Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Happy Monday lovely readers! I haven't replied to your reviews after the last two chapters, but I have read each multiple times and will reach out individually in the near future. Several comments have left me beaming in delight, and several more have given me lots to chew on. I'm very grateful for your feedback and involvement.

Vicki Snyder1, who has been a wonderful champion of this story, begged that the lemons we all want not wait until the end of the story. Fear not! Based on my outline, you'll have plenty before this is all done. I have no intention of giving you all angst and no joy. :-)

A chapter can't go by where we don't give special appreciation to misty23y for her work as both my sounding board and beta. Thanks, Babe!


Chapter 49

Date/Time Stamp: Saturday, 22 SEP18 1300-1700

Ranger POV

I kiss my Babe, attempting to pour every ounce of love I have for this woman into the moment. When she begins to break away, I follow her lead, resting my chin on the back of her head as she tucks her face into the crook my neck. I keep going over Steph's words, but my mind is too stunned to process everything. I think we both need a small break before continuing this conversation.

Steph pulls away and sits so that her feet and legs are entirely in the water with her head resting my bicep after I settle beside her, my boot-clad feet remaining on the dock. "What do you use this platform for?" Steph asks.

"Mostly swimming and the jet ski. I think the previous owner would fish," I reply, grateful for the reprieve in the topic at hand as I formulate my response.

Steph picks up her head and turns towards me with a surprised look of delight on her face. "You have a jet ski?" she says with excitement. "Where is it?"

"Babe," I reply, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "I keep it in private storage when I'm not residing in the house." It will be out of storage before the day is done, just so I can see that smile again. I stand and hold my hand out to her, and Steph takes it after pulling her leggings down and sliding her feet into her flip-flops. I pull her up onto the patio and keep her hand in mine as we walk around the house towards the side yard. I think we are both in need of a nap.

Steph moans with contentment as I pull her into the hammock with me, and I wrap my arms around her as I kiss her crazy curls. Holding her gives me deep peace. We sway in the breeze, and it doesn't take long before I feel Steph's muscles relax and hear her breathing even out. I keep my eyes closed, using the moment to reflect on the morning.

Rodriguez did an excellent job on the marriage bet investigation, and he has shown the same caliber of work on the other reports required this past week. I will make sure Tank includes a hefty bonus in his next paycheck. I suspected the bet included at least a hundred people, but I grossly underestimated how many players have become involved and how big the pot had grown over the past two decades. That Steph's father is so invested will devastate her.

I wonder how Frank sought to achieve his objective. He has shown very little interaction in her day to day life. I decide that he must be using his wife to manipulate Stephanie, and I wonder how much Ellen knows about the bet. I'm astounded Valerie and Albert are also so invested.

I'm not sure when to tell Stephanie about the report. I'm glad she finally told me what's on her mind. However, it's also clear that while she is doing a lot better than she was a week ago, Steph is still in a fragile place. I slept hard last night, and I wish I would have woken up when Steph escaped the bed and her nightmares last night. I wonder what she did while awake and how long she was up.

When Steph settled onto the dock, I first thought she was figuring out what to say, but I became increasingly concerned as the stress of approaching what was on her mind began to manifest itself physically. I think she may have even had a flashback, and I am relieved she responded to me. I know she is and will continue to experience symptoms of her PTSD for some time as she heals. Her focused effort to mentally move beyond what was becoming a panic attack was impressive. Steph is taking the advice she's being given in therapy seriously. I am deeply proud of her work and determination.

When Stephanie began to share her thoughts and reasoning to me, it took every ounce of control I have not to interrupt her a dozen times to tell her how wrong she had things. There is no way I would ever leave her because we do or don't have sex. I want Steph in my life because of who she is and not what she chooses or doesn't choose to do in bed.

Just as I was trying to understand her rationale, even if I don't agree with it, I could feel Steph's tension increase exponentially. My hand is still sore from her grip on it. I understand the horror of nightmares, and I hoped her anxiety was due to that. I was utterly unprepared for the bombshell she dropped next. I can feel my heart rate pick up as I ruminate over Steph's reveal.

I already knew Joe Morelli emotionally and physically abused Steph, but I hadn't considered the role Dickie Orr might have also played in her history. That bastard fucking raped her, too, but I don't think Steph understands that. When she told the Core Team and me her past, the incidents she related were for things that happened, for the most part, outside of an established relationship. In a place as backward as the Burg, could it be that on some level Steph believes that the way her ex-husband treated her was acceptable or less terrible than it is because they exchanged vows? Does she think that her full consent to any and everything is an expectation in a marriage or committed relationship and that she is at fault for not meeting some ridiculous notion of a wife's duty? Dickie Orr is officially on my shit list.

What broke me, however, was when she confessed that my dumbass qualifiers, all those times I put up my walls in a misplaced sense of protection, contributed to her idea of not being good enough now. Suddenly, all of the things I wanted to interrupt and say no to in the beginning made logical sense from her perspective. The woman with the biggest and most generous heart I've ever known has spent her life being denied love, having her generosity abused, and probably doesn't understand or know how to accept love without some level of fear of rejection from me or much worse in the case of any nearly every other person in her life.

At that moment, clarity dawns. That's it. That's my role in this. My job is to help teach Steph that she is worthy of love, love doesn't come with conditions or qualifiers or expectations. I created some of the damage, but I can also undo it. I can show Steph with patience, example, and my words that she should live for herself, on her terms with boundaries that should be honored and respected, always. I will love her, and that support is how I can offer her the skills she needs to find freedom away from the trauma inflicted on her by her family, friends, the Burg, and others. She can learn to love and respect herself, determine that it's okay to establish and enforce her personal limits and learn to accept unconditional love in return.

An hour passes before Steph begins to blink away her sleep, and her hand moves to grab my shirt as she does. I place my hand over hers and kiss her head. The tension that snapped into her body as she woke up eased as I did. "Shhh, Querida," I murmur, wondering what she was thinking. Steph loosens her grip on my shirt and moves her hand to the waistband of my pants. An unexpected warmth spreads through me, beginning where Steph's fingers graze my bare stomach as she slides a hand under my shirt.

"Are we good?" Steph asks tentatively, and my heart aches at her need for reassurance.

"Yes, Querida, we're more than good. I meant every word I said," I quietly reply.

"Thank you," comes Steph's quiet voice.

"Do you know that what Orr did was wrong?" I gently ask. Steph's fingers still, and she doesn't reply. "You always have the right to say no, whether you are married, in a committed relationship, or having a one-night stand. It doesn't matter. He should never have done that to you, and I will never do that to you. I will always respect you and honor your boundaries, just as I know you will respect me," I continue, hoping I'm not pushing her too far.

Steph is silent for several minutes, but her fingers find their way to the top seam of my pants, and she runs a finger under the edge. It's as though with the continuing back and forth motion I can feel her thinking. "Was that rape?" she eventually whispers, her voice so soft I can barely hear it.

"I'm sorry, Querida, but yes, it was. You did not give your consent, and freezing doesn't imply consent," I respond, trying to pour compassion and non-judgment into my tone. I hug her closer to me as I wait for her to reply.

"And by that measure, Joe shouldn't have been pressuring me either," Steph continues after a moment, her voice slightly stronger.

"No. Your partner should never threaten, coerce, or pressure you into anything you aren't comfortable doing with them. A relationship is about much more than sex," I say, interested in her analytical reaction to this conversation.

"And you're promising me that you are okay with a lack of physical involvement right now. You're willing to adjust and respond to my changing yes and no stances on things without being angry with me or threatening to leave. You promise you won't pressure me to do more than I am willing to, and that your love for me isn't dependent on my sexual performance," Steph summarizes.

"Yes. I love you, all of you, whatever you are willing to give with no expectations or demands," I affirm, kissing her head again.

"Okay," she says before falling into silence once again, and her hand stills and rests on my abdomen.

I uncharacteristically break the silence first. "How are you feeling, Babe?" I ask, somewhat surprised by her lack of emotional response to this conversation.

"I know I should be more upset by the knowledge that Dickie raped me, but I feel mostly numb. I mean, it's not the first time I realized someone I trusted raped me. Mostly, I'm relieved to hear you say that it didn't happen because of anything I did or didn't do. As I've been learning this week, it's not my fault, and I'm working on letting all of this go so I can focus on my future and us," Steph states in an even tone.

"I'm proud of you, Babe. You've learned a lot this week. It's also okay if you do feel upset about it later. I'm here for you, whatever your reaction," I respond. I suspect she might still be processing everything, and that her heart hasn't caught up with her mind yet. Just because Steph's been through something before doesn't mean it should be any less difficult the second time, and it's sobering that she's considering assault commonplace in her life.

"I know, Carlos. I'm lucky to have you. I love you," she says, turning her face towards mine.

I lean forward to kiss her gently before replying, "No price, Babe. I'm the lucky one."

With that, we carefully extract ourselves from the hammock and walk into the house. I check the time and see it's 1500. I cut up a couple of apples and place them on a plate with a few cheese slices, popping open jar of nuts for the side. Steph leans against the island across from me, her eyes following me with unwavering attention while her body remains still. It's atypical and my biggest sign she is still processing our conversation this afternoon.

I push the plate towards Stephanie. As we eat in silence, a plan forms in my mind. "I need to go shopping," I say, wiping off my hands. "I would like your help getting a couple of things. Interested?"

Steph's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. She nods yes and retreats to the bedroom. I follow to change into casual pants and loafers over my go-to black cargo pants and boots, and I return to the kitchen to give Steph some space and time. When she steps into the room ten minutes later, she's changed into jeans paired with a long-sleeved black cotton three-quarter zip up and her tennis shoes. The shirt fits loosely, and the jeans she bought off the rack earlier this week are too big for her smaller frame. It tells me she doesn't realize just how much weight she's lost this summer. Steph neatened her hair in a ponytail, and she must have applied a little make-up. I think she always looks great, but the refreshed look does make her eyes sparkle a bit more.

I place both my hands on her hips and lean down for a kiss. "You're beautiful, Babe," I said before kissing her again. I open the door to the Turbo, and Steph slides in, a look of satisfaction on her face as she settles into the seat. Steph's history of orgasmic delight in this vehicle has given me more than one hard-on while driving. My single favorite moment with her sexually was when we did it in the Trenton Turbo. It wasn't the most comfortable, but her wild abandon has fueled many fantasies.

I discretely adjust myself before entering the vehicle. Steph doesn't need to think I'm propositioning her right now. We drive in continued silence, but Steph rests her hand on my leg as she takes in her surroundings with alert interest. We pull into the parking lot of a big box sports store, and I hold her hand as we walk inside and grab a cart. "Since you've begun living in our home, I noticed there are some things, especially in the gym, that are lacking or aren't the right size for you. You also seem the most comfortable in your athletic clothes, and I thought you'd like to pick out a few more things to wear," I say, indulging her unspoken curiosity. Steph smiles in return.

"Thank you. A shopping trip is a great idea. Hector and I have been lamenting the lack of mouth guards, for example," she says. I reviewed the video of the sparring session Bobby angrily interrupted yesterday evening. I understand why he was upset. Steph was fierce in that fight, and even I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around this newly revealed version of herself.

When we get to the boxing area, I watch with a fascination that I hide behind a blank face as Steph confidently browses the gear, selecting gloves, a mouth guard, shin guards, ankle support wraps, headgear, and wrist wraps. Once she's satisfied with her the first round of selections, she begins to pick out another set. "For Hector," she states. "I know you like to take the boys to the mats bareback style, but Hector and I prefer to work out and protect our bodies. If you are interested in sparring with me at some point, I recommend picking out some additional protective gear besides the gloves for yourself or possibly Lester and Bobby," she continues with a matter of fact tone, her attention never diverting from the task at hand.

I raise my eyebrows with my blank face disappearing in astonished response to the woman standing before me. If someone had told me six months ago that I'd be buying boxing gear with Steph, and that she would be encouraging me to purchase my own if I wanted to fight her, I'd have called them barking mad. Instead, I join her and select gear similar to what she has chosen for Hector. At the end of the aisle, Steph stops again and opens a box to inspect a pair of training shoes.

"Are you able to find out what size shoe Hector wears?" she asks, and I pull out my phone.

"Nine and a half," I report a moment later.

"That's what I thought," she mutters under her breath, absorbed in her task.

We make our way past the swimming gear, and Steph stops again. "Is there snorkeling gear in the house?" she asks. I shake my head no as she selects fins, face masks, and snorkels for both of us as well as goggles and a swim cap for the pool. Does Steph swim? I hadn't seriously considered it, but given how much time she's spent living by the ocean and her natural gravitation towards the water, I'm not going to discount the possibility.

This trip is the quietest I've ever seen Steph in a shopping environment. She's taking the task of considering and selecting equipment to heart, and it underlies to me just how seriously she is taking her goal of physical self-improvement. We wander towards the clothing section, and I stop near the women's department. I take her hand and pull her gently towards me. "Take your time and try on whatever you want. I'm going to check out, put these things into the Turbo, and I'll look for you when everything is loaded. Does that sound like a plan?" I say, studying her reaction. She smiles back at me.

"Sound like a plan. Are you sure I didn't pick out too much? All that gear is going to be pretty expensive," she responds before biting her lip.

I have to keep from snorting. I don't think Steph understands how much money I make each day. "I'm sure," I say evenly. "I mean it, pick out whatever you want." Steph reaches up for a quick kiss before disappearing between the racks. Thirty minutes later, she has a basket filled with a variety of garments, and we are working our way towards the checkout. As we do, we pass a display for lawn games I usually don't give a second look at, if they got a first glance at all. This time I do as Steph tugs on my hand and looks up with me with eyes big with excitement.

"Carlos, do you play cornhole?" she says with hopeful enthusiasm.

"I do now," I reply, leaning over to pick up the large box and place it over my shoulder. I should have driven the Cayenne, I think, knowing it's going to be a tight squeeze to fit this in the sports car.

"Show off," Steph teases with a big smile at my one-armed maneuvering of the game. "But you should know, you are going to lose."

"Babe," I reply, making no effort to hide my smile.