“Not a crime.”
“No, but it made me foolish, and foolish should be a crime,” she said. “Because instead of calling my parents when I started feeling weird, I stayed.”
“Weird?”
She looked away. “Yeah. Not drunk weird. Drugged weird.”
“Someone put something in your drink,” he said grimly.
“Yes.” For so long she’d kept this to herself, but in doing so, she’d given that night all the power. She knew it was time, past time, to let it all go, because if she didn’t, it’d continue to keep her from living the life she secretly dreamed about.
Which meant Mateo was right. She needed to say it all out loud and take away its power to hurt her. “I woke up the next morning alone in a strange bed, in a strange place, no clothes, not knowing where I was or what had happened.” The not remembering was probably a blessing, but sometimes in the dark of the night her brain liked to fill in the missing time, and she had to admit her imagination might be a whole lot worse than the truth.
Mateo sat quietly next to her, calm and steady, but there was a storm in his eyes. “How badly were you hurt?”
She shook her head. “Not badly.”
“There are levels of hurt,” he said carefully.
As she knew all too well. Charges hadn’t been pressed because she’d never been able to ID anyone. “I’m fine. No long-lasting damages.” She made the mistake of looking at him again, seeing a genuine concern for her and a carefully banked fury for what she’d gone through. And also . . . understanding. “Well, no lasting physical damages anyway,” she admitted with an attempt at a smile.
He’d stopped eating and set his fork down. “And the not-physical damages?”
She shrugged. “I’ve had counseling. I don’t hate men. I just . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t like to talk about it. People get weird.”
“Weird how?”
She bit her lower lip. “Okay, they don’t. Because I never talk about this, not with anyone.”
“Not even Jane?”
“She knows, but only because she saw my reaction when a man . . .” She shuddered. “There was a situation in Colombia, at a medical clinic. It got held up, and I reacted badly.” She drew a deep breath. “But other than Jane and a bunch of therapists, no one else knows.”
“What about in your past relationships?”
She froze for a beat. “I get claustrophobic in relationships,” she finally said. “So I don’t do them.”
“You’re sure about that?”
She blinked. “What does that mean?”
“Look, there are all kinds of relationships, right? Like us,” he said quietly. “Technically, what we have could be called a relationship. We’re two neighbors who fight over who plows the snow.” He smiled. “It also might be the best relationship I’ve ever been in.”
She was . . . well, she didn’t know exactly. Flustered? “But we’ve never—”
“There are all kinds of relationships,” he repeated softly.
She stared at him some more. He just flashed another small smile and went back to eating.
Around her, the sounds of the busy cafeteria kicked in and she realized she’d been holding her breath, so she breathed. He’d heard her deepest, darkest secret and he wasn’t scared off. Even more than that, he hadn’t asked invasive questions or pulled back in horror. He wasn’t treating her like a fragile piece of glass that could shatter at any moment.