Ari, who had seen and heard everything at this point, terrible stories, stupid decisions, heartbreaking testimonies from mothers and children and victims, felt more pain in her heart from that one statement than from anything she’d encountered before. She turned to the girl and said, “Oh honey, you realize that at eight we don’t call that losing your virginity, right?”
Again, Hope shrugged and said, “Whatever.” She got out of the car and closed the door.
Ari flipped down the mirror on her car and wiped under her eyes, fighting for composure. She rarely cried. Barely ever on the job. But Hope’s story said so much about her, about her confusion and misunderstanding. How she’d always been a victim and why she didn’t understand selling herself made her a victim all over again.
It also told her everything she needed to know about Jace Watkins.
He was a monster.
* * *
The numbness came back with a vengeance after hearing Hope’s story. She spent the rest of the day running from the images of eight-year-old Hope, violated by the older boy. She knew the numbness had a name—depression—but Ari wasn’t ready to go there. Not yet.
There were other drugs than antidepressants. Oliver was one for her. Stable and secure. Funny, and so caring. Running helped. The endorphins pumping in her veins made the ghosts go away for a while.
The club had been one, but obviously that was no longer an option. Not if she wanted to keep some level of appropriateness. And then there was Nick. Handsome, successful Nick, who should have been a shining star in Ari’s world. She supposed he was a star, but right then he s
hone too bright. He glared against her darkness and she couldn’t let him see her like this. Not in the early stages of dating, or he’d run like hell.
After Hope revealed her history with Jace, insomnia took hold. While Oliver slept, Ari decided to clean the house, scrubbing the floors and organizing the closets. It was after midnight when she carried her third bag of garbage out the back door, tossing it into the can—and missing. The bag hit the rim and fell on the patio.
“Motherfudger,” Ari said. Just as she kneeled to pick up the bag, she heard the fence creak and she jumped to her feet. She had a foot halfway in the back door when she called, “Who’s there?”
Davis perched on the top of the wooden fence that separated her house from the neighbor. She could barely see him in the dark, but the zipper from his hoodie reflected the soft glow from the kitchen light. He crouched effortlessly, like a cat.
“Jesus, Davis. Are you kidding me?” Ari’s heart pounded in her chest.
“Yeah, this is not really how I saw this happening.”
“Saw what? Me finding you creeping around my house? At midnight?”
“Can I come down?”
“Are you going to murder me?” She said it as a joke, but there was a hint of truth behind her words.
“Of course not.” Ari waved him down and he landed noiselessly. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
“No, you’re just a stalker or something?”
“Really? You think I’m the stalker?” he says dryly, obviously noting her nights at the club. “I’d hoped we would see each other officially, like at work or back at the club, but you’ve been hiding from me. I didn’t have any other choice.”
“I wasn’t stalking you,” Ari defended.
“What were you doing then?”
Ari leaned against the back porch railing. “Blowing off steam.”
“I understand that,” he said. “But alone and looking like that? Seems a little dangerous.”
“I told you, I’ve never done anything like that before.”
“Like what?” he asked, taking a step closer. “Gone to a club alone? Had an immediate attraction with another person?”
“Sucked face for an hour with a guy I didn’t know?” And embarrassingly realize he’s a colleague the next day? she thought. “Nope, that was the first time.”
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since,” he confessed, easing toward her. He placed his palm flat against the side of the house but kept his eyes steady on hers.
Ari’s stomach burned with desire. “How does this even work?”