Read Online Loving Mr. July by Margaret Antone - Free Book Online Page A

away, but not before Kurt saw
the tears coming to her eyes.
    Shit.
     
    ~ ~ ~
     
    Kurt couldn’t sleep.
    And Cynthia’s face kept coming to his mind.
She’d said nothing during the drive home about her encounter with
the guy from her past, although she had seemed more than a little
upset. In fact, she had not wanted to stay at his house for the
first time since they’d started the intense workouts. But it was so
late, and she’d had a fair amount of wine for her height, so he had
insisted on her staying in one of the guest rooms. And she had been
too tired and miserable to argue.
    His stomach rumbled, complaining about the
pittance of food it had received. He hadn’t felt like eating the
steak the manager had packaged for them. At this rate, he was going to be a skeleton by the time those photos were
finally taken. If he survived that long.
    Screw it, he thought, it was a night for beer
on the deck. Maybe even two.
    He headed toward the kitchen, when an odd
sound coming from the living room caught his attention, and he
turned to investigate. The light from the full moon illuminated the
room enough that he could see Cynthia huddled in a corner, one arm
draped over Lucky. A huge container of ice cream sat melting on the
side table, half eaten. While Cynthia sobbed, Lucky whimpered and
licked at her face.
    Kurt walked over, put one hand on Lucky’s
head and the other on Cynthia’s shoulder. “Cynthia?”
    She burrowed deeper into the couch and
sniffled. “Go away.”
    “What’s going on?”
    “Just go away.” The sobs resumed in
earnest.
    Kurt sat on his haunches in front of her. “I
don’t think so.” There was crying and then there was heartbreaking
despair. Kurt had lived long enough to know the difference. And
this wasn’t just crying.
    His response instinctive, he moved next to
her on the couch, and brought her into his arms. She resisted at
first, but eventually gave up.
    Kurt stroked her arms and back in slow
movements. After a long while, she stilled, and the sobs became
hiccups. And the hiccups turned into silence.
    He handed her some tissues and waited while
she blew her nose, wiped her eyes. When she made a move to get up,
and remove herself from his arms, he tightened them.
    “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”
    Cynthia remained silent so long, Kurt
eventually turned her to see if she’d fallen asleep. But she
hadn’t. She looked up at him with the saddest eyes he’d ever
seen.
    “I’m a total loser.” Her eyes flicked to the
ice cream carton, her face full of self-disgust.
    He gave her a quick hug and starting stroking
her arms again. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”
    Cynthia let out a deep, shuddering sigh.
    Another long silence ensued. Kurt waited it
out, continuing to stroke her arms.
    “That guy, in the gym and in the restaurant
tonight?” Cynthia looked straight ahead, not waiting for his
response. “I knew him in high school. I’ve changed a lot since
then, but he apparently doesn’t think so. It’s important that you
know I didn’t encourage him.”
    “Okay.” Kurt tried to look her in the face,
but she stared resolutely ahead.
    “In fact, both tonight and at the gym, he was
trying to pin me to the wall, starting to try to feel me up.”
    “Son of a bitch.” Kurt tensed, then forced
himself to relax his arms when he realized he was probably hurting
her. “Why didn’t you let me take care of the guy?”
    Cynthia continued in a monotone, almost as if
she didn’t hear him. “He felt it was almost like his right, that I
would welcome it, because of what happened in high school. You see,
I had let him get away with stuff like that back then. I had no
respect for myself. Later, through a lot of counseling I realized
that is often the case for victims of child abuse.”
    “Who abused you?” It all started to make
sense, Kurt realized, her steadfast dedication to the Bocher
Foundation, Sharon’s protectiveness when Kurt had questioned her
about it.
    “My father,”