I have no idea who she means, so I do not know how to respond.
Luckily, she does not wait for one.
“And where does he think he gets off doing things like that? Letting me come here is one thing, but that room nonsense? Does he think that earns him points? Does he think I am just going to forget everything and that we can go back to how things were because he gave me a room with a view? Why is he doing this? He does not care about me. If he cared, he would not have left me like that. Why is he pretending to care now, after all this time, when we both know he does not give a damn about me? That is wrong, is it not?”
I nod, because she needs some kind of acknowledgment. She wipes her face and continues, “And now he is going to think I am stupid and pathetic for still crying over things like that. God, I am stupid and pathetic. It has been five years. I should be over it by now. I was over it until he dragged me back here.”
She shakes her head, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “I cannot figure out what his game is. What does he gain by doing this? Has he not tortured me enough? Is this some kind of twisted game where he tries to get back at me for something I cannot even name? I am tired of it. I am tired of being his punching bag.”
I freeze at that. Punching bag.
To me, that means more than emotional cruelty. It means physical harm.
Absolutely not.
Whoever this man is, he needs to be stopped.
A low heat starts in my stomach, rising into my chest. I am not usually quick to anger, but nothing sets me off like the thought of a woman being hurt. My grandmother did not give me the best education, but she taught me right from wrong and exactly how a man should treat a woman.
“Who?” The word leaves me in a growl, and she flinches, blinking in surprise.
“Your voice is really deep,” she says.
It is not the first time I have heard that. My grandmother used to say I sounded like I lived on gravel.
“Who is it?” I ask again.
“Who… oh.” Her anger flares again, although at least she is no longer crying. “Do not worry about it. I should not be telling you all this. He is your boss, and I do not want to get you into trouble.”
“My boss?” I repeat. I do not have a boss. What does she mean? Then I realize she probably thinks I am a handyman or groundskeeper, because I am dressed like one. To be honest, I suppose I am, in some ways. Kind of.
But hold on.
If she is talking about my “boss,” then she must mean either Reid or Luke, and that would make one of them an abuser.
That thought hits hard.
I picture Luke first. He does not seem like an abuser. A womanizer, yes. He has made many women cry by breaking their hearts, but the only time I have ever seen him get physical was with a drunk troublemaker at the bar three years ago. He has never raised his voice at a woman in front of me. He enjoys women, and it shows in how he treats them.
But Reid does not fit the role either. Reid is controlled. He does not engage in emotional outbursts. He is calm, logical, strategic, a natural leader. He has helped hundreds of men and women through his therapeutic work. It is difficult to imagine him harming someone.
Yet I know that private behavior does not always match public behavior. A man can present himself one way to friends and colleagues while acting in an entirely different manner behind closed doors.
That is why there are so many stories of respected pillars of the community who are violent at home.
One of them could have fooled me as well. But I will not let either of them get away with hurting her.
I do not care that they are my friends and business partners. If either Reid or Luke has harmed her, they are finished. I will make sure they pay for it.
“Ah, I am sorry,” she says, noticing the wetness of my shirt. “This is so embarrassing.”
I shake my head. It is not embarrassing.
But the awareness of her soft body pressed against mine suddenly becomes very clear. Her warm weight, the shape of her pressed against me, the softness of her breasts against my chest.
Parts of me respond that should not, not right now. My grandmother would have had several strong opinions about that.
Before I can create some distance, I hear noises. We both turn toward the sound of crunching gravel as Luke and Reid emerge from the trees.