can’t understand why.”
“Ah, I get it now,” he said, laying his hand over his guitar. “She told you about what happened, what I did to her.”
Indie hadn’t intended to let that slip.
“I was sick,” he said. “That doesn’t excuse what I did, but I was.”
“I don’t think anything can excuse what you did,” she said, lifting her chin as she glared into his eyes. She expected to see anger, not sadness.
“You’re right.”
“You don’t deserve Cassidy’s forgiveness, or your brother’s.”
“Right again.”
Indie wanted to scream. He wasn’t supposed to agree with her. He was supposed to get mad, to tell her to mind her own damned business.
“If a man ever takes advantage of my daughter the way I took advantage of Cassidy, I’ll kill him with my bare hands.” Lee released a shaky breath. “It doesn’t change anything, but I wrestle with the guilt every day. I want to be a better man, but—”
“Is that why you’re working with Donato?” she asked. “Because you’re trying to prove that you’re a better man?”
“No, I’m working with Donato because he needs someone to believe in him, just like I did. Just like you do.”
She hated that he thought he knew her. “I think you’re doing it for repentance. You think if you do enough good deeds, they might erase all of the bad things you’ve done.”
“Nothing can erase the past,” he whispered. He looked into her eyes with such intensity, she felt compelled to look away. “Yours, or mine. Nothing can erase the memory of the hurt I’ve inflicted or the hurt you’ve endured.”
“How do you know someone hurt me?” She was almost afraid to ask.
“I hear it in every word you speak. When a man gets too close to you, you step back. When someone raises their voice unexpectedly or drops something, you cringe. You’ve suffered some kind of trauma, something that has you running scared.”
“I’m not afraid.” She squared her shoulders. “And I’m not running away from anything.”
Just because she always slept with her windows locked and double-bolted the door as soon as she walked in didn’t mean she was afraid. Just because she refused to take the garbage out at night or order food for delivery didn’t mean she was letting terror dictate her life. She’d listened to dozens of strangers share their stories. Some of them were attacked by delivery men, strangers on jogging trails, dates, even men they’d known forever. Sometimes the devil wore a mask; other times he wore a smile and carried a single red rose.
“I’m not here to push,” he said. “Just know that if you ever want to talk about it, I’m a pretty good listener.”
“Are you insane?” she practically shrieked. “You’re the last person I’d ever confide in. Just stay the hell away from me.”
***
Lee watched Indie run up the path, past Chris, and into the house. No doubt she was planning to grab her purse and keys so she could run back to the safety of her cozy apartment. It killed him to see how scared she was. No one deserved to live in fear. He wanted to protect her, and he had no idea why. She obviously despised him, but he understood the reason behind her resentment, and at least it made sense. She was trying to protect her friend because no one had been there to protect her.
“What the hell did you say to her?” Chris asked, watching Indie slip through the patio door into the house.
“I don’t know.” Lee watched the windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of Indie. He couldn’t go after her, but he wanted to know she was okay. If he thought she would accept, he’d offer to drive her home.
“You guys ever”—Chris winked—“you know, hooked up?”
“No.” Lee chuckled. “Hell, no. The girl can’t stand me.”
“I noticed that.” Chris laughed. “I thought that was the reason, that maybe y’all hooked up and she was hoping it would evolve into a relationship or something.”
“No, nothing like that. Indie
Legs McNeil, Jennifer Osborne, Peter Pavia