Exploited
Page 32
“Charlotte was an amazing gymnast. She would compete in competitions. Win most of them. I never told her how much I enjoyed watching her because I didn’t want her to get a massive ego. Maybe I should tell her that now. Or is it too late?” Hannah asked, sounding sad.
Tigger crawled onto my lap, startling me. He never demonstrated any sort of affection. Tentatively I began to stroke his back. He started to purr.
“It’s not too late for you, Hannah. You should tell Charlotte all the things you never did before. Trust me on that one,” I told her quietly. The cat bumped my hand with his head, almost as if needing the comfort as much as I did.
Neither of us said anything for a while. I could hear the sound of her breathing. Soft. Constant.
“Tell me more about Dillon.”
I smiled. This was painful. Amazing. “As I said, he was annoying like most younger brothers. But as he got older, he became pretty incredible. He was a teacher. He taught fifth-grade English. I used to give him so much crap about spending his life with his head in a book. He was going to get married. Even though I never liked Reagan, she made him happy.”
“What happened?” Hannah asked. My heart squeezed.
“Cancer. A brain tumor, actually. By the time they discovered it, it was too late. Three months later he died.” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat.
We were quiet again. The silence gave more comfort than words ever could.
“It’s hard, isn’t it? Being the one left to pick up the pieces,” she said after a beat.
“Yeah. It is. I’m not sure I know how to. Or…” I couldn’t finish. I felt guilty for even thinking it.
“Or if you even want to,” she finished for me, and my heart squeezed again. But for very different reasons.
“Yeah,” I admitted.
“I throw myself into work because it’s easier. Because it gives me focus. I feel like I’m making a difference,” Hannah went on. Tigger began to dig his nails into my legs. I lifted him off my lap and placed him beside me on the couch. He wasn’t very happy about that.
“Tell me more about your job.” I rubbed at the spot where Tigger had maimed me. I was pretty sure he had drawn blood. Damn cat. I glared at him. And here I’d thought he was starting to like me.
“Not much to tell,” she answered dismissively with a slight chuckle.
“You said you feel like you’re making a difference. How are you making a difference? Come on, give it to me,” I coaxed. Hannah was quiet. Had I done something wrong? Asked the wrong thing? Was it lame to ask a woman about her job? I had no idea.
Hannah had me feeling off balance. She gave me just enough to draw me in. And at this point I’d have gladly jumped off a cliff to find what she was hiding at the bottom.
It was crazy.
It was irrational.
Agent Kohler wasn’t used to irrational.
But maybe Mason Kohler could use a little insanity in his life.
“I work hard. I earn a paycheck. I help my mother pay for my sister’s care. I’m making a difference to her. In what little way I can,” she answered finally, sounding far away. Somewhere else.
There was a note in her tone that I couldn’t quite place. A hesitance that gave me pause.
“You’re a good sister,” I said, feeling strange. A buzzing went off in my ears. A tickle of warning.
“No I’m not. If I was a good sister, Char wouldn’t be where she is,” Hannah argued.
The buzzing faded. I understood that feeling all too well. Feeling as if I should have done something. Anything.
“Survivor’s guilt is debilitating,” I told her.
“I don’t know if it’s guilt or anger. They’re too mixed up. I can’t see one for the other.” Her confession was hushed. I could tell it took a lot out of her to say the words. She didn’t want to admit her failings. Her weaknesses.
Why was she giving them to me?
I felt honored.
I would take care of her truths.
Whatever she chose to give me.
“You can feel guilty. You can feel angry. I’ve learned that there’s no one emotion that covers everything. It’s okay to be a little bit of them all.”
Hannah let out a breath and I wished for the hundredth time that there wasn’t a phone between us.
“Thank you, Mason. Sometimes you need to hear that.”
It was easy to give each other the comfort we hadn’t realized we were looking for.
There was something about sharing grief and pain with someone who understood the suffering.
It made you feel less alone.
I found myself craving what she so easily offered: understanding.
Chapter 11
Hannah
I was having an unusual Saturday. Unusual in that I was lying on the couch, a bag of popcorn in my lap, watching cheesy Lifetime movies until I wanted to gouge my eyes out.
It was sort of perfect.
Mason and I had plans for later. Of course we did. Things were going according to plan.
The plan…
I sighed, not liking the strange pull in my chest. The knot in my stomach. What in the hell was wrong with me?
It’s Mason.
Maybe.
Our talk the other night had been eye-opening. I hadn’t expected him to hand over so much of himself so easily.
I was digging in. Planting myself. It would take an act of war to remove me.
He had no idea how far I’d penetrated.
And slowly he was giving me exactly what I wanted.
His trust.
Which would ultimately lead to access.
That’s what I wanted.
Right?
I thought of my sister and the commitment I had made to keep her safe and happy.
That was all that mattered.
I couldn’t let myself be swayed by anything else.
Yet…
I had revealed a little bit during that late-night phone call. I had told him about Charlotte, though I had found myself lying about insignificant details in order to keep him from knowing too much.
Charlotte had never been a gymnast. She had been into other sports. Particularly basketball. Just like his brother. Maybe I could have used that to further our connection, but I hadn’t wanted to.
Why had I felt the need to alter such random, trivial information about my sister?
Because I could.
Because it kept that degree of separation between the truth and the fiction that I was finding so integral in dealing with Mason.
Tigger crawled onto my lap, startling me. He never demonstrated any sort of affection. Tentatively I began to stroke his back. He started to purr.
“It’s not too late for you, Hannah. You should tell Charlotte all the things you never did before. Trust me on that one,” I told her quietly. The cat bumped my hand with his head, almost as if needing the comfort as much as I did.
Neither of us said anything for a while. I could hear the sound of her breathing. Soft. Constant.
“Tell me more about Dillon.”
I smiled. This was painful. Amazing. “As I said, he was annoying like most younger brothers. But as he got older, he became pretty incredible. He was a teacher. He taught fifth-grade English. I used to give him so much crap about spending his life with his head in a book. He was going to get married. Even though I never liked Reagan, she made him happy.”
“What happened?” Hannah asked. My heart squeezed.
“Cancer. A brain tumor, actually. By the time they discovered it, it was too late. Three months later he died.” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat.
We were quiet again. The silence gave more comfort than words ever could.
“It’s hard, isn’t it? Being the one left to pick up the pieces,” she said after a beat.
“Yeah. It is. I’m not sure I know how to. Or…” I couldn’t finish. I felt guilty for even thinking it.
“Or if you even want to,” she finished for me, and my heart squeezed again. But for very different reasons.
“Yeah,” I admitted.
“I throw myself into work because it’s easier. Because it gives me focus. I feel like I’m making a difference,” Hannah went on. Tigger began to dig his nails into my legs. I lifted him off my lap and placed him beside me on the couch. He wasn’t very happy about that.
“Tell me more about your job.” I rubbed at the spot where Tigger had maimed me. I was pretty sure he had drawn blood. Damn cat. I glared at him. And here I’d thought he was starting to like me.
“Not much to tell,” she answered dismissively with a slight chuckle.
“You said you feel like you’re making a difference. How are you making a difference? Come on, give it to me,” I coaxed. Hannah was quiet. Had I done something wrong? Asked the wrong thing? Was it lame to ask a woman about her job? I had no idea.
Hannah had me feeling off balance. She gave me just enough to draw me in. And at this point I’d have gladly jumped off a cliff to find what she was hiding at the bottom.
It was crazy.
It was irrational.
Agent Kohler wasn’t used to irrational.
But maybe Mason Kohler could use a little insanity in his life.
“I work hard. I earn a paycheck. I help my mother pay for my sister’s care. I’m making a difference to her. In what little way I can,” she answered finally, sounding far away. Somewhere else.
There was a note in her tone that I couldn’t quite place. A hesitance that gave me pause.
“You’re a good sister,” I said, feeling strange. A buzzing went off in my ears. A tickle of warning.
“No I’m not. If I was a good sister, Char wouldn’t be where she is,” Hannah argued.
The buzzing faded. I understood that feeling all too well. Feeling as if I should have done something. Anything.
“Survivor’s guilt is debilitating,” I told her.
“I don’t know if it’s guilt or anger. They’re too mixed up. I can’t see one for the other.” Her confession was hushed. I could tell it took a lot out of her to say the words. She didn’t want to admit her failings. Her weaknesses.
Why was she giving them to me?
I felt honored.
I would take care of her truths.
Whatever she chose to give me.
“You can feel guilty. You can feel angry. I’ve learned that there’s no one emotion that covers everything. It’s okay to be a little bit of them all.”
Hannah let out a breath and I wished for the hundredth time that there wasn’t a phone between us.
“Thank you, Mason. Sometimes you need to hear that.”
It was easy to give each other the comfort we hadn’t realized we were looking for.
There was something about sharing grief and pain with someone who understood the suffering.
It made you feel less alone.
I found myself craving what she so easily offered: understanding.
Chapter 11
Hannah
I was having an unusual Saturday. Unusual in that I was lying on the couch, a bag of popcorn in my lap, watching cheesy Lifetime movies until I wanted to gouge my eyes out.
It was sort of perfect.
Mason and I had plans for later. Of course we did. Things were going according to plan.
The plan…
I sighed, not liking the strange pull in my chest. The knot in my stomach. What in the hell was wrong with me?
It’s Mason.
Maybe.
Our talk the other night had been eye-opening. I hadn’t expected him to hand over so much of himself so easily.
I was digging in. Planting myself. It would take an act of war to remove me.
He had no idea how far I’d penetrated.
And slowly he was giving me exactly what I wanted.
His trust.
Which would ultimately lead to access.
That’s what I wanted.
Right?
I thought of my sister and the commitment I had made to keep her safe and happy.
That was all that mattered.
I couldn’t let myself be swayed by anything else.
Yet…
I had revealed a little bit during that late-night phone call. I had told him about Charlotte, though I had found myself lying about insignificant details in order to keep him from knowing too much.
Charlotte had never been a gymnast. She had been into other sports. Particularly basketball. Just like his brother. Maybe I could have used that to further our connection, but I hadn’t wanted to.
Why had I felt the need to alter such random, trivial information about my sister?
Because I could.
Because it kept that degree of separation between the truth and the fiction that I was finding so integral in dealing with Mason.
