If the events of today had shown me anything, it was that I was never going to get away from this. Not if I went on like I had been. Not if I continued to let it eat away at me.

When I felt like I was collected as much as I was going to be, I reached for the knob and twisted it softly, carefully pulling open the door. And though I knew it was a futile hope, I wished with everything I had that Riley had fallen back asleep. That somehow after everything that had happened—both now and a few hours ago—he’d let this go.

I should’ve known better.

The loft was still dark, the barest whispers of dawn brushing over the horizon providing very little light, but I could still see Riley. He was seated on the couch, the breadth of his shoulders so apparent in his white T-shirt, the brightness of it stark against the surroundings.

I crept my way to the bed, hoping he’d let it go. That he’d take all the signs I’d been giving out and just let it be. Because though I so desperately wanted to be free of this, I didn’t know if I was ready yet.

Once I was at the side of the bed, ready to climb in, Riley turned his head and looked at me over his shoulder. He didn’t need to say anything. The look in his eyes, steely determination focused directly on me, said more than he ever could’ve with words.

“What was that, Evie?” he asked. “Not just this, but earlier, too. The panic attack and now the nightmare. At first, I thought it must’ve been about Max, especially with how close we’re getting, with everything you found today. Or Frankie, maybe? Thinking about when he’d kidnapped you … But then I remembered your face when Frankie had broken into your house. Remembered you knocking the fucker out cold, and I realized that couldn’t have been it. Because even when you recognized him, you didn’t have that look of sheer terror on your face like you had when you’d woken up just now.” His eyes didn’t let me go, held me captive in their gaze, and I was defenseless to stop the pull I felt—the pull I still felt toward him. “That wasn’t about Max, was it?”

Closing my eyes, I exhaled, my shoulders slumping. Still, I wasn’t giving up so easily. Because even realizing that maybe it was time to finally let this go, denying it was second nature to me. “It was nothing. I just get nightmares sometimes.” My voice lacked the conviction it normally held, though, and I knew he could hear it. Even after so long, he’d be able to read me.

“Evie.” His voice was soft, gentle, and it broke my heart. Because he was being so careful with me, so reverent, just like he’d been when I’d had the panic attack. Just like he’d been through it all—always. And I wanted so badly to accept it from him, let myself fall into his arms and let him help me carry this burden, but I didn’t know how. “C’mere.”

Almost without thought, my feet took me over to the couch, and I sat next to him, my head tilted down, my eyes focused on my lap as I picked at my fingernails. Riley reached out, his fingers brushing against my jaw to tilt my face up to look at him, and I couldn’t stop the shiver from racking my body at his gentle touch.

After so long filling the void with nameless men, it was a relief to realize that he still had this effect on me. That I still reacted this way to him.

Because it showed I wasn’t all broken. Not entirely. That despite the years of torment, the years of lies and secrets, the years of burying everything deep inside, I still felt. That after the years of the mask I had to wear, the show I had to put on, the endless pretending and masquerading, I was still here. I was still standing.

And I didn’t have to be silent anymore.

*   *   *

Riley sat there, his arm behind me resting atop the couch cushions. Close, but not touching. I could tell he wanted to reach out to me again, touch me in some way, but he held back, both in his actions and his words. After asking me to come over, he’d sat silently for long minutes while I’d taken deep breaths, trying to work up the courage to give voice to the things I’d never spoken before. The words I’d never allowed to leave my lips. Words I’d never truly allowed myself to believe, not really.

And that was the scariest part of it all.

That somehow, if I said it aloud, it made all those years of torment, all those nights of terror, all those days of silence and pain and shame real. And that meant I had nothing to hide behind. If I spoke my truth, I was exposed. Completely and utterly bare.

Vulnerable in a way I’d never, ever allowed myself to be.

All this time, I’d held on to the belief that if no one else knew, a small part of me could pretend it hadn’t happened. That, maybe, it had all been a product of my subconscious.

Except it wasn’t. Deep down, I knew it was real, and it happened. Despite what my mother had told me. Despite the way she’d reacted when I’d tried to tell her something was wrong … something was off. Despite her telling me I was confused. That I must’ve misunderstood the touches, the looks. That none of those things went on. That all those times he’d come into my room when she was at work, all those times he’d held me down, his hand pressed tight against my mouth as tears leaked out of my eyes, dripping down the sides of my face and pooling in my ears hadn’t been real. All those times had just been a product of my imagination.

It had taken me more than a year to work up the courage to tell her. To go to her after it’d been happening for a long time—too long—and being certain that she’d help. That finally—finally—it’d be better. I hadn’t even been able to get everything out before she’d shut me down.

She hadn’t believed me.

My stomach churned, the possibility that Riley could say the same thing, that he might think I was a liar, settled heavy on my shoulders.

God, what if he didn’t believe me?

“You don’t have to tell me anything.” Riley’s voice cut through the silence as sure as a knife, though it was soft and tentative. “I want to know. I want to help. I don’t want to pry, but you know you can tell me anything. That’s never changed.”

I turned my head to look at him, and the pain reflecting back at me in his eyes gave me the courage to finally escape.

Taking a deep breath, I said, “It started when I was fifteen, a few months before I met you.”

Riley narrowed his eyes, his shoulders stiffening the slightest bit, but it was the only outward sign he showed. I turned away, focusing on my lap. I couldn’t look at him, look into his eyes, too afraid of what I’d see there. Doubt? I couldn’t take it. I’d handled my mother’s, but coming from him? That would truly break me.

“It started innocently enough. First it was just some looks. Inappropriate, for sure, but I wrote them off. And then there was the first time he touched me. He’d said it was an accident, that he hadn’t meant anything by it, and I’d believed him. I mean … why wouldn’t I? It was my dad, and nothing like that had ever, ever happened before. Not until he lost his job. Started drinking. And then my mom switched shifts, and it was just the two of us at home at night. And then pretty soon those ‘accidental’ touches weren’t enough.

“He…” I swallowed that lump of fear in my throat, praying I could say it without actually saying it. But then I realized that I was only giving power to the words by keeping them inside. By refusing to speak them aloud, it was like I was caged all over again, and I was so tired of being behind bars.

“I said no. I pushed him away. I fought. I didn’t want it. I never wanted it,” I said, because that was so important to me. So important that Riley knew that. I hadn’t been able to get away, hadn’t been able to stop it, but I’d never wanted it. “But it hadn’t mattered.”

I didn’t realize I’d started crying or that he’d touched me at all until I was suddenly in his lap, his thumbs stroking the wetness from my cheeks. And while I’d been scared of what I’d see in his eyes, terrified he’d think I was lying, when I finally allowed myself to look, when I stared into those bottomless pools, I didn’t see the doubt I feared. I saw anger and hurt, confusion and sadness. I saw every emotion currently swarming around inside me reflected back in his eyes.