“Dammit, Georgia.” Colby crossed the threshold and wrapped an arm around her waist, closing ranks on the other side of her. “You don’t have to do this all on your own. Let us in.”
She loathed the tears, hated that her body was rebelling against her yet again. Look at the poor, weepy girl leaning on the big, strong men. Pathetic. But she couldn’t do anything about it. Her body was in a state of emotional expectoration, spilling all the white-knuckled emotions and fear out in a flood.
Colby and Keats didn’t say anything more, just held her tight, one of their hands rubbing her back. The cocooned state between the two of them was more soothing than she wanted to admit to herself. She didn’t want to have to depend on anyone for anything, especially these two. They were supposed to be her lighthearted fun, not more people hoping to fix her. She had enough of those. Her issues were hers to deal with and no one else’s.
But she was so damn tired of being alone. And not trusting anyone. And being scared. So. Damn. Tired.
So when she shut the door behind the three of them, it wasn’t about flings or sex or even romantic notions—none of the things she’d entertained about either of these men before. Right now, she needed their friendship.
She needed to surrender to that. To let them be there.
Even if it was for just one day.
TWENTY-SIX
Colby sat on a chair in Georgia’s living room, listening to her story and fighting the urge to scoop her up and hold her in his lap while she told it—buffer her somehow from the memories. She wasn’t crying anymore. After letting him and Keats inside and getting through a wash of tears, Georgia had left them briefly to wash her face and get some water. When she’d returned, she’d been composed again except for the telltale puffiness around her eyes. Emotions tucked back under the bed.
Colby understood why Georgia felt the need to wear that kind of armor, but he wished she felt safe enough to be vulnerable in front of him. No one was here to judge her on how tough she was. But despite her current stoicism, he knew it was a huge leap of trust that she was telling them her story.
She tucked her hands in her lap, her thumb rubbing the center of her palm. “I dated Phillip for a year. He seemed like a great guy. There for me after my friend Tyson’s death, understanding, supportive. Our connection felt comfortable and familiar. He was smart and successful, good-looking. He seemed to almost worship me like I was on some pedestal. Doted on me. Spoiled me. Always bringing me little gifts and going out of his way to do nice things for me. I loved that. I know that probably sounds self-centered and stupid.”
“Not at all,” Colby said, keeping his voice quiet so as not to startle her out of sharing this with them. “No one is going to fault anyone for wanting to feel cherished.”
“Looking back, I realize now that he knew exactly what buttons needed pushing for me. I was getting older. My friends were getting married and starting families. I hadn’t dated anyone seriously for a while, and I was getting that itch for something more long-term, getting those white-picket-fence fantasies. Tyson hadn’t been up for that, and really, we were better suited as friends, anyway. But once he was gone, Phillip could step in and fill that need I had by lavishing me with all the romance, courting me with gifts, trips, giving me all of his free time, talking about our future like it was an inevitable conclusion. It was hard not to fall into. But it was an acquisitions game for him, and I was simply the target. He wasn’t going to settle for anything less than complete possession.”
Colby’s neck prickled. He had a feeling this guy’s ideas of possession had no relation to the sexy kind in his world.
“At first, it was heady to be at the center of all that attention. That’s what women are supposed to want, right? The guy who only has eyes for you. But then he started to do things that weren’t so romantic, like make negative comments about my close friends or plan things so that it made it hard for me to spend time with them. His jealousy went from sweet and amusing to irrational over the course of the year we dated. By the end, pretty much any guy I came in contact with became a suspect in his mind. He’d swear he trusted me but not them. I’d had friends in abusive relationships and saw the signs heading that way, so I broke it off.”
“I’m guessing he didn’t take that well,” Keats said, his tone gentle but his eyes flickering with barely banked anger.
Colby knew the feeling. The thought of anyone hurting Georgia, of making her this fearful, sent murderous thoughts running through his head.
Georgia rubbed her lips together and shook her head. “No, he became obsessed, relentless. A creepy stalker right out of one of my novels. I hoped it would pass. I talked to the police, ignored the behavior, didn’t encourage him. All the things everyone had advised me to do. I started dating again, hoping that would send a clear message that I wasn’t coming back. But then . . .” She paused to take a shaky breath. “That just sent him over the cliff.”
Colby couldn’t stop himself this time. He moved from the chair to sit next to Georgia on the couch. He didn’t try to touch her but stretched his arm over the back of the couch. To his surprise, she scooted closer to him and leaned in. His arm went around her. “If this is too hard . . .”
“No,” she said with a little head shake. “Maybe it’s good I get it all out.”
Keats leaned forward and put a hand on her knee. “Go ahead, George. We’re listening.”
She didn’t speak for a few seconds but then seemed to gather her strength again. And when she told them the rest of the story—Tyson’s car accident, her almost-rape, her sister’s murder—Colby went cold all over, rage like an icy river running through him.
“He didn’t want to kill me because in his twisted mind, we were still meant to be together. But he wasn’t above hurting everyone around me to get to me. He took everything from me. And didn’t leave a bit of evidence behind.”
“Jesus,” Keats breathed. “George, I can’t even—please tell us he’s locked up.”
She lifted her gaze to him. “He’s out on bail in Chicago but can’t leave the state. No one except the legal team and my therapist know
s where I am. I’m supposed to testify in January. I’m the key witness since I’m the one who saw his erratic behavior up close. And I’m the one who talked to my sister every day and can vouch that she was in no way depressed or suicidal. I’m the one who can tell them about that day in the kitchen and the threats he made. Without my testimony, they don’t think they have enough to get a murder conviction. And here I am, the girl who can’t even cross the street without panicking.”
Colby rubbed her chilled arm. “Baby . . .”
She sat up, her shoulders stiffening, before he could say any more. “God, it sounds so pathetic when I say it out loud.”
Keats frowned. “Of course it doesn’t. You had a murderer after you. You lost people you loved. No one would blame you for being scared.”
But there was a fierceness morphing Georgia’s expression as Keats spoke. She stood. “Don’t give me an out, Keats.”