Page 106 of As the Rain Falls (Sainte Madeleine #1)

“When? What… When? ”

It’s what makes me break. The fact that he has questions to ask. How often did I silently pray for questions? For someone to ask me why I’ve dreaded family picture day since that night?

Why did they always make me pose right next to him?

Why did all these boys think I was so willing, never questioning the ease with which I said yes for too long, even if my body felt like it was shutting down?

I went to my mother at thirteen, asking for help, and I felt so desperate. To every plea, her answer was no. How long have I been waiting for a yes?

“You weren’t there,” I explain before he can convince himself he could have saved me. “Four years ago, I was alone at the house, and he came into my room.”

His finger brushes against my skin, tracing the numbers in silence. One first, then three.

Thirteen?

I nod, a sob sound being ripped from me.

Beckett sits up beside me instantly, pulling me into his arms. He holds me like an anchor, like he never wants to let me go, and I cling to him because I can.

We mold into each other, and I feel the tension in his grips, the way he trembles against my chest, and all the ways in which he has to hold back from falling apart.

“Oh my God!” Beckett’s voice breaks, and he sounds utterly horrified. He pulls away suddenly, uncertainty and regret flashing across, tainting his beautiful features. “I didn’t… I never asked you if I could touch you. All this time… I’m so sorry.”

“Beckett.” I smile, endeared. “Please touch me.”

“Can I?” He is crying. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him cry this hard since the funeral. “Can I touch you?”

Always.

I bury my face in his chest, and we stay like this for minutes, gripping each other like we’re holding onto lifelines. Inhaling each other’s scent. Existing.

Then, I tell him everything.

Every bad thought I’ve ever had, every time I secretly hated Nathaniel and tried to forget about it.

I tell him about the memories I’m not certain of too, and he listens without questioning any of it.

I give him my best theories about what happened, even if I’m not sure if he’s following any of them.

I tell him about my parents, how they drain our savings to keep Nathaniel around because he can’t keep a job. How I want to tell Kayla sometimes, but I’m convinced it will eventually ruin our friendship. I’ll never be the same girl in her eyes again.

I tell him about the boys.

All seven of them.

How I found them, how I made it happen.

With Dimitri, it was supposed to be nothing. I’d gone to the bathroom at school, but he followed after me, telling me I should pull my panties down if I wanted to be left alone.

I tell him how I don’t remember much of it, mostly because it barely lasted five minutes, and I only know this much because I counted the seconds in my head.

I watch Beckett start to shake with fury because that’s what happens when you care about someone and they’ve been hurt. Anger is what you feel, not dismissal, no matter how confusing every bit of the story is.

“Caleb talked me into it, but I still said yes. He has so many pictures of me, but I guess that’s besides the point now that everybody has seen me naked, anyway,” I trail off. “The others, I looked for them. I thought…”

The voices in my head turn violent. I try so hard to keep them from making me scared of telling him the truth. This time, it works.

“I think I wanted to know if what Nathaniel said was true. If I was truly as washed up as he claimed I was.”

“This is horrible,” Beckett chokes on his words, gripping my hair, his nose pressed against my temple. “He’s a sick fucker for ever even laying a finger on you, Cassandra. This is never going to be your fault. Not even in a million years.”

I wish I could believe him.

I know he means it, but I just can’t.

I don’t know what to believe anymore.

My words feel like they don’t hold any weight after I’ve spoken them because I don’t have any wounds to show besides the ones I keep locked in my head.

“We have to go to the police,” Beckett pleads.

“But…” My voice wavers. “You promised.”

“We have to,” he insists, desperate. “Please, let me help you.”

“Help me with what?” I ask, my heart shattering. “My good word and my parents’ accusation that I’m a liar? My reputation as the town’s newest slut? Caleb’s testimony against me?”

I’ve ruined all of my chances at getting justice. There’s nothing left to prove what happened. Not the clothes, and not the sheets. My mother probably washed those.

And should I even care about telling my story? Exposing myself all over again to this town’s vitriol just for the sake of finding justice?

What happens when I do? When I have to sit at the police station and retell the same story a thousand times?

Or when we go to court and the lawyer my parents hired tries to poke at inconsistencies because my memory has gotten shitty over the years?

“Cassandra, this isn’t right. I swear I’m on your side, okay? I would fight anyone who didn’t believe you.” His jaw clenches. “I’d fucking kill them for you.”

I wipe his tears, pressing my hands to his face, staring into his pained blue eyes. One word, and Beckett is setting Le Port on fire for me, when my own parents wouldn’t even lift a finger.

Why didn’t they?

Why did she have to cover for him?

“You really have a heart of gold, don’t you?” I whisper, my words cutting through his sobs. “But that’s not what I’m asking for.”

“What do you need?” He sounds so tortured, so utterly weak. “What can I do for you? How can I not…”

Rain carries our noises away—my sobbing and his—until we’re just two stupid people who won’t let go of each other. I’ve never had anyone I could be sad with, not until Beckett. He knows, he knows, he knows. And I want him to figure out the things I haven’t found about me yet, too.

It happens before either of us means for it to.

Beckett’s head lowers, and mine tilts up. My eyes stay open, watching him. Our lips brush, tentative. Seeking something.

“Beckett.”

I taste his name on my tongue, different this time. Maybe we shouldn’t. Maybe it’s not the right time. Maybe it will never be. Through all the pain and all the hurt, is it so bad to want to hold onto something?

“Tell me to stop,” Beckett whispers back, but he doesn’t need any words. He is searching for the answer in my face, my breath, and the beating of my heart in this space between us.

I should tell him to back off.

Jesus, I don’t deserve him.

I’m the reason why his sister died.

Me, my brother, and our ugly secret together.

I should tell him about her. I should—

Instead of doing any of that, I kiss him.

Slow. Chaste. This kiss is unlike any other kiss I’ve ever given before. It’s tentative and over before I know it. My lips are tingling, and a silent question is hanging in the air.

Can we do this again?

Beckett kisses me first this time around, just as softly just as delicately. He lays me down on the bed, and I pull him down with me, on top of me, needing his weight over mine to figure out how to breathe again.

“Is this okay?” he asks, wanting to make sure. “Can I hold you like this?”

I just want him to kiss me until I wake up again, remembering how to breathe for once.

“Yes.”

These hands won’t hurt me, I tell myself over and over again. And the best thing is, they never have.

Past and present, every version of Beckett has been inherently good to me. His touch right now feels like fire, igniting every inch of my skin, burning away all other touches before it.

Layer by layer, he heals me.

It’s under him that I am born anew.