Gun had wanted me permanently out of the picture. But why? What threat was I then, and what threat am I now? Is there something I know of which I hadn’t realised the significance? Maybe just the suspicion I do would have been enough to justify in Gun’s eyes, a death sentence. One in which Cat was an innocent pawn, her only crime being caught up in my life, which lays her horrors firmly at my door.
Honor takes pity on my damaged brain trying to work things out, my fingers rubbing at my temples gives away that my head’s aching. “I’ll keep looking, and I’ll let you know immediately if I find anything concrete.” Before he retakes his seat, Honor’s eyes soften. “I heard what Swift said, but I think you’re right. Cat will find it hard to open up. I don’t think you should tell her anything you find out, let her tell you herself. But as you said, being aware of her triggers could help you avoid them.”
I place my left hand over the mouse, and move the cursor back to the file, hesitating only because I know once I open Pandora’s box I won’t be able to put the contents back.
Clicking, I seal my fate.
The doctor’s notes are succinct, short and to the point. As I read, I’m grateful Cat was sedated at the time he examined her. Vaginal tearing I kind of expected but it’s still hard to read. Bruising, that’s no shock either, but shit, the pain my woman must have felt. The next bit is harder, there’s anal damage as well, nothing that won’t heal, but even I had never taken her virgin ass. She’d been raped, repeatedly and violently. She’d been whipped, some gashes so deep they’d had to be stitched.
I should have known it would come with the territory, but it’s the cold brief notes about testing for STDs and pregnancy that have me stumbling out of the wheelchair, grabbing the stick and somehow propelling myself out of the room to the nearest john. I only hold my vomit until I get there.
“Brother,” Honor says hesitantly from behind me. “You had to have expected you wouldn’t be reading a fuckin’ fairy tale.”
I flush, wipe my mouth on paper, and stand with the support of the wall. “I knew, but hadn’t accepted it. That’s why I needed to see it, Honor. She might be pregnant. I never thought of that.”
“Is that what’s bothering you?”
“It’s the whole fuckin’ thing, everything she’s having to deal with. I fuckin’ thought getting her back would be the end of it, but it’s just the beginning. I hate it all, Honor. I hate that she was raped, that she might have an STD. She doesn’t deserve this.”
He stares at me for a moment. “You need to fuckin’ calm yourself before you see her. It’s not about you, Storm. I’d tell you to take a long ride on your bike to get your head on straight, but…” He doesn’t need to complete his sentence. I’m in no state to ride even if I had my bike here, which I don’t.
My bike’s still back in Kentucky, or is if it hasn’t been stolen, along with everything Cat owns. The plan had been to move down here and find a house, renting to start with if we couldn’t find anything we wanted to buy immediately. Would that still even be in the cards? Or, will Cat want to hide and lick her wounds in private, and without me? Fuck, I hope not. If I’m right and her suffering was all down to me, how could she ever forgive me?
“Stormy. Doctor Mason has gone.”
I acknowledge Swift who seems to find nothing wrong in that she’s just invaded the men’s bathroom. “I’ve got to go see how she is.”
“Here, let me.” Swift has helpfully brought the wheelchair along. She helps me into it, then takes the handles. She pushes me to the elevator and, having taken the keycard from her cut, slides it in and out of the slot. As the elevator begins to rise and the music I’m normally so accustomed to that I usually no longer notice plays. This time it irritates the fuck out of me.
At last the doors open and Swift starts wheeling me along the corridor, stopping outside my door. “You got yourself under control?”
I take a breath, appreciating the few seconds to calm myself. It’s Cat who’s important, not me. When I nod at Swift, she leaves.
Leaning forward, I knock, listening out for permission to enter, but instead it’s opened. Cat’s standing there, whether she knows it or not, she’s wearing one of my t-shirts and a pair of my sweatpants which drown her. I try to ignore the possessive feelings her attire raises within me.
My eyes narrow. “Should you be up and about?”
“The doctor said there’s nothing physically wrong with me that bed rest wouldn’t cure.” She’s holding onto the door, as if reluctant to let me in.
I wave at what she’s wearing, unable to resist. “The clothes suit you.”
The look she gives me is all suspicion. “I don’t know who these belong to. I helped myself to stuff I found in the drawer.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Oh shit. Is this your room?” When I nod, she doesn’t seem so confident as she had a moment before, and takes a step back from the door.
I could tell her I’d go away if she wants to be alone, but I don’t, I think being left to dwell on everything by herself is the last thing she needs.
“Er, is there somewhere else that I can go?”
I fix my eyes on hers, wishing like hell I was whole. I rise to my feet, well, one foot, and that awkwardly and with having to hold onto the chair. “This is where you’re meant to be, Cat. Okay, so we pre-empted the move to Utah, but we planned to come together. It might not be the home we intended, but for now, my room is yours.”
“That was before…”
“Before?” I suck at this. Suck at trying to find the words to convey all the meaning I want to. “Cat, I love you. You’re mine, and I’m yours.” I want to touch her, hold her, but it’s far too soon. “Nothing’s changed.”
“Nothing’s changed?” she throws back, with a touch of the flare of her temper. I don’t mind, it’s better to see some animation in her face. “Nothing’s fucking changed?” She turns her back to me and wraps her arms around her. “Three weeks and two days, Finn. And fuck, everything’s different. I’m not the same woman, and you? You’re not the same man.”
“I will be,” I tell her, entering properly and closing the door behind me. “My bones will heal. And nothing’s changed, you’re still my woman.”
“I can’t be.” Pushing the wheelchair for support, I hop close enough to see tears streaming from her eyes. “I’ll never be the same. They stole something from me.”
“Okay, Cat, I get that.” On my part I know how devastating it was to lose her. How driven I was to get her back. “But different doesn’t mean worse.”
“Three weeks and two days,” she repeats. “If you were alive, why didn’t you come for me sooner?” she wails.
“Cat, I was in a coma,” I remind her patiently.
She turns away, well aware of that. I know she’s trying to find somewhere to put the blame. Reminding her she wouldn’t have suffered if it weren’t for me, won’t help right now. I force down my guilt and instead place it on the culprit instead.