I hate doing this. I hate lying to Tyson. This is no way to start a relationship—I know that—but I can’t tell him. I won’t do that to him, I just won’t. The look in his eyes is already heartbreaking enough. He’s hurting for me and I can't stand to see him like this. I know he would blame himself if I told him, and that’s the last thing I want.
“Harley," he whispers, leaning in close. I can see the tears pushing at the confines of his eyes, begging to be let free, but he’s doing it…he’s holding them back. “Baby, you didn’t see who attacked you?" He's pleading with me, his eyes desperately searching mine, wanting me to change my mind. I shake my head. “Are you sure?”
I squeeze his hands, holding on for dear life and hoping that he doesn't see right through me. "I didn't see his face," I lie. "It was dark out and he came at me from behind."
I'm going straight to hell.
Please. Please forgive me for lying.
I have to protect him and this is the only way.
"Please say something," I beg, tugging him forward. He disentangles our fingers and runs a hand through his hair and over his face in exasperation. He walks a few steps away from me to take a deep breath. His chin quivers and he swallows hard. When his eyes reconnect with mine, he loses the battle and a few tears roll down his grief-stricken face.
"I don't know what to say." His voice cracks as he holds his arms out to his side in confusion. "When? Where? Fuck!" He grips his hair and turns away from me, facing the horizon. "Fuck!" he grunts, low and hard. I want to reach for him and hold him, but I don't.
This is new, it's fresh, and he's going to have to go through all of the emotions like I did. I've had five years to be mad, yell, and get angry. I've battled it, I've lived with it, and I’ve come to accept it. The past cannot be changed, and no one knows that better than I do. It doesn't mean that the pain, fear, and anger don't consume me, because some days they do. It just means that I've learned to take one day at a time and deal with those days as they arrive.
"Harley," he says desperately, slowly shaking his head, "when? When did this happen? Why didn't you call me?"
I inhale deeply and then blow it out slowly. I know that when he finds out I did call him, he's going to flip his lid. But I also know that there’s no way to avoid this. Tyson is no dummy…once he finds out Max’s birthday, he’d figure it out anyway.
"I did, Tyson. I did call you." The memory of that night—the memory of calling Tyson over and over, just for the calls to go to voicemail—prove to be too much, and I feel the emotion roll in
my gut. I close my eyes, remembering my desperate words, begging Tyson to call me. I push back the anger that starts to creep forward and remind myself that it's in the past.
It's. Over.
I've accepted it, I'm stronger because of it, and I'm not going to let it take him away from me.
"What?" he gasps, shaking his head vehemently. "No. No. No!" he barks, shoving his finger into his chest. "If you would have called…if you needed me…I would have been there. I would never abandon you during something like that, Harley!"
Oh, God, this is going to be hard. Please, God…please don't let this drag me back down. I've worked too hard to get where I am, and right now I need you to give me the strength to get through this.
I walk over to Ty and link my fingers through his. He doesn't resist, but he doesn't look at me either. "Look at me," I demand, throwing his words from earlier back in his face. I can see the battling emotions swirling deep in his still-averted eyes. He doesn't know whether to be angry or devastated, but he's trying to stay strong—for me.
"If we're going to do this, I need you to look at me." His eyes lock with mine. Good. "I need to know that this isn't going to destroy us. I've worked too hard to get where I am, and I'll be damned if I let this come between us. I will not lose you over this."
His eyes widen with shock at my pointed words and he pulls me to him. "You're not going to lose me," he confirms resolutely, "but I need answers, Harley. I hate to push you, but—"
"It happened the night you walked away from me." Crap. Shit. Crap. I didn't mean for it to come out like that, and I instantly regret my words when utter devastation consumes his beautiful face. "I'm sorry," I say, reaching out for his other hand. "I didn't mean to say it that way." I pray that he believes me…the last thing I want to do is hurt him.
His nostrils flare and his chin quivers, but he's fighting—he's fighting like hell to hold himself together. I can see the questions flashing across his face, but it’s obvious he can't bring himself to ask any of them. That's okay…it's my turn to be strong.
"I should have followed you inside, but I didn't. That's my fault, Ty, not yours." His eyes stay locked on mine, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles across my knuckles. I'm unsure if he's soothing himself or me, but at this point I don't care.
"I stayed out back at the picnic table…and—" I shake my head jerkily as the memories flood my mind. "It just happened so fast that, in the beginning, I don't even think I registered what was happening. I kept praying that someone would come back out—"
Ty yanks away from me, bending at the waist, a deep sob ripping from his throat. His shoulders heave roughly several times before he puts a hand over his eyes and begins to pace, moving further away from me. I cover my mouth with both hands. I can't handle this. I've never seen Tyson cry, and watching him fall apart is like a knife to the fucking chest. I don't ever want to see him hurt like this again, but I need to finish and he needs to hear it.
"When it was over," my chest heaves in and out several times, "when it was over, I just laid in the alley, sobbing, and in total shock. I don't think I could have moved if I wanted to. I'm not sure long I laid there, but Levi found me. He took me to the hospital to get cleaned up." I squeeze my eyes shut, remembering how scared I was when I refused a rape kit, but he doesn't need to know that. "When I got home, the first thing I did was call you, and when you didn't answer Levi tried calling you."
"FUCK!" Tyson growls, folding into himself. "FUCK!"
The anger and self-loathing rolls off of him in waves, but I sit back on the shore, watching—waiting—to see what he'll do. My body aches to move toward him and my hands ache to soothe his pain, but I'm frozen. I'm stuck in my own hell, where the memories of my past are battling my future—and there isn't a damn thing I can do to stop it.
Suddenly, Tyson stands, smoothing his hands down the front of his pants. He takes a few deep breaths and clears his throat. When he walks over to me, he doesn't reach for me. No, he stands in front of me, his eyes bouncing around my face for several seconds before his words come out, rough and raw.
"What do you need from me?" he asks. "Tell me what you need and that's what I'll do. You need me to find out who it was and kill him? Done." I grimace. "You need me to get on my knees and beg you to forgive me? Because I'm already certain that's going to happen. But I need to know," he sucks in air, "because I don't want to make this harder for you."