lot from our studies of people in similar situations, but there will be things unique to who you are, how you’re experiencing your loss of mobility. In order for me to help you with that, you have to talk to me.”
Daralyn had gone on a mile a minute with him about the Magna Carta tonight, but when it became about something difficult, she went mute. He’d graduated a C-student, and he hadn’t attended college. He was good at math, anything with numbers, but he’d read books only when required for school. Even then, his dad had to threaten his younger son’s life to keep him from taking advantage of the Cliff notes his friends snuck around and bought. Sports, fishing, hunting, tinkering with engines or hanging out with his friends; all of those things had rated higher in Rory’s priorities than books.
Yet, as his interest in Daralyn had evolved into a man’s desire, he turned to book learning. Psychology stuff. While his intent had been to learn more about trauma victims, he’d been surprised to discover things about himself, his family, the way they related to one another, healthy versus unhealthy behaviors. Apparently, what was just day-to-day for the rest of them was a complete science.
It was fascinating, though he could see how people could get too carried away with it and not rely on their most important tool for figuring things out about one another. The way he’d learned most things.
Common sense. Paying attention.
While he was eaten up with guilt about what had happened in her bedroom, something penetrated his self-flagellation and told him to look closer.
On the surface, it seemed like she’d been afraid of him touching her too sexually, between her legs specifically. Anyone with a brain would expect that reaction from a woman with a history of childhood trauma and abuse. But he kept going over it in his head, and something was off about it.
His fists closed on the table on either side of the untouched pie. “Damn it,” he muttered.
He swung away from the kitchen table and went out to the porch. His intent had been to give himself another view, some fresh air, but across the darkened fields, he saw a light on in Marcus and Thomas’s barn loft. Thomas was having one of his middle of the night creative inspirations. Which meant Marcus would be in his downstairs office, even if he was just asleep on the couch. The two of them didn’t spend much time apart if they didn’t have to do so.
Returning to the kitchen, Rory drew his phone out of his T-shirt pocket. Spun it on the table a couple times, then he typed in a text.
You up?
A minute later, the phone buzzed a short note.
Need something?
He thought about it. Yeah, he did. But to honor the guy code, he responded a different way first.
Just confirming your vampire hours. If you’re done sucking blood out of your latest vic, do you have a few minutes?
It wasn’t blood that got sucked, but yeah, I have time.
He was off his game. He’d walked right into that one.
Now traumatized. Thanks, asshat. Can I call?
The phone started vibrating, and Rory picked up.
“What’s up?” Marcus asked without any preliminaries. His voice sounded a little thick, confirming he’d been asleep. Guilt stabbed Rory, but remembering the anguish in Daralyn’s face, he pressed on. He’d be with her at the store in a few hours. He had to figure this out.
“Did you, uh, see her any tonight?”
“Not really. We were on the porch around her usual bedtime. She pulled some laundry off the line behind her house and waved at us. Then she scurried back into her cottage like a mouse expecting a cat to pounce on her.” Marcus paused. “Is she okay? Do I need to go check on her?”
“Is her light off?” He couldn’t see the guest cottage clearly from the porch.
“It went off around eleven. Something happen after you two got back?”
“Yeah. Something went kind of wrong, and I’m trying to wrap my head around it.” It welled up, the frustration, the anger. “Damn it, Marcus, she’s got so much shit going on. Instead of having ten panic attacks a day, she has one or two a week now. That’s how we measure her progress.”
“That is progress,” Marcus said. “And it’s way more than that. She barely talked those first couple of years. Now she’s pretty comfortable talking to family. She handles store customers on her own. In a reserved way, but still