August doesn’t laugh either, but finds my hand and links our fingers under the overstuffed weight of the duvet. He waits for my next words.

“I used to think of the night we met all the time.” I bite my lip and blink back unexpected tears. “You wanted to kiss me outside the bar.”

“And you told me you had a boyfriend.” His voice has grown sober, too.

“When I was . . .”

Beaten. Bruised. Threatened. Violated.

“. . . unhappy, I would imagine that I kissed you that night.” I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I could erase the wasted years between then and now. “I would imagine that I chose you, and that one choice changed everything.”

He’s quiet. I won’t tell him everything. I won’t tell him much at all, but it will be the truth.

“It was like there was this parallel universe where I made the right choice, and we were happy.” I struggle to release the words that acknowledge my error. “But I would always wake up, and you weren’t there. Caleb was.”

“In this alternative universe,” he says softly, caressing the webbing between my fingers, “was Sarai mine?”

I hesitate, not sure what he wants me to say, so again I choose the truth. I nod. He drops his head to my nape and leaves a long breath there.

“Then we were there together, because that’s what kept me going when you were with him.” He rolls me onto my back, pressing his forearm by my head into the pillow. “Not that it had already happened, but that it still could.” He brushes the hair back from my face, peering down at me in the darkness like it’s the light of day and he can see me clearly. “It has happened, Iris.” He brings our clasped hands to his lips. “That’s not an alternative universe. That’s our life, baby.”

I almost don’t want to smile—like my happiness might shatter this illusion, and I’ll wake up curled at the edge of the bed, staring down the barrel of Caleb’s pistol. But I won’t. Tomorrow I’ll wake up in August’s arms, and my past, my memories, Caleb – can’t rob me of that.

“Can I tell you something?” August’s voice anchors me in this dream, extends it a little longer.

“Of course.”

“I want to wake up this way every morning,” he says, hope lifting his words. “And I want our kids to bust through the door and jump in bed with us.”

Tears gather at the corners of my eyes and silently stripe my cheeks. There was once a girl brave enough to want those things, but she was crushed and ground to dust. I don’t know if I could find her again if I tried.

“And I’ll make pancakes,” he continues, his enthusiasm growing. “And I can teach them to shoot, or not. They don’t have to play basketball. I don’t care. I just want them to be ours. Yours and mine.”

He strokes his thumb over that finger on my left hand, which once held a ring of protection and once held a ring of bondage. The tears won’t stop because I’m not ready to put a ring on that finger. As much as I love August, that’s a step, a risk I’m not ready to take. Not even for him. Not yet.

I’m braced for the question, trying to figure out how to tell the man I love no.

“If I were to ask you tonight, Iris, would you say yes?”

He already knows. I hear the resignation, the disappointment in his voice, and I wish I could surprise him. I can’t yet.

But I will.

I lived in hell, and my way back is a journey. I survived a nightmare, escaped a monster, and I faced him down today. I may not be able to tell August yes tonight, but one day I will.

“I’m sorry, August.” I shake my head helplessly and brush at the tears. “I-I can’t say yes yet.”

“I know, baby.” He tightens his arm around my waist and tucks his chin into the curve of my neck. “That’s why I’m not asking.”

49

August

“Good game, Rook,” Kenan says as we get off the bus.

“You, too.” I grin at him, lowering my duffle bag to the ground while we talk. “We’ve put together a little winning streak here lately.”

“Little bit.” Kenan’s stern face yields a smile. “Next year we’ll be a plus five hundred team.”

“You think?” He and I start toward the hotel entrance.

“If Deck and the front office play their cards right in the draft this summer and get us some more key pieces, hell yeah. We’re doing well for an expansion team.”

“Yeah, we’re starting to gel. Tonight was great.” I grimace. “Minus the snow. The last place I want to be is stranded in Denver an extra night because of weather.”

“You called Iris to let her know?”

“About to. Once we get settled in the room, I will.”

“How’s her cousin?”

I stop in the hotel lobby and stare him down. “Do you want Iris to put in a good word for you with Lo or something?”

“What?” He looks at me like I have two heads and an extra nose. “Why would you think that?”

“Obviously because you keep asking about her.”

“Has . . . she ever asked about me?”

I’ve never seen Kenan “Gladiator” Ross tentative, but the expression on his face is probably about as close as he’ll ever come.

“Never,” I answer unhesitatingly, my lips stretching into a smile.

Kenan rolls his eyes and gives me a middle-finger salute.

“August, hey.” Decker walks over to us from the front desk, a file in his hand. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure.” I fist-pound Kenan before he walks toward the elevator. “What’s up, Deck?”

“Come sit.” He gestures to a nook just off the bank of elevators.

It’s late and I have no idea what this is about, but I hope he makes it quick. I want to call Iris as soon as we’re done since she’s expecting me tonight.

“Um, I just got off the phone with Avery,” he says, watching me closely.

“Cool.” Now I really don’t know where this is going. “How’s she doing?”

“Good.” Decker hesitates and then goes on. “How much do you know about Iris’s relationship with Caleb?”

Predictably, my hackles rise. The hackles on my hackles rise.

“I know it’s over.” Even I hear the tension in my voice.

“Calm your ass down, West.” Deck’s lips tighten around the words. “I’m just trying to figure out if you know . . .” A sigh heaves his heavily muscled shoulders.

“Know what, Deck?” I ask impatiently. “Dude, spit it out.”

“There was a file delivered anonymously to Avery today at the station,” Deck says, the words dragging over his lips.

“Okay. What kind of file?”

“This one.” He slides it across the table to me but places his hand on top so I can’t open it. “It’s a file of pictures. Um, pictures of Iris.”

My hand knots into a fist on my leg. “My Iris?”

“Yeah.” Sympathy fills his eyes. “Your Iris.”

“Like . . . naked pictures?” I try to keep my brain contained in my skull. “Give me the file, Deck.”

“Not naked.” He keeps his hand over the file and blows out an extended breath. “Pictures of her beaten pretty badly. And some medical records that detail . . . a pattern of abuse.”

“Abuse?” The word, ugly and harsh, shouldn’t even be in the same sentence as her name. “Like when she was young? Like someone touched her or . . .”

“No, not when she was young. More, um, recent.” His look offers sympathy. “You didn’t know?”

Decker and I stare at each other. I know what’s in that file. Maybe I’ve known all along and didn’t want to accept that it could have happened to her. Too many things that didn’t add up suddenly stand in perfectly straight columns and equal a horrific sum.

“Caleb?” The name is strangled in my throat. “Are you saying Caleb hurt her? He put his hands on her?” I stab the file on the table with my index finger, rage pistoning through my body. “Is that what’s in here?” I grit out. “That motherfucker hurt my girl?”

“Yes.” He lifts his hand from the file. “Before you look at this, consider something. Iris probably had her reasons for not telling you.”

“She said she signed an NDA. That was the only way she could guarantee sole custody of Sarai.”

“Yeah, well that makes sense.” He draws a deep breath and expels it. “Considering what’s in it, she probably never wanted it to come to light anyway. I need to tell you something else.”

“What else?” I stand and pace in tight circles, driving my hands into my hair. “What is it, Deck?”

“August, he . . . he raped her pretty brutally.”

God, no.

I stop, stock still, turning only my head in careful inches to make sure I heard him right.

“He . . .he raped her?” My voice can’t make it past a whisper. “Caleb?”

I honestly can’t remember the last time I cried, really cried, but tears burn my eyes and blur my vision. My chest feels concave, like it collapsed on itself and is crushing my heart. My hands tremble when I link them behind my neck. I’m holding on—to my sanity, to my composure—but everything’s slipping through my fingers.

“Fuck!” I scream it so loud, conversations in the lobby stop, and all eyes turn to me. I don’t care. I’m spiraling, thinking of that son of a bitch violating Iris. Of him abusing her. Beating her. I kick the table, and it spins a few feet into the path of a couple walking to the elevators. I turn to the wall and punch it, denting the lobby wallpaper. Denting my hand. My knuckles swell and redden immediately.

“August, stop it.” Deck grabs my arm, his frown stern. “We don’t have time for tantrums.”