woman.
It took him less than a day to find the hotel where she’d registered. She’d refused to answer the door, but the next day, she was asked to leave.
He’d been waiting for her outside and he’d begged, pleaded with her to forgive him.
He just didn’t understand why she’d consider leaving, going back to a family who’d ignored her for the past few years, people who had never once bothered to call, people who didn’t even bother to send a Christmas card or a birthday card.
He’d struck at every vulnerability she had.
Why would you run back simply to attend a wedding? She only wants you there because it’s proper .
I’m the one who’s been here for you … I’m the one who loves you … I’m the only one who loves you.
“I stayed.”
* * *
Gideon was two steps from flipping over his desk, two steps from punching his fist through something.
This wasn’t the first time he’d listened to an abused woman tell her story. He heard it—too often—even here in this small town. Too many victims were never able to leave. Either they had no place to go or they felt like they had no place to go. The system too often worked against them, and in many cases it did just as much to protect an abuser as it did to protect the victim. Well, he has rights. Shit like that sometimes made him sick to even carry a badge.
But this was deeply personal. He’d known Neve for too long. Had sometimes held her when he’d find her crying, tears she rarely gave in to around anybody else. He’d been her self-appointed guardian since he was nineteen.
Gideon had been the one to find the car that night. He’d been on his motorcycle, speeding away from the McKay estate after yet another stolen night out in the pool house with Moira.
Although that night had been different.
That night, he’d made her his, just as she made him hers. It had been their first night together and he’d been satiated and all but glowing with the love he had for Moira McKay.
Knowing he wouldn’t sleep for a while, he’d pulled his bike over by the roadside and pulled out the cigarettes Moira hated. Because she hated them, he only smoked them at night, after he’d left her, knowing there would be time for the smell to fade before he saw her again.
As he stood there blowing smoke rings into the air, he’d heard the sound. Faint and soft in the velvety darkness, he almost hadn’t heard it at all.
But it had come again.
Broken and soft, like a kitten’s mewling.
He’d wheeled his bike around, pointing the single headlight toward the trees across the road from him, and he’d seen the car. Dread had crushed him from the very first moment, because he’d recognized the car, even upside down and mangled.
Somebody had driven by in that moment, and he’d almost gotten run down by the sheriff who practically lived to throw his ass in jail. Only the sheer terror in his voice had made Sheriff Jacobs listen to him.
The man’s fondness for donuts had allowed Gideon to reach the car well ahead of him. He’d gone to his knees to approach that mewling sound ripping at his heart. Then he’d seen her, curled up in a ball on the far side of the car by her mother’s body. Covered in blood. Her mother’s blood.
He’d never forget the way she’d clung to him as he pulled her out of the wreckage, and he knew he’d never forget how she looked now.
She’d been in trouble, all this time.
And not a fucking one of them had known.
“When did you leave?”
She was quiet for a long while and he started to think she was done talking. But finally, she turned from the window and came to sit down, her face pale, tired, and strained. She looked weary—the kind of weariness that came from carrying the weight of the world for far too long.
“Four years ago … three months. Six days.” She paused, and he had a feeling she was mentally calculating it even down to the hour. “After that first time, he didn’t raise a hand to me again for
It took him less than a day to find the hotel where she’d registered. She’d refused to answer the door, but the next day, she was asked to leave.
He’d been waiting for her outside and he’d begged, pleaded with her to forgive him.
He just didn’t understand why she’d consider leaving, going back to a family who’d ignored her for the past few years, people who had never once bothered to call, people who didn’t even bother to send a Christmas card or a birthday card.
He’d struck at every vulnerability she had.
Why would you run back simply to attend a wedding? She only wants you there because it’s proper .
I’m the one who’s been here for you … I’m the one who loves you … I’m the only one who loves you.
“I stayed.”
* * *
Gideon was two steps from flipping over his desk, two steps from punching his fist through something.
This wasn’t the first time he’d listened to an abused woman tell her story. He heard it—too often—even here in this small town. Too many victims were never able to leave. Either they had no place to go or they felt like they had no place to go. The system too often worked against them, and in many cases it did just as much to protect an abuser as it did to protect the victim. Well, he has rights. Shit like that sometimes made him sick to even carry a badge.
But this was deeply personal. He’d known Neve for too long. Had sometimes held her when he’d find her crying, tears she rarely gave in to around anybody else. He’d been her self-appointed guardian since he was nineteen.
Gideon had been the one to find the car that night. He’d been on his motorcycle, speeding away from the McKay estate after yet another stolen night out in the pool house with Moira.
Although that night had been different.
That night, he’d made her his, just as she made him hers. It had been their first night together and he’d been satiated and all but glowing with the love he had for Moira McKay.
Knowing he wouldn’t sleep for a while, he’d pulled his bike over by the roadside and pulled out the cigarettes Moira hated. Because she hated them, he only smoked them at night, after he’d left her, knowing there would be time for the smell to fade before he saw her again.
As he stood there blowing smoke rings into the air, he’d heard the sound. Faint and soft in the velvety darkness, he almost hadn’t heard it at all.
But it had come again.
Broken and soft, like a kitten’s mewling.
He’d wheeled his bike around, pointing the single headlight toward the trees across the road from him, and he’d seen the car. Dread had crushed him from the very first moment, because he’d recognized the car, even upside down and mangled.
Somebody had driven by in that moment, and he’d almost gotten run down by the sheriff who practically lived to throw his ass in jail. Only the sheer terror in his voice had made Sheriff Jacobs listen to him.
The man’s fondness for donuts had allowed Gideon to reach the car well ahead of him. He’d gone to his knees to approach that mewling sound ripping at his heart. Then he’d seen her, curled up in a ball on the far side of the car by her mother’s body. Covered in blood. Her mother’s blood.
He’d never forget the way she’d clung to him as he pulled her out of the wreckage, and he knew he’d never forget how she looked now.
She’d been in trouble, all this time.
And not a fucking one of them had known.
“When did you leave?”
She was quiet for a long while and he started to think she was done talking. But finally, she turned from the window and came to sit down, her face pale, tired, and strained. She looked weary—the kind of weariness that came from carrying the weight of the world for far too long.
“Four years ago … three months. Six days.” She paused, and he had a feeling she was mentally calculating it even down to the hour. “After that first time, he didn’t raise a hand to me again for
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