Dead Silence (Stillwater Trilogy #1)(48)
Author: Brenda Novak

11

Grace sat on the shore and stared out at the lake, not quite sure what had happened a few minutes earlier. She’d left her tent in a torrent of pain and somehow wound up in the water with Kennedy Archer, experiencing the very desire she couldn’t summon for George. How could her life be so perverse?

Closing her eyes, she remembered the warm thrust of his tongue, the pressure of his erection as she tightened her legs around him. The memory alone caused goose bumps to rise on her arms. If only she could feel that for George, maybe she’d have a shot at happiness….

But Kennedy?

“No,” she muttered and buried her face in her hands. She was shivering uncontrollably, but she embraced the cold, hoping its razor-like edge would remind her that she could never trust him, never believe that he might really care about her. She was so different from Raelynn, whom he’d idolized. And she was painfully aware of what she’d done with most of his friends. If she couldn’t forgive herself for those incidents, how could she expect him to forgive her? They shouldn’t even be seen together. His family would hate her. And she couldn’t be any more honest with him about the events of eighteen years ago than she could with George. The truth, if it came out, could destroy him as well as her.

But it was his two sons who worried her most. What if they began to care about her?

Resting her forehead on her knees, she wrapped her arms tightly around her legs and tried to stop shaking long enough to figure out what to do. She was tempted to leave town immediately, head right back to the big city. But George needed her out of his life, and her family needed her in Stillwater.

“Grace, come back to camp,” Kennedy said from somewhere behind her, and she realized he hadn’t gone to bed as she’d assumed.

She shook her head in disbelief. He was so responsible. He’d definitely make a good mayor, she thought.

“I’m coming.” She stood, brushed the sand from her legs and met up with him halfway to their campsite. She’d tied her bathing suit on again, but when he looked at her, she still felt exposed, raw, hungry.

It’s not sex I’m after. I want to make love to you, Grace….

What would that be like? For once, she wanted to hold nothing back. With him, she sensed that would be possible.

But she’d never find out.

They walked in silence, without touching. Once she reached her tent, she murmured a good-night and started to go inside, but Kennedy caught her by the wrist.

“Grace?” His voice was a mere whisper.

She looked up to find him wearing an intense expression.

“Do you know what’s inside the reverend’s Bible?”

“Inside it?” she echoed in confusion.

“Did you ever have the chance to read what he wrote?”

“No. What did he write?”

“A lot of it was about you.”

She didn’t dare say anything.

“I read it, and it’s made me wonder…”

Apprehension gnawed at her, and her pulse raced. “What?” she said hesitantly.

“Did…did the reverend ever—”

Her stomach tensed. “I don’t want to talk about him,” she said.

Taking both her hands, he held them reassuringly. “Did he…you know, touch you when you were a girl? Touch you in the wrong places and in the wrong way?”

The breath seemed to freeze in Grace’s lungs, creating a crushing tightness. For a split second, she wanted to admit it. To divulge her pain and outrage at last. To cast off the heavy burden of her filthy secret, a secret she hadn’t even been willing to share with a therapist.

But she couldn’t get past the feeling that she was somehow to blame for what her stepfather had done. Like those encounters with Kennedy’s friends in high school, the shame of it burned her almost as deeply as the betrayal. Besides, she couldn’t give anyone an inkling that she and her family might’ve had such a powerful motive for murder. Especially Kennedy. He knew about the Bible. She was sure he’d turn on her at some point. All his friends and his family were against her. And when he did, the consequences of one weak moment could destroy her entire family.

“No.” She told herself to look him in the eye, but she couldn’t. She was afraid he’d see right through her, the way he had when they were in the water.

She tried to move away, but he hung on to her. “I think he did,” he said stubbornly.

He was pressing her, searching for the truth. She had to be more convincing. “Are you crazy?” She forced a scoffing tone into her voice. “There are people in this town who’d condemn even you for saying such a thing. The reverend was above reproach—wasn’t he?”

His expression didn’t change as he stared down at her. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

He seemed so aware of every nuance. She needed more space. “He—of course. I mean, everyone knows what a g-good man he was. He—” The words seemed to congeal in her throat. She knew she should continue to praise her stepfather, but she couldn’t do it. Not here. Not now. Not to Kennedy.

“Was he a good man?” Kennedy whispered.

She struggled to hold herself together, trying to catch her breath. Too much had happened tonight. Everything was running into a great kaleidoscope of emotion. Pain. Anger. Disappointment. Arousal. Hope. Kennedy seemed to provide the anchor she craved, but she knew that was an illusion. As soon as she grabbed on, she’d find out there was really nothing there. He was Mr. Stillwater and she was Grinding Gracie.

“Did he molest you, Grace?”

She wanted to cover her ears. “No. Stop it! I can’t—I…just shut up, please!” Finally, she managed to wrench free and dart into the protective cover of her tent. There, blinking back tears, she held her breath to see what Kennedy would do next. She prayed he’d accept what she’d told him and believe it. But she knew she hadn’t been nearly as persuasive as she should’ve been. Especially when she heard him pacing outside.

“God,” she heard him say. “If he’s not dead already, I’ll kill him myself.”

Kennedy lay awake long after Grace had stopped stirring. He supposed she’d finally fallen asleep. He hoped so; she needed the rest. But for him sleep was impossible. He couldn’t shut down. In his mind, he kept seeing the moonlight on Grace’s ashen face when he’d asked if the reverend had abused her—seeing the truth in her eyes—and kept wondering how far the bastard had taken the molestation. Had he raped her? If so, how old had she been? And had he done it once? Twice? More?