she wanted me to be for her, as long as she didn’t shut me out.

“Sarah, I want to know what is hurting you. Why you are hurting yourself.”

“I want to tell you. . . .”

“You can tell me anything.” I ran my thumb over the back of her hand and she began to relax a little. She closed her eyes, breathed in deeply, and began to speak in a quiet, shaky voice.

“I never really felt safe at home after my mom married Phil. He would always make inappropriate comments, hug me just a little too long. I didn’t know what to do. He was my stepfather.”

My mind raced as Sarah began to tell me everything she’d endured as a child. Part of me had always suspected abuse given the few details she’d let slip about her past and the way she behaved around Derek, but never to this magnitude. It made perfect sense now why she reacted the way she did to Derek’s behavior. I cringed as I thought of the first time she was alone with me in my room and I’d wanted her so badly. She was probably terrified of me.

“I will fucking kill him.” I knew it wasn’t what she needed right now, but I couldn’t fathom that no one had tried to protect her.

“It’s over, E. He can’t hurt me anymore.”

 “But he is still hurting you. Everything you do is a direct result of your past, of what happened to you.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

 “Where is he?” I couldn’t hide my anger and I knew I was squeezing her fingers too tightly.

“I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to my mother in years . . . or my sister.”

“Do you think they are still together?”

 “I don’t know. Even if they aren’t, I don’t think I could ever go back there. When I left . . . I left for good. I never looked back. I cut all my ties to my old life, cut everyone out completely and just fled. . . . I never wanted to be reminded of him in any way again. . . .”

“You don’t have to.” Her eyes met mine for a brief second, and I knew she understood just how far I was willing to go to protect her.

“People always talk about a house with a white picket fence.” She shook her head. “We hid a lot of secrets behind that fence.”

“Why didn’t you tell someone?”

“Who would I tell?” Anger flashed in her eyes. “My mother knew I hated Phil. I wanted them to break up from day one. I doubt she would have even believed me.”

“I believe you.”

“You’re different.”

“I’ve been called worse,” I said with a laugh, and she smiled. It was a small victory and I hated that she was with someone who didn’t give a damn about her feelings. “Why haven’t you told Derek?”

“Embarrassed, I guess. Or maybe just scared. Scared he’d freak out, not be able to handle it.” She was fighting back tears now. “I’m just . . . I’m scared to be left alone.”

Again I had that nagging thought that Sarah would hate me for keeping the truth about Derek from her, but I couldn’t hurt her any more. Not now. I just couldn’t, even though I knew it was only a matter of time before she caught him in the act again.

“Have you ever thought about finding your real dad?” I didn’t want to press her, but there had to be someone she could turn to. Derek obviously wasn’t that person, and I knew once she left here with him, I’d probably never see her again.

“He’s been gone since I was six, E. If my mom couldn’t find him, he doesn’t want to be found.”