Jonah hardly even looks at her past a polite nod. “It’s a long drive.” Chloe’s smile tightens as it goes from genuine to artificial.

“I’ll be back for Thanksgiving,” I promise. “Just a couple of weeks. And I can arrange to spend a few extra days at home, with Dad.”

“What about Christmas?” Mom says it like I’ve never deigned to stay with them, when in fact that’s the one holiday I’ve never skipped. Granted, I spend as little time at home as possible, and I always make it back to Austin for New Year’s Eve.

At least, I did. This year has to be different. If being around for Dad means enduring hours or days of Anthony’s company, then that’s what I have to do. “I’ll be here, of course.”

My mother sweetly says to Jonah, “And will we be seeing you again over the holidays?” Obviously she expects him to dodge any solid commitment, thus simultaneously proving him unworthy and humiliating me. Mom never could pass up a two-fer.

Once again, Jonah doesn’t flinch. “I expect so.”

“Of course.” Mom settles back in her chair, satisfied—even pleased with him—but there’s a definite sense of surprise at my having found an interesting man. Like, Look what the cat dragged in.

The gauntlet is all but cleared. Now we just have to get into the car.

But then we walk onto the porch, where Libby is playing under her father’s supervision, and I amend that. We just have to get past Anthony.

“Y’all should have good weather for the drive,” he says as he strolls up to us, standing just a bit too close to me—not enough to stand out as weird, but enough to give me the creeps.

My response is clipped, almost harsh. “Hope so.”

Anthony’s grin widens. “Are we going to see you during the holidays, Vivienne?”

“Absolutely. Longer than usual this time.” For Dad, I remind myself.

He nods, as if I need his approval. And then he says, “Good girl.”

I don’t have another flashback, thank God. But the memory of Anthony saying this while I lay there on the sofa, crying, still shaking with fear and pain—it lances through me, sharply enough to drain the blood from my face.

Just walk away, I tell myself. That’s all you have to do.

But as I turn, I see Jonah. He stares at me, then slowly turns his head toward Anthony. Horror seizes me in its cold fist.

Jonah knows. He knows.

The sick silence of this moment is broken by Libby’s laughter. She’s still playing on the swing, innocent of everything.

Jonah says, “Libby? Go in the house and get your coloring book. I want to take one of your pictures with me.”

Her eyes light up, and she jumps from the swing to run inside. Anthony, aware something has changed but not what, frowns at Jonah. “What is this about?”

Jonah has not taken one step forward. He does not raise his voice. But in this moment I am reminded of why, when we first met, I thought he was dangerous.

Because he is.

“Listen to me,” he says to Anthony. “If you ever touch Vivienne again, if you ever say anything to her about what happened, if you even stand too close to her, you’re going to regret it. Deeply. Painfully. And permanently.”

Anthony laughs, but there’s a nervous edge to it. This is the first time anyone has ever called him on what he did to me, and he doesn’t know how to handle it. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play stupid either.” Every muscle in Jonah’s body is tense. “Just this once, you have to deal with the truth.”

I should speak, but I can’t. My shock is too complete. Shame, anger, wonder, gratitude, love—they’re all bubbling up, boiling over, and I am in a place beyond words.

Finally Anthony takes a step back, getting out of the range of Jonah’s fists. “I don’t know what Vivienne told you, but there’s two sides to every story, buddy. You know how women get.”

“I know what rape does to people,” Jonah says.

Anthony holds up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. That’s a hell of an accusation to throw at somebody. Vivienne and I were teenagers. Hormones all over the place. You remember how it is. So we got busy one night, and then when I stayed with Chloe, Viv couldn’t stand it—girls get jealous, and sex mixes up their heads—”

“Anthony?” says a tremulous voice.

Only then do the three of us realize Chloe had stepped out onto the porch. I don’t know exactly how much she heard, but it was enough.

Anthony had been defensive; now he’s almost panicked. “Sugar, you know there’s nothing to this.”

“You said she flirted with you.” Chloe braces one hand against a white column. She’s shaking so hard I can see it from here. “You never told me you slept with her.”

Finally my voice returns to me. “He didn’t sleep with me, Chloe. He raped me. Anthony told you a lie, and I told you the truth.”

I can tell she doesn’t believe me. At least, not yet. But for the first time, Chloe has to accept the fact that Anthony Whedon is a goddamned liar.

“I meant what I said.” Jonah takes another step toward Anthony, which is enough to make Anthony skitter back to the steps. “Leave Vivienne alone.”

Seeing Anthony like this—exposed, foolish, scared—is a thousand times more satisfying than I ever dreamed it could be. Someone finally stood up for me. Someone finally believed.

I take Jonah’s hand. “Let’s go.”

Jonah only glances at me for a moment; his laser glare remains focused on Anthony. “Okay.”

As soon as we turn toward the car, though, we hear Libby’s footsteps on the porch. I turn to see her dashing toward us, a page of her coloring book in one hand. “Here, Jonah! I picked you out a picture!”

He bends down to take it from her. None of the adults says a word.

“It’s a princess, see? I made her dress yellow, and red, so maybe it’s like a volcano dress. Do you like it?”

Jonah nods. “It’s fantastic.”

Libby beams up at him, trusting and adoring. But Jonah can’t smile back. I know that he’s seen what haunts me most about Libby.

She has her father’s eyes.

•   •   •

I don’t trust myself to speak again until I’ve steered the car onto I-10. “Jonah—thank you.”

“For what?” He sounds strained.

“For taking Anthony on. For seeing what nobody else ever saw.”

He stares out the window at the dull jumble of chain stores that lines the interstate. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

This conversation was inevitable—I knew that—but I’m not ready. When would I ever be? “It’s a hard thing to say.” True. Obvious. Meaningless. Jonah deserves more. “The only people I ever told were my mother and Chloe, and they didn’t believe me. I mean, the only people not counting my therapist. Because, wow, I have done some time in therapy.”

“It never helps.” Jonah doesn’t get sidetracked. “Your mother . . . didn’t believe you?”

“Anthony’s rich. He wanted to marry Chloe. Mom would never let herself believe anything that got in the way. Even what happened to me.”

“And your sister? That’s what you told her the night before the wedding, wasn’t it?”

Concentrating on the road is difficult. “She only heard part of the story before she shut me up. Anthony had convinced her I was jealous of her. As if.”

Jonah shakes his head. “I would have believed you. Don’t you know that?”

I think I always knew, though I never realized it until now. Jonah would have believed me, and that’s why I didn’t tell him. “It would have—complicated things.”

“You don’t think I deserved to know?”

“What? Where my sexual fixations come from? Do I need to bring you in to talk to my therapist before every date?” I sound hysterical, even to myself. So I take a couple of deep breaths. “You keep your secrets too, don’t you?”

“This isn’t about me.”

“Isn’t it?”

Jonah turns his face from me. “This is the way to the airport, isn’t it?”

“Uh, yeah—”

“Drop me off there.”