Rich (Benson Security #5) - Janet Elizabeth Henderson Page 0,74
a different answer.
“Fine,” she huffed. “I want you to come in with me.” She squeezed the words through a throat that was rapidly closing to keep them inside.
“Was that so hard?” He let go of her arm.
“You have no idea,” she muttered.
“Would it make it easier if I promised to tell everyone I forced myself into the room with you?”
She gave that some serious consideration. “Yes. It would.”
“Okay then,” he said, while smothering a smile.
“I don’t want anyone to think I’ve gone soft or become needy.” She glared at him. “Because I haven’t.”
“Understood.” Harvard reached out to brush her hair behind her shoulder. “I’m your backup in case you need it. I’m not a crutch.”
“Exactly.”
His eyes sparkled. “You want to pat me on the head and tell me well done, don’t you?”
Honestly. “You are far more trouble than you’re worth.”
“We both know that isn’t true. You ready?”
“As ready as anyone can be when they’d rather be anywhere else.” Rachel hesitated, her hand on the doorknob. “I’m concerned about my father, but I’d rather the focus was on him—where it should be—than on my ancient history.” She frowned up at him. “I have no idea why I’m explaining myself to you.”
“Delayed shock?” he offered.
“Must be,” she said as she opened the door and stepped inside.
As with hospital rooms the world over, this one was decorated in insipid pastel colors and gray machinery. The room was private, which meant there were flowers on the bedside table, a painting on the wall, some floral curtains that she assumed were supposed to be cheerful, and an upholstered armchair for her mother to sit in. The only thing about the room that was in any way delightful was the view out over London. Everything else would just make a patient feel even more ill.
“Rachel,” her mother cried, jumping out of her seat and running straight at her.
The force of her hug almost swept Rachel off her feet. Instead, she felt the steadying hold of Harvard’s strong hands before he took her handbag, freeing her up to return her mother’s embrace.
“My baby,” her mother said through tears, squeezing her tight. “My poor, poor baby.”
“I’m fine.” Rachel patted her back. “Really, let’s concentrate on Father.”
Over her mother’s shoulder, she caught her father’s eye, and it felt like the wind had been knocked right out of her. He stared back at her, his face devoid of color and his eyes filled with tears. Propped up on pillows, with wires coming from his chest and tubes in his arm, he suddenly looked much older than his years. It was a stark and awful reminder that she wouldn’t have them forever. Something she couldn’t even bear thinking about.
“How can it be fine?” His voice was a rasp. “My daughter was…you were…” He shook his head as though nothing made any sense. “And we weren’t there for you. Why, Rachel, why didn’t you tell us?”
Her stomach formed a solid lump inside of her. “You received some photos then.” It wasn’t a question; it was merely confirmation of what she’d expected.
He visibly swallowed, his hands curling into fists. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Were you ashamed?” Her mother stopped hugging her long enough to cup her cheeks. “Please tell me it wasn’t shame that stopped you from calling us after the attack. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I can’t stand the thought of you going through that alone. Why didn’t the hospital call us? Or the police?”
“I wouldn’t let them. They wanted to, but it seemed like the best decision at the time.” Rachel swallowed hard. “I’m okay, Mum. I promise. It was a very long time ago. And I wasn’t ashamed. I was trying to…”
She looked at Harvard, hoping he had the right words because somehow she knew that explaining she’d been trying to protect them would only make things worse.
“Sometimes,” Harvard said as she tagged him into the conversation, “the shock from a trauma can last for years. A person can withdraw and make decisions that they wouldn’t usually make. Rachel was in shock. By the time she got past it, she didn’t want to open old wounds. Which is what would have happened if she’d told you.”
Her father’s anger focused on Harvard. “But you knew. You knew my daughter was…attacked, and you didn’t tell me. You knew when I didn’t.”
Harvard maintained that steadying calm of his. “Only because the photos started turning up when we