“You . . . you believe me?” His voice is a broken whisper against my ear.
I try to speak, but nothing comes out. My words are trapped, lodged in my restricted throat, so I nod vehemently.
Peeling myself away, I drag my fingers beneath my eyes and clean up the wet streaks and dab at my nose. Our eyes meet, and all those hardened, dark feelings I’d carried toward him soften, melting.
“Why did you ever think I wouldn’t believe you?” There’s a punishing tone in my voice, but I still love this man to the end of the earth and back.
“Nobody believed me back then,” he says. “Your dad . . .”
He stops, swallowing hard and glancing away.
“Your dad was my only phone call,” he says. “He came to the station late that night, calmed me down. Everything was fine until he was shown the police report. And the recording. The ripped clothes. The physical marks. The rape kit report that showed she had been sexually assaulted hours earlier. The statement from the neighbor who was apparently on his front porch when I left, which was after he’d heard my sister’s cries. Your dad read my sister’s statement and Rick’s, which claimed I fucking raped my sister and that Rick had to peel me off of her and kick me out of his house. They’d obviously taken the time to corroborate after I left . . .”
My trembling hand flies to my lips.
“My word wasn’t good enough for your dad,” Royal says. “He said the case against me was too strong, the evidence too damning. He wanted to believe me. But he couldn’t. Said he had to protect his family. Told me to work with a court-appointed defense attorney and to never set foot around you or the rest of the Rosewoods ever again. I’d never felt like a bigger piece of shit in my life.”
“And you didn’t even do anything.”
“Exactly.”
I thread my fingers in his, squeezing tight.
“I don’t hold anything against your dad,” Royal says. “The evidence against me was there, and he was just looking out for his daughter. Can’t say I’d have done anything different if I were him, but goddamn, it was the worst day of my fucking life, Demi.”
I lean into him and press my face against his chest, inhaling the scent of his shirt and resting the palm of my hand against his warm cheek.
“Misty and Rick,” he says. “They fucked me over.”
“Did you try to tell the police what really happened?”
“Of course. They didn’t believe me. They treated me like I was guilty the second they cuffed me, and every time I gave my side of the story, they’d look at me with squinted eyes, like I was just another asshole claiming he didn’t do it.”
“What’d your attorney say?”
“He said what your father said. The evidence against me was too strong. He said if we took it to trial, there was no way I’d walk out a free man. They had signs of assault, my DNA under her fingernails, an accusation, and two witnesses. Plus the neighbor’s statement, which gave them an unbiased witness. Didn’t stand a chance. I was looking at seven years behind bars and fifteen years as a registered sex offender. That’s why I took the plea deal. I served two and a half years of a five year sentence for lesser charges, and I have to register as an offender for ten.”
“Jesus, Royal.”
“Yeah. So. That’s what I’ve been reliving on a nightly basis for the last seven years.”
“So that’s why you were so uncomfortable around Misty earlier.”
“Uncomfortable? Yeah. To say the least.”
“She knows the truth right? Can’t you get her to go to the police and admit she lied? What about Rick?”
“Rick died a few weeks ago. And Misty won’t ever admit she did anything wrong. Told me the other day that she’s ‘over’ what happened, and that I should be too.”
“Wow . . .”
I stare at this man, this beautiful man with this beautiful soul, and so much inherent, natural born goodness behind his stormy gaze that it’s unreal. The heart that beats in his chest is bigger and better than anyone else’s out there.
He doesn’t deserve that shameful title.
It’s not what he is.
Forty-Three
Royal
* * *
God, it’s hot in here. It’s a fucking sauna. And I’m suffocating.
Stepping out of my car, I welcome the frigid air and unzip my coat. Jamming my hands in my pockets, I lean against the side of the hood and stare at the empty Laundromat before me.
The click and closing of the passenger door brings Demi to me, and she slips her arms into the inside of my jacket, hooking herself around my lower back and placing her forehead beneath my chin, where she fits perfectly.
“I was so fucking scared, Demi,” I say with a bittersweet huff. “Out of all the shit that went down, being kept away from you was the worst part.”
She hugs me tighter.
“And when I got out? Watching you happy with another man? Fucking killed me. It was like losing you all over again. You were moving on, and I was stuck reliving the best days of my life. You were better off without me, and I had nothing but a bunch of faded memories.”
Demi lifts her gaze to mine, her forehead wrinkling.
“I never moved on. Not once, Royal,” she says.
A dusting of snowflakes falls from the sky, and she shivers, pressing her body harder against mine to stay warm. I’m a fucking inferno, and she’s an ice princess, and somehow this just works.
Lifting her chin and lowering my mouth to hers, I crush her sweet lips with an owning kiss.
“I love you so fucking much.” My words fit softly between our kisses, and my fingers lace through the dark hair at the nape of her neck.
“I love you too.”
I kiss her again and again, my lips decorating every inch of her neck with hot grazes that evaporate into the chilly night.
“Where do we go from here?” I ask.
Her lashes flutter, weighted with tiny snowflakes as she looks up to the dark window of my apartment.
“For now, let’s go inside.” Her hand slinks behind the back of my neck, and she balances on the balls of her feet to press her mouth against mine.
I slip my jacket over her shoulders and we head inside. By the time we’re climbing the narrow stairs to my apartment, her hands are working my belt buckle, and my hands are in her hair. I’m almost convinced she’s going to drop and suck me off right here in the hallway.
She rises, kissing me again and sliding her hand down the front of my pants. We stumble backward to my apartment door, and I damn near kick it down when the key gets jammed in the lock.
Slamming the door behind us, I scoop her in my arms and deposit her in the middle of my unmade bed.
Her smile fades in and out, like she’s unsure if this should be a silly little romp or her way of showing me how hard she still loves me and proving how much she believes my truth.
Hovering over her, I pull her shirt up, my cock throbbing and aching each time she squirms beneath me.
“I love you.” There’s a breathless urgency in her words and a sweet plea in her blue eyes. “I love you so, so much.”
My tongue catalogs the dips and curves from her caved belly to the lace cups of her bra. Moving it aside, I take her pink buds in my mouth, one by one. Every square inch of this woman, inside and out, is addictive. Every square inch of her was made for me.