Things Remembered (Accidentally On Purpose Companion Novel #3) (29 page)

“If...if Taylor wants to, she can come stay with us next weekend. Natalie will be thrilled. Alex will pretend that he’s not, but then follow her around. He’s in that weird prepubescent stage where girls are equally gross and fascinating.”

To my surprise, my mom let out a breathy laugh that was part sob. Wiping at her tears, she said, “I’m sure she will love to visit. Thank you, Mayson.”

I fidgeted with the straps of my bag as I stood rooted to the sidewalk.

My relationship with my mother had been broken for as long as I could remember. Although we had said more to each other in an hour than we had said in years, nothing was resolved. We were still broken. I would need days—if not longer—to fully assimilate our exchange. Nearly everything she said was in direct opposition to the ideas and beliefs that had played a substantial role in the person that I had been for most of my adult life. It was as if after years of seeing my reflection in a mirror, I was for the first time discovering that I had ears, a nose, and hair. It had all been there the entire time, every time I had looked in the past, but I hadn’t paid enough attention. It was like I had ignored sound, smell, or the feeling of my hair on my neck. I only knew what I wanted to know, and nothing more.

For the first time since I was a small child, I believed that my mother loved me. It fixed nothing, but…maybe it was a start.

I walked back up the brick steps before I could lose my nerve, and embraced my mom. She let out a small noise of surprise, but then she put her arms around me, returning the embrace. I counted to five before releasing her. I got into my car and drove away without looking back.

Chapter Twenty-Four

By the time the police got around to following up on my Post-It note, Emilio Salvador was gone, but I knew that long before they did. Grant had numerable resources thanks to his line of work. Kyle had an impressive amount of resources as well because he was a creepy stalker.

Neither man would admit to it, but I had a feeling that Grant and Kyle and their cronies had made Emilio feel very uncomfortable. A week after our altercation, he “suddenly fled the area.” According to my protectors, Mr. Salvador was in San Antonio, Texas. It was easy for him to blend into a city of almost one and a half million people, and if he were desperate enough, it would be nothing for him to flee back to his motherland, Mexico.

“There are ways to bring him back here,” Grant said.

“For what?” I asked, frustrated. “The only way that guy is going to do any time for his crime is if he admits to doing it, and that is highly unlikely. They can take all of the DNA they want from him and it won’t matter. There’s nothing left to compare it to.”

“You’re just going to let him go?” Kyle asked, scowling.

“It’s not that I’m letting him go, but I don’t want to fight a battle I have no chance of winning. It would be so much trouble to bring him back here, and then so much more trouble trying to convince the authorities that vag nodule raped me. I wouldn’t even be able to definitively say that I saw his face during the incident because I don’t remember. I don’t remember because I was on drugs. At this point, Emilio Salvador isn’t my biggest problem in this situation. I don’t think he’ll be coming back to the area anytime soon, and if he did, at least I know what he looks like. I have no idea who the other men are.”

“Maybe Salvador will tell us who the others were,” Kyle suggested.

“Why would he? What could he have to gain from telling us who those guys are? Besides, naming them would be as good as admitting guilt, and that’s not going to happen. In an alternate universe where such a thing
could
happen, it really wouldn’t help my case at all. Then it will be the word of multiple people against mine. Not to sound repetitive or anything, but there’s no evidence of my rape.”

Both men stood across the island from me, beefy arms crossed, frowning, and exuding machismo. They did not like my decision. They wanted something to be done. They wanted justice for me, and I wanted it, too, but it wasn’t going to happen.

“Look,” I said, sighing. “For the rest of my life, I will look into a stranger’s face and wonder if he raped me. Any man that looks at me a second too long, or smiles at me, or approaches me, I will think ‘is he one of the men that raped me?’ Whenever I run into any guy I knew back then, I become terrified, because I don’t know if they raped me. I’ll never stop being afraid.”

Grant and Kyle began to speak at the same time, but I put my hands up to quiet them. They did so grudgingly.

“I’ll never stop being afraid,” I repeated carefully. “But I’ll never stop being pissed off, either. My rape case was ultimately disregarded because I was a junkie. It’s the same as suggesting that a prostitute can’t be raped, or a porn star or stripper can’t be raped. There are people in authority who believe that women cease having the right to say no if they are any one of those things. Every life matters. Every woman matters.”

The men looked at each other and then at me.

“So, what are you going to do?” Grant asked.

I reached into my bag on the stool beside me. A moment later I placed a flash drive on the counter. It wasn’t just a flash drive, though. It was a recorder, and it had been in my bag when I’d gone to the police station to speak with Detective Caine. Having a sneaky, spying bounty hunter as a boyfriend, and a stalker as a best friend really pays off.

“I am going to make the authorities accountable for the way rape victims are treated. I may not ever get justice for what happened to me, but maybe I can help someone else get it. Maybe if I help enough people, it will almost be the same as receiving my own justice.”

Grant nodded his head and stared at me thoughtfully.

“I am with you one hundred percent,” he said. “But you do understand that this can get ugly, don’t you?”

“I agree,” Kyle said, nodding his head as well. “Not just with the police, medical staff, and social workers and the like, but people, in general, have very strong opinions about this sort of thing. Every time some kind of rape case makes it to the media, the presumed victim is attacked by the public. The same media that reports on it is the same media that picks apart the accuser’s story. I don’t know how big you’re hoping to go with this, but that’s the kind of thing you may be facing.”

For several seconds, we were all silent. I knew that they weren’t trying to discourage me, but they were asking me without asking if I was able to handle the firestorm that was sure to come. A year ago, I wouldn’t have been able to handle it. Six months ago, I wouldn’t have considered doing this at all. I didn’t care about other people, or, at least, I tried very hard not to care about other people. I would have only been concerned with my own difficulties, and I would have totally judged anyone in my current position.

But…I’ve changed.

Or…I’ve become the person everyone always thought that I was.

“I understand,” I said, breaking the silence. “I don’t want to vilify the police. I want them to be on my side, on the side of the victims. So, I have an idea…”

I told them what I was thinking, and as we discussed the concept, our excitement grew. My selfish desires to only care about myself began to fade to black. For the first time ever, I wanted to help others. For the first time ever, I felt like I had a purpose.

I stood inside the closet staring at the box on the floor. I poked at it with my toe a few times, but I was no closer to deciding what to do with it.

“What’s that?” Grant asked, coming in behind me.

His strong hands landed on my waist as he dropped a kiss on my neck, making me shiver.

“A box.”

“What’s
inside
the box, smart ass?”

I smiled. “I don’t know. When my mom picked Taylor up, she gave it to me. She only said that there were things in there that I might want to see.”

“It’s been two weeks.”

“I know.”

Grant’s lips hovered near my ear. He whispered, “You should open the box.”

“What’s in the box!” I cried out. When Grant only stared down blankly at me, I groaned. “You can quote
Monty Python
but you don’t know
Se7en
?”

“Mmm no.”

I shook my head, but let his lack of knowledge in a cult classic slide.

“I am afraid to open the box,” I admitted.

“Why are you afraid to open the box?”

“What if the box contains something else that will destroy more of my preconceived notions? What if it’s Pandora’s Box? A can of worms? A snake in the grass!”

Laughing, Grant said, “You’re brave enough to handle it.”

“I don’t know if I have the energy to handle it,” I muttered. “But I guess I’ll open the damn box.”

Grant carried the small box to our bed. We sat down and got comfortable before pulling the flaps apart. I inhaled deeply when I saw the top item.

“Your dad’s death certificate,” Grant murmured, plucking it out.

Together, we looked it over.

“Cause of death was coronary artery disease,” I read aloud. “What is that?”

“His arteries were blocked, or clogged with plaque.”

My breath caught. “What…what does that mean? I mean, I know what it
means
, but…what does it
mean
?”

His fingers laced with mine and held tight.

“It means,” he said softly, “that if left untreated, it was only a matter of time before this caught up to your dad. You weren’t the cause of his heart attack. You weren’t the cause of his death. The series of events leading to your father’s death were coincidental—and unfortunate.”

My tears dropped onto the paper.

“Totally destroyed my preconceived notions,” I whispered.

Together, we rooted through the rest of the box. It mostly contained pictures, most of which I had never seen before. Many of them were of my dad when he was younger, but a lot of them were of the two of us together. My favorite was a photo of us when I was about two. It was a close up of me holding onto his face as our puckered lips met in a kiss.

“How do you feel?” Grant asked me later. We had put all the contents back into the box except for that one picture.

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I have had this Herculean burden with me for so long. The guilt and grief aren't going to just go away. A person isn’t instantly fully recovered from their injuries just because they have surgery. Healing takes time, and sometimes you’re just never one hundred percent again. I don’t know if I’ll ever be one hundred percent again.”

“Hmm,” Grant murmured, and kissed my neck. “You also didn’t think that you ever wanted to see me again six months ago.”

“I didn’t,” I said coolly. “Sometimes it’s still questionable.”

He laughed softly and kissed my neck again.

“You also said that you didn’t want to be anyone’s mother and that you didn’t like kids.”

I sniffed. “Your demon spawn grew on me. Like fungus.”

“Mmm hmm.” He slowly pulled the thin strap of my camisole over my shoulder and halfway down my arm. “You didn’t think that you’d ever be able to have a real relationship with your mother and sister.”

I rolled my eyes. “I still don’t really have a relationship with my mother.”

“But you love your sister.”

Shrugging and feigning far less emotion than I felt toward Taylor, I said, “She’s an okay kid.”

He kissed a line up my bare arm and began to slide my other strap down.

“You said you’re unstable.” He kissed the swell of one breast. “You said you’re never really okay.”

“What exactly is your point, Grant Alexander?”

His strong hand gently cupped my jaw as his soft eyes bore into mine.

“You are already healing,” he said, his voice tender and loving. “You have been healing longer than you know. Maybe it was slow for some time, but not anymore. You improve more with each day.”

“I have such ugly scars,” I whispered, resting my hand on his.

“Good. That means that you won’t forget your past and you won’t forget where you came from.”

I squeezed his hand and brought it to my lips. I kissed his palm gratefully.

“I don’t think that I would have come this far so quickly without you, Grant. You really…” I swallowed hard as I tried to ease the pressure building in my chest and blink away the tears in my eyes. “You really saved me.”

He said my name with such reverence that it made me gasp for breath. He said my name like a plea, a prayer, and an exaltation. “
Mayson
. I told you before that you don’t need a hero. I am not your hero, Baby Girl, though I would love to have the title. You have saved yourself again and again. More than that, it is
you
who has saved
us
. You saved Natalie and Alex, and you have saved me. You have brought us joy, love, and beauty just by being what you are in nature. My beautiful, scarred, smartass, inappropriate, hilarious, pastry-loving, big-hearted butterfly.”