“I think you figured most of it out after today.”

He agreed. “The first time you flinched when I lifted my arm, I knew. Colin and I talked about it. If it makes you feel better, every time I ask if Parker has said anything, he’s told me no. Said he didn’t know a woman that was better at keeping a secret.”

That left a smile. “I was told that even with the best of intentions, sometimes things are said, and that’s when the abuser learns things. My attorney doesn’t know where I am.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“Are you even from Washington?”

When she didn’t answer, he retracted the question. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. You’re here. You’re safe. You have an alarmed house and a landlord that will shoot first and ask questions later.” He paused and pushed her hair behind her ear. “It all makes so much sense now.”

She brushed away what looked like the last of her tears and sighed. “The only person I’ve told all that to is my attorney. Well, and the people who helped me get away.”

He noticed her shoulders relax. “How does it feel?”

“Liberating.”

“Your secrets are safe with me. I want you to call anytime you feel the need to murder all your cleaning supplies.”

There it was. A little laugh as she lowered her forehead to his shoulder.

He took the moment to wrap her in his arms. He kissed the top of her head since it was the only part of her available to him.

“Matt?”

“Yes?”

“I’m starving.”

For some reason, her words eased the tension and made him laugh.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Matt had turned an unused back room in his house into a personal gym. He couldn’t stand the meat markets that people went to in the name of fitness. And the places that screamed testosterone were filled with an equal amount of hard bodies that hadn’t touched a carb in a decade. He didn’t relate to either side of the spectrum, so a home gym solved his problem.

Right now, his workout space gave him every tool needed to push himself into exhaustion.

He’d taken Erin to an early dinner in Ventura and held her hand while they walked on the beach. She told him that being an accomplished liar about her personal life had become second nature. She didn’t like that her truths required others to lie for her.

Keeping her secrets would be easy enough except when it came to his family. They were close, and secrets were hard to keep around them.

Grace was the worst at pushing if she felt there was something to learn.

His mom was downright cunning in learning the truth. It was like the woman laced your coffee with truth serum, and before your first spoonful of cereal she had every detail.

Dad would sit back and wait you out. Once in a while he’d play the guilt card. “You don’t think my opinion is valuable?”

And hell, Colin was the one Matt went to and told everything to. In his defense, he didn’t spill to the rest of their family.

This time, he had to keep the vault shut. He’d promised Erin.

The woman had every reason to believe her ex, and Matt would continue to refer to the man as her ex even if his signature wasn’t on the divorce papers yet. He was capable of killing Erin just to prove he could.

The images that she’d painted for him were horrific.

With music pumping, Matt pulled off his shirt, put on a pair of boxing gloves, and slowly started to work his upper body. He didn’t have a face to picture, but that didn’t stop him from jabbing the punching bag hanging from a special hook in his ceiling. What he wouldn’t do to have five minutes with the man responsible.

“Who?” He jabbed with his right fist.

“Hits?” He crossed with his left.

“Women?” Left, right, left, left.

He chanted with every punch.

Put a dent in his bag for every tear Erin had shed.

He imagined the face of a man he hoped he’d never meet, broke his pretend face, and blackened his nonexistent eye.

“Fucking coward!” He punched the bag again and again.

When he was done, there wasn’t any strength left in his arms, his back screamed in protest of the workout, and someone clapped behind him.

Matt swiveled around and drew his hands to his face.

“Colin.”

“That was impressive.” His brother crossed the room and patted the punching bag. Once he stopped it from swinging he looked at Matt.

“How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough to know that you’re pissed at someone and I’m glad it’s not me.” He crossed to the radio and turned it off.

Matt wrestled the gloves off his hands and tossed them to the side. He reached for a bottle of water and sat on one of his workout benches.

“You want to talk about it?” Colin asked.

“No.” His denial was too fast.

“This is about Erin, isn’t it?”

Fucking vault.

Matt stayed silent. He wasn’t a liar. It wasn’t in him.

He kept silent.

“You know I won’t say anything,” Colin told him.

Matt guzzled the bottle of water, wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. “And I promised to do the same.”

Colin nodded a few times. “I’ll grab the beer. You hit the shower.”

Ten minutes later they sat on Matt’s back patio. “I’m surprised you’re here. I thought you’d be at Parker’s tonight.” It was Saturday. A full day since Matt had been challenged to keep Erin’s secrets. In that time he’d mowed his lawn, washed the truck and his RV, and fixed the timing chain on his dirt bike.

“I’ll see her later. She said Erin wanted to talk to her.”

“Oh?” Matt looked at him.

“She didn’t say why. I was going to suggest you come to my place for happy hour but realized it had been a while since I’ve been here.”

Matt sipped his beer. “It’s going to be strange when you move for good.”

Colin placed his heels on an adjacent chair. “I’m renting out the house.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Parker and I talked about it. The income will pay for the mortgage, insurance, and taxes with a little extra. I suggested selling, but she thought it might be wise to hold on to it until after her brother was old enough to actually collect his inheritance from the sale of her place.” When Parker’s parents passed away, they’d put a stipulation in their will that any money from the sale of the family home be held in trust until each of them had turned twenty-two. So while Parker was in the clear and her sister, Mallory, was nearly there, Austin still had four years to go.

“That’s a big decision.”

“The house?” Colin asked.

“Yeah.”

“Not really. It’s a house. Sure, Parker’s place isn’t really hers or mine, but leaving it doesn’t feel right.” The Sinclair Ranch was ten acres of prime real estate with everything you could want. The downside was the home had been kissed by a wildfire and the barns had burned to the ground, and the following winter washed away a lot of what was left with the most rain Southern California had seen in seven years. But hey, it had a pool and a guesthouse.