Page 40 of Protected from Torment

“I can understand,” I tell him softly. “Why they were so pissed, I mean.”

“What?” His features jolt with surprise. “I don’t. Saying that to a grieving widow? Who would do⁠—”

“I held a gun on one of his teammates,” I remind him. “A man who’d lost his foot in the same crash that took Vince’s life. I threatened to kill Gage. I shot him. And Rory… God. I can’t believe I did what I did.”

Tears burn behind my eyes, and my throat goes thick. “I was drunk that night, you know. I shouldn’t have been drinking. I knew it. I’d been struggling a lot, and my emotions were all over the place. My paranoia was out of control. And sometimes…” I duck my head. “Sometimes I’d just… switch off. I’d be in the middle of something—-vacuuming the house, washing dishes—and suddenly I’d come back to myself ten minutes later with no memory of the time in between.”

“That happens with PTSD, sometimes,” Tyler says.

“I know that now. Back then, I didn’t. I just chalked it up to stress. And I told myself it would go away eventually. But that night, at Vince’s fundraiser, things got especially bad.”

“I can only imagine. With everyone there for Vince, talking about him…”

“It wasn’t the first one, though,” I reply. “His parents had organized the event before. And I went because I felt obligated to. But that one… I don’t know what happened. Maybe it was because Vince’s parents asked me to help plan it that time. So I spent the two weeks prior staying at their house, helping. Talking about him. Looking through old photos. His baby pictures—” My voice catches.

“Mel.” Tyler touches my chin, lifting my face to look at him. “You don’t have to talk about this. It’s okay. It’s not relevant⁠—”

“But it is. So you know how terrible I was. I’m not some innocent victim, Tyler. I’m the villain of the story. I hurt people. I ruined an event meant to celebrate Vince’s life. I’m surprised his parents don’t hate me for what I did, honestly. Sometimes I wonder why they don’t.”

“No one could hate you,” he insists. “And you’re not the villain.”

“I am.” My voice shakes with emotion. “I had too much to drink when I knew better. I knew things weren’t right in my head, but I didn’t want to ask for help. I didn’t have to go to the fundraiser. I could have stayed home. And I didn’t have to take Vince’s gun and try to kill his friend.” Tears spill down my cheeks. “I’m so ashamed of what I did. I used to think I was a good person. But I’m not. And maybe I deserve everything that’s happening to me now.”

“Mel.” Tyler jabs the record button and pushes his phone to the side. Then he closes the distance between us and pulls me into his arms. “You are a good person. And you do not deserve what happened to you. Not even for a second.”

Wrapped in his strong embrace, I allow myself a moment to just absorb it. To push aside the haunting memories and clinging guilt I can’t seem to shed. I memorize how it feels to be this close to him, breathing in the fresh scent of his soap and feeling the steady beat of his heart against mine. I let myself appreciate, just for a second, how right this feels. How things just feel better with his arms around me.

“I mean it,” Tyler continues. With one hand, he rubs a slow circle on my back. His breath whispers across my hair. “You are a good person, Mel. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. Not even yourself.”

A lump swells in my throat. Tilting my head back to look at him, I ask, “How can you say that? Knowing what I did?”

“Because.” He sets me away from him slightly, but doesn’t release me. “First off, a bad person wouldn’t have stopped in the middle of a storm to help people she’d never met. A bad person wouldn’t put herself in danger for them. A bad person wouldn’t take better care of her dog than anyone I know. A bad person wouldn’t drive to Vermont once a month to volunteer at the dog shelter there.”

“How did you know about the shelter?” But I quickly realize the answer. He talked to Enzo about me. Which makes sense—of course he’d talk to his former teammate before coming out here—but I can’t deny the painful sting that comes with knowing he didn’t really trust me.

Guilt darkens his gaze. “I’m sorry, Mel. I did call Enzo to ask about you. It wasn’t⁠—”

“I get it.” I pull away from him. “Of course you’d want to ask about me. Find out if he thinks I’m still dangerous.”

“It wasn’t that.” Tyler catches my hand and wraps his around it. “I called him after we met in Long Lake. Not because I didn’t believe you. It was just...”

“Why else, then?” I retort. I can’t explain why I feel betrayed, especially when I have no reason to.

He goes quiet for a few seconds. “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. That’s why.”

It’s so far from what I expected him to say, I can’t form a response right away. Finally, I manage a weak, “What?”

His eyes are more gold than green as they meet mine. “I kept thinking about you. I’d see a commercial about a dog and it would remind me of you telling me about Oscar. Or I’d read a funny-sounding word and wonder if you’d like it. Like ragamuffin and shenanigans.”

“You thought about me?” A beat later, the rest of what he said registers. “Ragamuffin? Shenanigans?”

Tyler gives me a sheepish smile. “Yeah. I don’t know if they’re funny enough. But I saw them in a crossword and they reminded me of you.”

Tamping down ‌the pleased feeling growing inside me, I say, “But you must have doubted me, then. If you asked Enzo about me.”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t believe you,” he explains. “But I’ve known Enzo for a long time. And I guess… I wanted to know if what I was feeling was right. Or if I’d imagined the connection we had in Long Lake.”

Thinking about it, I can’t really blame him. If the positions were reversed, and I was close friends with someone who knew Tyler, I probably would have done the same.