The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound #1)(99)

She took a step back and let her hands come to rest on her hips. “I’ve no clue what you’re fishing for, Ryan.”

Clear eyes, direct gaze, no fidgeting. She mustn’t remember. Dammit, that made this conversation nearly impossible. “Okay, then . . . I think your episodes relate to what happened last spring, and maybe you’re avoiding therapy because you don’t want to be forced to think about it.”

Her expression turned flinty. “Why do you keep bringing that night up?”

“Because we need to get to the root of what’s messing with your life, and this problem started after that night.”

Her eyes glittered. “I’ve gone to the doctor. He didn’t dismiss my theory. As for that night, I’ve told you all the important details.”

“I know you believe that, but . . . ” He held a deep breath before exhaling. “I’ve made an appointment with a therapist in New Haven for tomorrow. Dr. Alana Saxe. She specializes in helping trauma victims process fragmented memories.”

“I’m not a victim.” She jerked her arms out from her sides. “I’m living my life just fine, thank you very much.”

“I disagree.” He stood still. His heart pounded with each word that brought him closer to disclosing what he knew. The ugly truth he didn’t want to reveal.

“That’s your problem.”

“It’s our problem. What affects you affects me. All I’m asking is that you go talk to this doctor. See if she can help. Wouldn’t you be more confident and comfortable if you could control these episodes or, better yet, end them? It’d be safer for you, and better for your business.”

“And better for you,” she spat. “Don’t leave that out, Ryan.”

He sighed. “You say that like I don’t have any stake in this. But how can we have a healthy relationship if you hit me when we get close? How can I trust you with Emmy if I can’t count on you to be present when watching her? It’s your health, but my feelings count for something, don’t they? I’m only asking you to talk to an expert and deal with the pain of what happened.”

“I dealt with it. It’s over, and so is this tired argument.”

Stubborn as ever. Sometimes he found the trait endearing, like he did with Emmy. In this case, it was downright dangerous. She could hurt herself or someone else if one of those trances struck at the wrong time. He had no choice now.

The air inside the tiny bungalow turned thick and sour as he reached into his pocket and removed the manila folder. He set it on the counter. It took him a few seconds to remove his hand and remember to breathe.

“What’s that?” She crossed her arms.

“The police report. The one from your . . . attack.”

Her gaze homed in on the envelope, then darted back to his face. “Did they catch someone? Are you representing the guys who robbed me?”

“No. This isn’t about my job, and there still aren’t any suspects.” He watched her pace in a tight circle, not even knowing what he hoped to see. If he’d thought the mention of the report would help his cause, he was wrong.

“Maybe your job has warped your perspective, and that’s why you can’t let me move on.” Steffi’s cheeks turned red. Perspiration dampened her skin.

“That’s not it. I’m trying to help you.” Resorting to coercion hadn’t been his plan. The brutish tactic slid through his gut, making him sick. Weakening him such that he had to grasp the counter for support.

“Help me? By sneaking around my back?” Her deflection reminded him of how Emmy responded to being cornered. His stomach burned. He didn’t want to say the words, because he had no idea how to hold her together once he did.

“I’m sorry, but I’m desperate.” He closed his eyes for a second time, steeling himself to voice the truth. “You need therapy.”

Her gaze darted back to the envelope. Then she shook her head.

“Steffi, meet with Dr. Saxe,” he pleaded. “Please, just trust me.”

“Trust?” Her breath became more rapid. “That’s pretty rich coming from the guy who went behind my back.”

“I needed to confirm my suspicions.” He took a step toward her, but she stepped back. “Now I have proof.”

“Proof of what?” Her curt tone warned him to tread lightly, but there was no turning back now.

He needed to regroup. Calm her down.

“First, come here.” He opened his arms for a hug. “Let me hold you.”

She shook her head more and backed up until her butt hit the counter. He didn’t like boxing her in, but at least he could embrace her that way. Despite her wriggling, he pressed her to his chest, clasping her head firmly with one hand and locking his free arm around her back. His strength enabled him to keep her safely wrapped in his arms.

He kissed her temple and then murmured in her ear, grateful she wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him while he told her what he knew. “Steffi, I know the truth. I know what really happened, and I can’t pretend I don’t now. I can’t sweep it under the rug. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“No.” She shivered.

This was not how he’d wanted the evening to go, but at least if she heard it from him, she’d know, absolutely, that nothing would change his love for her. “I wish you never had to think about that night again as long as you lived. To have suffered a trauma so horrific that you’ve buried the memory is unimaginable. But you’re not alone. Dr. Saxe specializes in sexual assault survivorship and—”