Runaway Wolfes of Manhattan Three - Helen Hardt Page 0,54

people there. I’d have to speak to them, and I’d have to listen to them tell me how much they admired my abusive father, how much they’d miss him, how much he’d done for them and for humanity at large.

He built a lot of luxury hotels, casinos, resorts. So yeah, he created a lot of jobs. He also gave huge amounts to charity, including his own foundation. So yeah, he helped others.

Just not his own.

Everything and everyone was more important to Derek Wolfe than his children.

Especially his daughter.

I shook my head. Guilt swam through me. My brothers had also suffered at his hands. All three of them. But by their own admission, they’d never been sexually abused by the man. Beaten to a pulp, sure. But never raped.

I winced even as I thought the word.

I never let myself say it, write it, even think it, while he was alive.

Now?

Even though I winced, even though I felt the nausea rising in my throat once more, I could think it.

Raped.

My father raped me.

My father stole my innocence.

My father stole my soul.

And now, the wake.

I could bail. My brothers wouldn’t blame me. They’d understand. I could easily sneak out to a side street and call a cab to take me anywhere.

Anywhere…

Back to Montana.

Back to Matt.

Perhaps I should never have left.

I could be happy now, in Matt’s arms, drinking coffee at JoJo’s, sharing a meal at Trudy’s, walking the main streets of Sumter Falls and saying hello to everyone I’d met.

But I gave that up. For my brothers.

And ultimately, for Matt as well.

He deserved better than a broken and soulless woman who was still a tired little girl.

He deserved better than me.

I drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. My cut had clotted, and I shoved the blood-stained handkerchief into my purse.

Flashing back once more to the blood-stained sheets.

Damn!

How would I get through this?

How would I get through the rest of my life?

Therapy. I’d promised Roy I’d call his therapist, Dr. Woolcott. But I’d break that promise. I already knew.

I was beyond help.

So beyond help.

I walked back into the church. Only a few mourners remained. The church ladies were taking down the altar decorations.

“Ms. Wolfe,” one of them said, “are you okay?”

“Of course she’s not okay,” another admonished. “Her father is dead.”

I smiled weakly. I was far from okay, but not because my father was dead. In fact, his death made me more okay than I’d been since I was six years old.

Still, okay was far from the right word to describe me.

Broken. Violated. Completely fucked up.

Take your pick.

“I’ll be fine,” I said. “Excuse me.”

A giant hummer limo had brought us to the service. I walked swiftly out the front entrance. A few people still lingered, but the limo was gone.

My brothers had left without me.

I grabbed my phone out of my purse. It was on silent for the service, so I hadn’t heard the ding of Rock’s text.

Sorry, Sis. We have to go. See you at the Waldorf. By the way, a friend of yours is with us.

I wrinkled my brow. A friend? Did I even have any friends? I hadn’t paid attention to anyone at the service. All the faces were blurred to me.

“Do you need a ride, Riley?” someone asked.

I turned. A young man stood there. He looked vaguely familiar.

“Fox Monroe,” he said. “We did a shoot together about six months ago.”

“Fox, of course.” I didn’t offer my hand. “Thank you, but no. I have transportation.”

“Good enough. See you in a few.”

Transportation. I walked quickly to the subway stop. Today I didn’t want to be Derek Wolfe’s daughter. I wanted to be another faceless person on the subway.

34

Matteo

The Wolfes sure knew how to throw a party.

A champagne fountain. Seriously. With real vintage champagne. So my question was…with this kind of cash, why did Riley Wolfe rent my little cabin in Sumter Falls, Montana? She could have stayed at the poshest hotel in Billings.

And speaking of Riley, where was she?

Crowds of people stuffed caviar into their mouths and sipped champagne from the fountain. Riley’s brother Rock stood next to me.

“You seem like a fish out of water here, Matt,” he said.

“It’s that obvious, huh?”

“Only to another fish out of water.”

I cocked my head. “You?”

He chuckled. “This is not my scene at all.”

This time I dropped my jaw.

“Surprised?” he asked.

“Uh…yeah. You’re a Wolfe. You were raised in luxury.” But he’d also lived in a small biker town near Helena, Riley had told me.

“For the first fourteen years, yeah. But luxury—at least luxury