Memory Lane by Becky Wade

Author:Becky Wade [Wade, Becky]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Author Becky Wade

Chapter Fifteen

The things Remy had suffered wrecked Jeremiah.

Mid-morning Saturday, the day after she’d told him about the rape, he sat alone in the sanctuary of a church on the outskirts of Groomsport. He’d asked his phone’s GPS to locate the church nearest his house. It brought him here—to a small brown-brick structure with a tall steeple. The interior had pews with green padding, wood floors, and rectangular windows.

Unfortunately, the peace of his surroundings hadn’t yet rubbed off on him.

While Remy had been telling him about the assault last night, he’d been gutted. He hadn’t known how to respond in the way that would be best for her. He doubted he’d ever known that type of thing, but if he once had, he’d forgotten it.

The one thing he had been aware of? That showing too much outrage on her behalf might make things worse. Her story wasn’t about him, so he'd tried to get out of her way, tried to stay calm. But he had been—was—outraged.

A man held Remy down and raped her.

Remy, with the huge imagination. Remy, with the overalls and the crazy cottage and the flowing hair. Remy, the sculptor. Remy, who’d taken him—a stranger—in. Remy, who was smart and feisty and unique.

This Gavin person had forced himself on her using brute strength. Then allowed his attorneys to tear Remy’s character down while he’d been busy lying under oath.

The thought of it stirred fury into a hurricane inside of him. In the middle of last night, he’d shoved aside his covers and gone to his office. With only the glow of his computer screen to force out the dark, he’d typed Gavin soccer player rape trial Dallas into a search engine. That’s all it had taken. He’d received pages and pages of results.

He wanted to kill Gavin. He couldn’t stand his smug face or his long hair. He couldn’t stand that he’d been found innocent.

Remy had been honest with him and now a new level of understanding existed between them. But so did the heavy reality of the thing that had happened to her.

He had more of a buffer toward the hard things that had happened to him than he did for what had happened to her. With her, he had no buffer. He wasn’t dealing with this well.

He kept trying to think of ways to make it right and remembering again that he couldn’t and simmering in his own powerlessness. She’d already done what could be done—she’d made a new life for herself. All that was left for him to do was support her.

His world was small, and she was the person at the center of it. He trusted her the most, liked her the most, and respected her the most. More than he wanted answers about his history, more than he wanted his memory back, he simply wanted . . . her.

But he couldn’t have her.

Jeremiah thought and prayed, prayed and thought.

Eventually he heard footsteps and turned to see an elderly Black man approaching down the church’s center aisle.

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