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Rory spoke through a closed throat. “Sexually?” When her eyes confirmed it, a dagger lodged in his chest. “He … raped you?”
“Back then, I didn’t know it had a name.” Vi dropped her head.
Rory had never felt the murderous rage Jesse had often spoken of. Now he understood. White-hot heat coursed through his body. His hands shook with the desire to hurt the man who’d done unspeakable things to an innocent child.
Clenching his fists, he gulped a ragged breath. Help me, Lord. Gradually, his thoughts reordered into protection mode. Her abuser was completely out of reach. But Vi was here. With scars. She’d moved away as if to brace herself.
Rory opened his arms, willing any harshness out of his features. What happened had never been her fault. As she searched his face, the tension in her stance crumbled. She came to him, pressing her face against his chest.
He stroked her hair as she sobbed. Sniffing, he wiped his own eyes, not knowing when the tears fell. Her jumpy behavior made sense now—the trust issues, the hesitancy, the fear.
Harry waddled closer, greeting them with a raspy screech.
Rory raised her chin so he could look at her. “Thank you for telling me. I’m a safe place, Red.”
She murmured so low, he bent to hear. “My heart knows, but my head gets in the way.”
He hugged her again, resting his chin on her head. He longed to kiss her but didn’t dare. Her trust level survived as a vulnerable baby bird learning how to fly.
“Oww, Harry!” Rory disengaged from Vi to rub his leg. “The goose pecked me! Too bad he didn’t get a beak full of prosthetic.”
Vi grabbed his hand. “Let’s go before he tries it again.” They quickly outdistanced the goose, headed to the house, and climbed the stairs to the balcony. A light breeze rustled through the trees. An owl hooted close by. Rory’s thoughts still tumbled at Vi’s revelation.
Leftover shrimp had turned the air fishy. Rory flicked the lighter to chase away the odor while Vi wrapped the leftovers and stashed them in the cooler.
“There’s more hot chocolate and coffee. And lemon bars.” His fingers longed to trace her face, erase the bruised look. The telling had cost her.
“Okay. I’d better switch to coffee. And I want to try out the chaise lounge …” She held up a finger. “The bathroom upstairs still works?”
Rory chuckled. “Can’t vouch for its cleanliness. Do you need the mask?” He glanced around for it.
“Nope. The fumes aren’t strong up here. Be right back.”
“I’m keeping tabs on your breathing,” he said as she retreated.
“I’m fine, Red,” she called back.
When she returned, he handed her a cup of coffee. She situated herself with the awkward boot into the lounger, then scooted over, patting the space next to her. “There’s room for you.”
Eyebrows raised, he slid next to her, balancing his cup of coffee. “Mm. Perfect.” Her pinched look had eased a bit. Rory marveled at her ability to adjust. He doubted Paige or Brenna knew what she’d revealed to him. A significant step forward.
They sipped in silence for a bit, then she stirred. “Moving on to part two. Tell me about your townhouse.”
What? Rory had forgotten all about part two. He nudged her shoulder. “You’re sneaky.”
She gave him a side-eye. “I’m in splendid company, Mr. Avoid-the-Subject. If I can spill my guts, you can too.”
Much as Rory hated talking about his ex, Vi deserved the same transparency she’d given him. He blew out a long sigh and sipped his coffee. “Jess and I hadn’t lived in the townhouses long when I met Stella. At the time, I found her … extremely attractive. All too soon, she convinced me my place needed a facelift. In retrospect, that should have been a red flag. Nevertheless, I moved in with Jesse for a couple of months so she could have full rein.” He scowled. “I gave her my credit card to redecorate, but she insisted I wait to see the finished product.”
He swallowed more coffee. “Stella dressed smart, so I assumed she’d make the same thing happen with my living quarters. We dated while she ‘performed her magic.’” He air-quoted the words. “It took me a while to figure out her agenda. She used me to finance her latest career whim. She also wanted my lifestyle.”
Vi set her coffee cup aside, then intertwined her fingers in his hand.
“Looking back, we argued—a lot. Stella hated Jess. She wanted me to quit coaching the power team because heavy lifting didn’t count as a cool sport. My townhouse was the last straw. I broke it off for good. She, um, didn’t take it well.”
The breakup had happened months ago, but Stella’s accusations still reverberated.
“She was a fool,” Vi muttered under her breath.
