Tate Jackson

Cassie placed her wine glass on the table and stared blankly at the screen. A shiver of dread inched down her spine and she couldn’t deny the jealousy pooling in her stomach. Was this the information she needed to prove there was another woman? Was the compensation for a child?

She scrolled lower, hoping to read Scott’s original email below T.J.’s text. Nothing was there. Shit. She pressed print on the cryptic message and then searched for more mail sent to Scott’s address. Nothing. If there was any other mail sent to that address, T.J. had done his best to hide it.

Her heart thumped harder, the buzz of intoxication dying under fear. She’d ended her relationship with T.J. on a bittersweet note. The only way she slept at night was knowing he still loved her. There was still a tiny glimmer of hope that one day he would wake up and realize his mistake. Only now, his claims of guilt had a different context.

She navigated to the deleted folder, searched for Scott’s name. Again, nothing. There were no more emails to or from this man.

“Damn it.” She couldn’t call T.J. and ask about it. They were done. Over. She had to find more information somewhere else.

Files and links.

There had to be an internet trail. Or documents on the computer somewhere. She opened an internet browser, clicked on History and scrolled all the way back to the date on the email.

Six months ago.

She straightened, her breaths coming hard and fast. This had something to do with T.J. moving out. She knew it did. There was no evidence yet, nothing to cement her assumption. It was the ache in her bones that told her the truth.

She clutched the wine glass, took sip after sip until the website links on screen aligned with the date in the email. There were only two, with the preview text on both linking to the same news site.

Her hand shook as she clicked the first website address. Then everything in her stomach threatened to revolt when a familiar man came on screen. Haunted blue eyes, a sharp nose and oil-slicked hair. The glass slid from her hand, the base connecting with the desk and then toppling to the floor.

She couldn’t see straight. Couldn’t think. There were only memories, vivid recollections, as she blinked her eyes to focus.

Serial Rapist Back Behind Bars.

She held her breath and skimmed the article, her gaze catching on caustic words like rape, brutal, hospitalized, eight-year sentence. She pushed from the chair, stumbled back and covered her mouth to fight the nausea creeping up her throat.

Nothing could stop the onslaught assailing her. Tears fell without her permission. Her chest threatened to explode. A woman had been raped. An innocent young woman had had her life ruined by the same man who’d assaulted Cassie, and it had happened only six months ago.

She stumbled from the room and ran down the hall. Her feet stumbled as she shoved past the bathroom door to lose the contents of her stomach in a violent purge.

T.J. had known. He’d known for over six months.

Six months. Since the day he left.

“Oh God.” She retched again and closed her eyes as the tears continued to fall.

The divorce made sense now. Everything made sense with torturous clarity. The devastation of their marriage was her fault. Not only that, but a woman had been raped because Cassie hadn’t gone to the police.

She leaned back against the bathroom wall and let the sobs take over. Time passed in the measure of tears. She didn’t know how long she sat there, wasn’t sure when the sun set and darkness seeped in.

The phone had trilled its sterile call more than once. The television still mumbled from the main room, and everything inside her ached. She wasn’t sure what made her more emotional—the woman whose rape could’ve been prevented, the years of marriage that could’ve been saved, or the secrets T.J. had kept from her.

“Cassie,” his voice called to her in her mind.

She winced through the delirium and cried a little more. She didn’t deny the madness. She deserved it, and so much more.

“Cassie!”

This time, she frowned and slowly moved to her feet. His voice wasn’t a dream. He was here, unlocking her front door and stepping into her nightmare.

“Cassie!” T.J. shoved into the house, his heart pounding. He ran for the hall and pulled up short at the sight of her in the fading light. Her hair was a mess, her eyes bloodshot and skin pale. “What’s wrong?”

She blinked up at him, her forehead creasing. “What are you doing here?”

“Jan called.” He held out a hand, like he was creeping toward a frightened child. She looked fragile. Breakable. “She said she could hear you crying but you wouldn’t answer the door.”

Cassie blinked and shook her head. “I didn’t hear it.” Her voice wasn’t even the same. It was lifeless. Numb.

“Cassie…” He took another step, needing to fix whatever was broken. After sleeping with her last week, he’d vowed to stay away, but as soon as Jan called, he’d been in the car, frantic as hell to get to her side. This was what he’d feared would happen, that he would walk away to protect her but not know how she coped while they lived separate lives. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

She frowned at him, anger creeping into her expression. “You knew.” Her chest rose and fell with harsh breaths. “You knew and you didn’t tell me.” She stepped toward him, glaring. “You knew.” She shoved at his chest. “And you kept me in the dark.”

“Cassie.” He retreated, bumping into the wall as he slid backward. “What did I know?”

She gave a delirious laugh. “Everything.” She shoved again, and a tear fell down her pale cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice was a plea. “I deserved to know what I’d done.”

His throat closed over. “You haven’t done anything, sweetheart.”

Her face crumpled as she slammed her fists into his chest and sobbed. “I ruined all our lives.” She sucked in a manic breath. “A woman was raped.”

Everything inside him died. For a second, he stared at her. At the destruction he’d tried to avoid. At the pain he couldn’t stand to inflict. He yanked her to his chest and closed his eyes to stem his own tears.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, holding her tightly while her body shook. “It’s not your fault.”

It was his. It had started years ago, when he’d began to push the boundaries. Love required spontaneity, but he’d gone too far. Their marriage had been perfect, and he’d ruined it with the continuous desire to strive for more excitement. He’d driven her to that club. He’d held her hand as they walked through the door. And he hadn’t yanked her out of there when he’d discovered it was less than worthy of their attendance.

She’d been his responsibility, and in return, he was to blame for her suffering.

“Did you give money to the woman?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“No.” He’d tried hard to cover his tracks, to delete phone logs and emails, but Cassie must’ve found a message from the investigator. Yet another mistake he’d made. “I wanted to. But the possibility of upsetting her because she didn’t know where the funds came from made me rethink the idea.”

Her face contorted in pain and she sucked in a breath. “Is she okay though? I mean…is she…does she have people to support her?”

No. “Yes.” Honestly, he had no clue. He couldn’t bring himself to snoop. He wouldn’t risk scaring her if she found out an investigator was following her. So he’d made his final payment to Scott six months ago and tried to leave it behind him.

She pushed back from his chest, scrutinizing him. “Why don’t I believe you?”

He winced. There were no words, only the confirmation in Cassie’s eyes that told him she hated what he’d done.

“You should’ve told me.” She shrugged off his touch and moved out of reach. “How could you keep this from me?”