Dirty Power by Ashley Bartlett Page B

in a very long time, I was content. No, not content. Calm maybe. Everything had been drained from me. In a good way. It would come back. I knew it would come back. But I felt like Ryan had started a wall between me and the past. Maybe I could keep it at bay, let it slowly slip away until I was me again. Maybe.
    I couldn’t tell right away why I had woken up, but then I heard it. Soft breathing, hitched with tears. Reese.
    She was somewhere. I could feel her now. I looked around the room. She wasn’t there. The hallway. Carefully, I extricated myself from Ryan’s grasp. Found the jeans I’d been wearing for two days. Pulled them on. The door creaked when I opened it. The small cracks seemed deafening as they echoed down the hallway.
    Reese looked up when she heard the noise. She was sitting on the floor, her back to the wall. Her cheeks were wet.
    “I…I’m sorry.” She pushed herself up. “I wasn’t trying to listen in.” She turned and started to walk away. “I just heard screaming. And I…I swear I wasn’t trying to listen in.” Her voice was so low I could barely hear her.
    “Wait.”
    She stopped but didn’t turn. “I’m sorry.”
    “I’m not mad.”
    “You should be. You should be livid that we dragged you into this. Left you to those bastards. You should be so mad.” Her fists were clenched at her sides. Her head down. “So mad.”
    “I’m not.” I didn’t know if I was lying. I’d yelled at Ryan only two weeks before for presuming to take my grief and anger.
    “Well, I am.”
    “Come here,” I said. She didn’t move. “Just turn around, please.” I could have gone to her, but somehow I knew that wouldn’t be a good idea.
    Reese glanced over her shoulder. Unclenched one fist. Held her hand out to me. “Come on.”
    “What?”
    “Come with me.”
    I took a step forward and slid my palm against hers. She tugged lightly, pulled me down the hallway. We passed the open study. The computer on the desk was still on. We went into the kitchen. Christopher and Breno were playing in the living room with Emma. I could hear faint giggles. They didn’t notice us. Joan was silent up in her small prison. Probably sleeping. Or nursing her bruised ribs. We went out the sliding door, through the backyard this time instead of over the fence.
    “Where are we going?” I asked.
    Reese didn’t answer. Just led me down the beach. I didn’t ask any more questions. I didn’t know where we were going. I didn’t care. We must have walked a mile before Reese broke her silence. Or maybe it just felt that way. Walking on sand is hard.
    “I should have asked about the scars.”
    “What?” I knew what she had said. I don’t know why I wanted her to repeat it.
    “The scars. You’re covered in fuckin’ scars. I should have asked. I didn’t.”
    “I wouldn’t have told you,” I said. “I didn’t want you to know about them.”
    “I can’t blame you. I wouldn’t have told me either.” Reese let go of my hand. I’d forgotten we were even holding hands, but I still felt the sudden loss.
    “It wasn’t about you. I didn’t want you to worry.”
    She laughed. A hard, raw sound. “You thought I wouldn’t care. Don’t lie.”
    “No. That wasn’t it.” Even as I said it, I realized she was right. Sort of. I’d been afraid she wouldn’t care.
    “I don’t blame you. After the way I treated you in Mexico.”
    I didn’t respond. I didn’t know what to say.
    “Fuck.” She turned and walked toward the water. “Damn it.” And then she started to cry. Again.
    “Hey, it’s okay.” I followed her. Put my hand on her shoulder.
    “It’s not okay. It’s not.”
    It wasn’t, but I lied anyway. “Really, it is.”
    Reese spun and stared me down. “Damn it, Coop. Stop trying to make me feel better. I knew you were all fucked up and I just left you to deal on your own.”
    I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.
    “There are a thousand things I could have, should have done. I