Pas de Deux: Part One (A Cross and Pointe Novel Book 1) (20 page)

“I got it,” he said softly, looking down at her and meeting her eyes. Sammi swallowed hard when she realized she was practically against him. She stepped back and dropped onto the couch.

“Thanks.”

As he walked into the kitchen and set the dishes in the sink, she cleared her throat and willed the fire on her face to extinguish. When he reappeared, she expected him to take up his spot in the corner again, several feet away from her, but instead, he dropped down right next to her. Another jolt went through her body but she kept her eyes on the TV.
Holy fuck.

Her body automatically started to shift away when she felt his body heat; it made her want to run screaming into her bedroom and slam and lock the door.
Stop it. It’s not like he sat in your lap.
She forced herself to stay absolutely still, trying to draw deep breaths through her nose as silently as possible to calm herself.

“How many times have you seen this movie?” She glanced over at him out of the corner of her eye.

If he sensed her discomfort at all, he kept it to himself. His posture was completely relaxed, his long legs still splayed in front of him, his arms folded over his chest.

Do you know how close I am to freaking out?

“Handful.” He kept his eyes on the screen. “I’m a big Pacino fan.”

“Me, too. And Keanu Reeves is just comical in this movie.”

Cillian’s lips pulled up into a smirk Sammi’s eyes zeroed in on them. “Yeah, come to think of it, he is. Don’t think he planned it that way, though.”

“Probably not.” Sammi moved the sofa cushion so that it was between them, but she placed her elbow on it, propping her head on her hand, and leaned closer to him. It was easier to be close with a barrier.

When the two leads were naked and panting in one scene, Sammi cringed and her heart pounded. She wished she could hide her face in the pillow. Sex scenes didn’t really bother her—when she was by herself.
But now…totally awkward.

She wondered how to put out a totally nonchalant, calm and collected vibe, like watching a pair of naked breasts bounce on the screen was no big deal. For his part, Cillian seemed totally nonplussed by it, watching with the thrusting and moaning on screen with the same neutral expression he’d had the entire time.

When Sammi could no longer endure it and thought she’d have to make up an excuse to go to the bathroom or the kitchen, Rocky saved the day. He jumped onto the coffee table, staring at the two humans for a long moment, and proceeded to knock Sammi’s open bottle of water off the table with a casual swipe of his paw. The bottle toppled over, spurting water out onto the carpet as the cat licked his paw and rubbed it over his ear, unfazed.

Sammi jerked upright, Cillian slowly following suit. “Rocky!” She swatted out at the cat who easily dodged her hand, leaping gracefully off the table, and took off toward her bedroom. She swore she heard him laugh over his shoulder. “You little shit.”

Cillian chuckled and picked up the bottle as Sammi raced into the kitchen for a dish towel. She hurried back and dropped to her knees, soaking excess moisture up off her large rug and carpet.

“That was his way of saying ‘pay attention to me,’” Sammi explained as she mopped up the water. “It’s a cat thing.”

“That was awesome.” Cillian held up a hand at the mock-glare Sammi shot him. “Except for the spill. That was a bad kitty.”

She carried the sodden towel into the kitchen to squeeze out the excess water before draping it over the faucet. Cillian settled back into his place on the couch, arranging the cushion for her against his side. She smiled and dropped onto the couch, pulling her feet up as she sat.

“Anyway, back to more Keanu ridiculousness,” she joked, reaching for the remote.

Suddenly, Cillian’s hand dropped onto her forearm, his fingers closing around it gently. Her heart stuttered and her insides went cold with fear.
What is this? What is he doing? Why is he touching—

He was staring at her leg.

“Sammi…what’s that?”

She glanced down and the freezing terror she’d felt a moment ago was replaced with horror. Her pant leg had negligently flipped up when she’d sat down, revealing the inside of her ankle—and a dozen raw, red, deliberate slices in her skin.

A maelstrom of emotions flew through Cillian as he watched Sammi yank her pant leg down. Her frantic action was too late; he’d seen the wounds. The clearly self-inflicted wounds.

All he could think of for a moment was Lee, and that night during deployment when he’d caught Lee with a razor in the bathroom.

Lee was leaning over the sink, focused intently on something in it. Cillian opened his mouth to make some crack about how if he ever wanted to make sergeant, he’d have to learn how to turn the faucet on with his hands—his telepathic abilities didn’t work here.

But then Lee looked up, his eyes distant and bright at the same time. That was when Cillian saw the blood.

“What the hell are you doing, Lee?”

Cillian rushed forward and grabbed Lee’s hand, clutching a razor. His other arm dripped ruby tears from a long cut on his left forearm. Cillian’s brow furrowed, trying to make it make sense.

“Lee, what—?”

“It was an accident.” Lee dropped the razor, yanking his arm away.

“I don’t think so. Dude—what are you doing? Why did you do this?”

Lee said nothing.

“Lee, man—you know I gotta tell the commander. You need some help, bro.”

“It was an accident!” Lee’s eyes filled with panic. “Don’t tell him, Killy, you gotta swear—I didn’t mean to do it, I—I just—”

Lee stared at Cillian for a beat, then rushed out of the bathroom.

He didn’t tell the commander. And now Lee was dead. And part of it, at least a part of it, was Cillian’s fault.

He stared at Sammi. She was so beautiful, so smart, so talented, that it hurt his heart to the core to know that whatever demons she battled forced her to take it out on herself. He wondered how he’d never noticed before.

She’s always in long pants. I’ve never seen her legs. Where else? Where else does she do this?

Sammi’s face reddened and her eyes filled with shame and tears as she looked away, shrinking into the corner of the couch to hug her knees to her chest and somehow making herself a tiny, tense little ball.

She needs help. She needs help now.

Cillian didn’t know Sammi nearly as well as he wanted to, and suddenly, terror lanced through him at the thought that one day she might end up like Lee. His eyes stung.

I can’t let her keep doing this. I can’t fail her the way I failed him. I won’t.

“Sam…talk to me, please. What—why are you doing that to yourself?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but whatever words she wanted to speak died on her tongue. She pressed her forehead to her knees, but not before he saw tears roll out of her eyes and slip down her cheeks.

The urge to make her talk burned on his tongue, but he pressed his lips together.
Don’t force her. Don’t make her shut down. Don’t
let
her shut down.

Moments ticked by. “It’s all right,” he added gently. “I just wanna help. Can you talk to me?”

Sammi drew in a shuddery breath and swiped a hand over her cheeks. “You can’t help me. I can’t be helped.”

“Try me. Gimme a chance.”

She stared at her knees, her dark brows rushing together, but she said nothing. Cillian leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees, and looked away from her.
Maybe it’ll be easier for her if you’re not staring at her.

“You said somethin’ bad happened to you in New York,” he said to the carpet. “Is this—do you do this because of that?” He glanced at her. She was still staring down at her lap.

There was an extended pause, the apartment so silent and still he could Rocky scratching his claws against something in her bedroom.

“Sam…”

More silence.

Gotta try this a different way.
“Look, you don’t have to talk to me right now, if you’re not ready. But I won’t leave you like this. I’ll sit here all night.”

“I…”

He glanced at her again, and this time, she looked him in the eye. He nodded reassuringly.

Sammi took a deep breath. “Outside my family, I’ve only told one person about this—Jazz. So this…is hard to talk about.”

“Take your time.”

“It—it happened to me last year. I used to work at this bar for years—I started in college.  The owner was always so nice to me. He’d work with my school and dance schedule, never gave me hours during finals week or when I had a performance. Always looked out for me, said we were all a little family. One day, our general manager put his two weeks in, and the boss called me to his office. He told me before he posted the job, he wanted to offer it to me first. I said yes, of course. Then he said if I really wanted it, there was something I’d need to do for him.”

Her voice trailed off and Cillian couldn’t help staring at her, his heart beating fast and his gut churning with dread.

Please don’t say what I think you’re about to say…

Her cheeks were red, and even though her eyes were glued to the floor, he could see the shame in them from where he was sitting. He pulled in a deep, silent breath, listening to the way her voice trembled as she went on, and shut his eyes for an instant before returning them to the carpet.

“I caught on pretty fast what he wanted from me. I was shocked—he practically treated me like his own kid. I never thought—anyway, I told him no. I tried to leave his office, but he wouldn’t let me. He grabbed me and told me I owed him for all the years he kept me on the job, everything he ever did for me. Then he started—um. T-touching me. Then he—he pushed me over his desk.”

Cillian clenched his jaw and glanced over, seeing her hands over her face. He didn’t have time to look away before her eyes opened and she looked straight into his. There was more shame and utter humiliation in them, and it was enough to make him want to tell her to stop, that she didn’t need to continue.

But she does need to. She needs this.

“He r-raped me for an hour, in his office. I can’t remember too much about it. All I can remember is staring at a picture of his wife and kids on the desk, the whole time.”

Cillian looked away then, bringing his hands to his face. He rubbed them over his skin, his throat tightening. “Jesus Christ.”

It hurt him more than he was prepared for, and she’d confirmed something he’d suspected for a while. Maybe if she’d told him about this early on, it wouldn’t hurt so much, but she hadn’t. He cared, and it hurt, and it fucking sucked, and he didn’t want to hear another word.

But beyond his own feelings was the realization that she was, in this moment, totally exposed and vulnerable. It had taken her a long time to open up, and now she was open, trusting him with her story, her pain.

You can’t tell her stop now, just because you can’t handle it. It’s not fair. So sack up and fucking listen.

“I can’t describe how much pain I was in. And how much…damage he caused. There was so much blood. He dragged me out the back, into the alley. Instead of running away, I begged him to take me to the hospital and he just gave me some money for a cab to go by myself. He said that if I told anyone the truth, he’d kill me. And of course, I believed him.”

Cillian bit back another curse, his fists clenching, feeling like he was going to explode. Abruptly, he rose from the sofa and paced, his hands on his head. He didn’t know what he was doing; he just needed to move. Bile rose in his throat as remorse and sorrow for her slammed into him like a freight train. It all made sense now—her fear, her dislike of being touched or close to people, her panic. He thought back to the night at the gym when they’d gone through the self-defense techniques.
Stupid, stupid.

His stomach roiled again at the thought that that night had taken her back to her boss’s office, to that desk. His eyes burned again, and this time, he couldn’t control the water that gathered in them.

“Cillian…”

He used his thumb and forefinger to swipe his eyes and turned to look at her over his shoulder.

“I can’t ever have kids. He took that from me.” A single tear dropped down her cheek, her brow furrowed, eyes pained as she issued her final confession.

He wanted to say everything and could say nothing as an invisible vice gripped his throat. There were no words, nothing to capture how terribly sorry he was.

But you have to try.

“Sam,” he began. “I’m sorry. I’m so
fucking
sorry that happened to you. I want to help you. Somehow.”

Cillian moved to the couch and sat down next to her. She continued to watch him, her eyelids heavy with a sadness he would never know. He slowly reached out and took her small, trembling hand in his. It was ice cold.

She dropped her head into her other hand and Cillian sat silently at her side, staring down at his lap, squeezing her hand in both of his. He glanced up when he felt her body moving, and saw that she’d started to cry, silent sobbing that made him ache more than if she’d screamed out loud. The sight of her noiseless suffering, her utter torment, tore through him, ripped into him and he was as helpless as he’d been that night with Lee in the bathroom, watching blood seep down his friend’s arm.