Once a Good Girl...

She yanked open the heavy metal door, his hand landed a few feet above hers and suddenly the door weighed nothing.

“Since we’re going to be working together I think there’re a few things we need to work through,” he said.

Victoria hurried down the first flight of metal stairs, each pounding step echoing in the empty stairwell. She did not want to work through anything with him, could not get away from him quick enough … or fast enough.

He jogged a few steps behind her.

“To start with,” he proceeded despite her silence, “why did you tell that crooked sheriff I raped you?”

Raped her? She stumbled, glanced over her shoulder. “Are you insane? I never …” The words died in her throat as she missed a step. Maybe two. Her right foot hit hard. Her ankle twisted at an awkward angle, her knee buckled. She grabbed for the railing, missed, screamed out as her forward momentum sent her diving toward the fourth-floor landing.

Tori barked in warning.

Kyle lunged forward, caught Victoria by the back of her lab coat and, thank you, God, slowed her fall just enough so he could hook an arm around her waist milliseconds before she face-planted onto cement. Sitting on the bottom step, breathing heavily, part exertion, part fear, she could have been seriously injured. He cradled her on his lap and rested his chin on her silky curls, giving his pulse a chance to slow. As much as she deserved to pay for what she’d done, Kyle had no desire to see her physically hurt.

“You’re okay,” he said to reassure himself as much as to reassure her.

There were names for men like him, and they weren’t ones Victoria would want uttered within her hearing. Why, after that terrifying choking incident and when she was obviously in a rush, did he have to lob the question that’d been dragging down his subconscious for nine long years at her back, where she couldn’t see it coming? And within minutes of their meeting up again.

She tried to scoot off his lap.

“Sit for a minute,” he said, inhaling the scent of melon, sweet cantaloupe grown in the warm sun, picked from the vine at peak ripeness. She’d always smelled good. Clean. Fresh. Different from the beer-drinking, cigarette-smoking, heavy-perfume-wearing girls he’d been used to.

The feel of her, light and soft, brought back memories of innocent times, holding hands, walks in the woods, the sheer pleasure of having her close, of touching her to confirm she was real and not a dream. Because girls like Victoria didn’t fall for guys like him. And yet, in some fluke blip of altered reality, she had.

For a time, Victoria had been the only good thing in his life. She’d made him believe in hope and possibility, until she’d betrayed him in the worst possible way.

She’d been destined for great things, had been all but formally accepted into Harvard, the alma mater of her father and brother. Pre-med. She’d talked of specializing in neurosurgery or maybe going into research to find cures for cancer, multiple sclerosis, diabetes, and a dozen other medical conditions. With her tenacity, he’d had no doubt, if there were cures to be found, Victoria would have been the one to find them. So what was she doing still in Madrin Falls, working as a nurse?

She tried to wriggle out of his arms again. He tightened his hold, not ready to give her up. And what was that all about? He despised her. But damn if she didn’t have him thinking about working off his mad in a few rounds of angry sex.

Because she looked good, better than he remembered. Hotter. Pixie cute, but with class. Her black hair short and perfectly mussed. Minimal makeup. Slender figure. Her fashionable tan slacks and cream-colored blouse covered by an immaculate, wrinkle-free lab coat, high-end shoes on her tiny feet. She liked her fancy clothes, that’s for sure.

“You’re squeezing me too tight.” She started to struggle in earnest. “I don’t like being restrained.”

He let her go.

She slid off his lap to the other side of the step. “You are a jinx.” She fluffed her hair. “Bad things happen to me when you’re around.” Using the railing to pull herself up, she stood and winced when she attempted to bear weight on her right foot.

He reached out to support her.

“Don’t touch me.” She swatted his hand away and tried to take a step, quickly relieving the pressure on her right foot. She looked up to the ceiling. “I don’t need this right now.” Her frustrated yell echoed off the walls.

Kyle thought he may have seen a tear form in the corner of her eye, which sent him flashing back nine years to the last time he’d seen her. Hysterical crying as the sheriff had helped her into the front passenger seat of his patrol car. To spare her the embarrassment of anyone knowing exactly what’d transpired between them, Kyle picked up her panties, used them to clean up the small smear of blood from the loss of her virginity, and stuffed them in his pocket, where the deputy had found them a short time later.

Spending the night in jail had given him plenty of time to think about what they’d done. And she’d come to him willingly with her little moans of pleasure, her desperate pleas for more. Anger worked its way in as he pondered the other possibility that’d plagued him. Had she made the accusation to escape her father’s wrath, to save herself from punishment and penance with a total disregard for what may happen to him as a result?

He emerged from his memories, the residual mix of guilt and lingering animosity not quite abated. “You know I didn’t force you into doing anything you didn’t want to do.” So why the hysterics afterwards? It didn’t make sense.

“I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.” She put her hand up to the juncture of her left lateral neck and shoulder, swiveled her head, trying to work out a kink, and locked eyes with him. “I never told anyone you raped me. Look, we had sex. It was my first time. You’re huge. I’m not. I panicked. So what? No permanent harm done.”

He didn’t like the way she turned away when she said, “No permanent harm done.”

Aside from the euphoria of experiencing the best sex of his young life with a girl he’d managed to fall in love with, and the rage of having to choose between standing trial and possibly spending years in prison or leaving town for good and never contacting her again, he held little recollection of the specific details of that fateful night. Except for the sublime feel of her, which he’d never managed to duplicate with any other woman.

“Did I hurt you, Tori?” The thought he might have made him sick.

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “Any physical discomfort went away a lot sooner than the pain of you leaving me without a word as to why.”

She had no idea what he’d gone through after she’d been taken home? “The sheriff told me you accused me of rape. He dragged me off to jail, let me sit in that stinking cell for hours.” While he’d summarized the evidence against him and recounted stories of what prison inmates did to rapists.

To her credit, Victoria looked genuinely surprised.

“It scared the hell out of me.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Well, it did.”

“If you’d known me at all,” she said. “If you’d loved me as much as you said you did, if you’d trusted me at all, you should have known in your heart I’d never have done such a thing.”

But she’d been inconsolable, wouldn’t talk to him. She’d pushed him away when he’d tried to hold her and comfort her, fought her way out of the car—just as the sheriff had pulled up beside them. He’d had no idea what was going through her mind.

“At the very least,” she added, “I deserved the benefit of the doubt and a phone call to clue me in to what was happening.”

“How was I supposed to call you?” Didn’t she get it? “I was in jail. And a seventeen-year-old boy with no parents to stand up for him and a twenty-year-old sister too busy partying to care what happened to him didn’t get the proverbial one phone call in this town. I was given two choices. Take my chances with a trial or leave town.” A kid like him with a bad reputation and no one reputable to stand up for him would never have won a court battle against a family from the upper echelon of Madrin Falls. “I didn’t see any way out but to leave. When I was released from custody, a deputy followed me home. I had ten minutes to pack and he escorted me out of town.” And followed him another hour after that.

“You haven’t been near a phone any time since?” Victoria asked. “Weren’t you at all interested in how my father reacted to finding out his only daughter had tumbled, half-dressed, from the back seat of your car when she was supposed to be studying at the library?”

Honestly, as angry as he’d been, he’d still suffered twinges of guilt, wondering. Her uber-strict father was not a nice man. Kyle had thought about calling her. But never had, lowlife loser that he’d been, too busy, working to survive by day, boozing it up and releasing his rage in bar fights at night. Too intent on cultivating his hatred of the establishment, the haves who controlled the have nots, to realize until now that if the sheriff truly believed him guilty there’s no way he would have let him leave town. Idiot.

“I loved you,” she said. “I believed you when you said you loved me.”

“I did.”

“You did not. Or you would have found a way to get in touch with me to make sure I was okay.” The hurt in her eyes coaxed him forward. The familiar urge to soothe her and make her smile kicked in. She held up a hand between them. “Don’t. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m over it. So there’s nothing more to discuss.”

She looked at her watch, inhaled deeply, exhaled, then pulled her cellphone out of her pocket and dialed. Keeping her eyes closed, she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Hello, it’s—” she said into the phone.

A woman yelled back at her.

She held the phone away from her ear. “I know. Strike one. I’m sorry.”

More yelling.

“I’ll get there as soon as I can.” With a press of a button she cut off the irate voice in mid-rant.