Lachlan
An uneasiness settled over Julia’s house the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. She put on a smile in front of Imogene, Eli, and Londyn, but I knew it was forced.
Pretty sure they did, too.
I tried to act as if Agent Curran’s visit wasn’t a big deal. But I had so many questions. I knew Nick was a horrible person, that he’d manipulated Julia throughout their marriage. But Agent Curran’s visit brought into stark focus that there was still so much I didn’t know.
So much I couldn’t learn even after reading everything I was able find about his case.
“You’re doing it again,” Julia murmured as we lay in her bed later that night, my arms wrapped around her, everything peaceful.
Except for my brain.
“Doing what?”
“Thinking. I can hear you.”
I opened my mouth, about to tell her it was nothing. That was what the old Lachlan would have done. Avoided having difficult discussions for fear of what they would reveal.
I’d done that with Claire, and now she was dead. I refused to make that mistake again. Especially with Julia.
Touching my hand to her shoulder, I turned her onto her back, then propped myself on my elbow, tracing a circle along her arm.
“What did you mean earlier when you said you didn’t decide to become pregnant?”
Her expression fell, a sad smile tugging on her mouth. “Oh.”
From the beginning, we’d done everything we could to avoid discussing her past. We didn’t have the luxury of doing that anymore. Not with everything going on. It was time to finally face this reality.
And the reality was that her past still tormented her.
She gazed at the ceiling, as if it held the answer she needed.
“I used to have these…episodes.”
“Episodes?” I asked, brows furrowed.
She nodded, keeping her eyes trained above. “When I’d lose time.”
“Jesus…”
She didn’t have to spell it out. I knew enough about Nick to put the pieces together.
“I’d wake up in the morning, unsure what day it was, unable to remember how I even got into bed. When I’d ask Nick what happened, he always told me I had a bit too much to drink, even though I’ve never been a big drinker. Sure, I enjoy a glass of wine with dinner, but I’ve never liked being drunk. Or even buzzed. Hate the loss of control. So the idea that I drank to the point of not remembering anything never sat well with me. But there was no other explanation. At least I didn’t think there was.”
“But you didn’t drink too much. Did you?” I asked, struggling to keep the anger out of my tone.
“No.”
“How often did you…lose time?”
“Not too often at first. Maybe once every few months. But as time went on, it happened more and more frequently.”
“And during these episodes…”
“He had sex with me.”
“No. He raped you.”