Breaking Point Read Online Free PDF

hours?”
    “Days,” Max corrected her grimly. He sat back down. This was something that Gina needed to talk about, to work through—her harrowing experience of being held hostage. As much as he hated therapy, he would have stuck needles under his fingernails if it would help her find closure. “The terrorists who hijacked the plane got hold of a passenger list that said Senator Crawford’s daughter, Karen, was on that flight.”
    “Except her ticket was stolen,” Gina interjected.
    “The hijackers demanded she step forward. Of course, she didn’t, she wasn’t there. The gunmen threatened to start killing everyone on board so Gina stood up and pretended to be this girl.” Max had to stop and clear his throat. Her incredible, selfless bravery still impressed the crap out of him. “They brought her up into the cockpit of the plane, away from the other passengers.”
    “Held at gunpoint, all that time.” Rita exhaled hard. “All alone?”
    But Gina shook her head. “I wasn’t alone. Max was with me.”
    Damn it, she always said this. “I was in the airport terminal,” he told the therapist. “I used a radio to maintain contact with the plane. Gina acted as the go-between, because the terrorists didn’t want to talk directly to me. So I talked to her, knowing they were listening in.”
    “That’s not the only reason you talked to me,” Gina said.
    She was right. He had been inappropriately attracted to her right from the start.
    “Did she give you a list of the injuries she received while I was
with her
on that plane?” Max asked the therapist. He ticked them off on his fingers. “Broken wrist, broken ribs, black eye, a variety of cuts and contusions—”
    “She mentioned the attack,” Rita said. “Of course.”
    “No, no, we don’t use that word,” Max said. “We prefer brutal honesty. We call it what it was—rape.”
    The word seemed to ring in the silence that followed, and he felt his throat tightened, his stomach knot. Ah, God . . .
    “That must have been terrible, Max,” Rita said quietly. “To be able to listen in, to witness that violence as it happened. Gina said there were surveillance cameras. It must have been devastating to watch that.”
    Why was she talking to him? “More so to Gina, don’t you think?”
    “I’ve finally started to forgive myself for it, Max,” Gina said. “God, you were the one who told me it wasn’t my fault, that I didn’t provoke them. Why can’t you do the same?”
    The therapist turned to him. “Let’s explore this. Do you remember what you felt, what you—”
    “What, are you kidding?” Of course she wasn’t kidding. Therapists didn’t kid. In fact, kidding with clients was in the therapist rule book’s Giant List of Don’ts, along with excessive use of whoopee cushions and plastic vomit, and wearing white coats after Labor Day.
    But Max finally understood. They weren’t here today for Gina, they were here for
him.
    As if this would help. As if digging and poking at his anger and guilt would do anything other than make him howl in frustration and pain.
    He used his cane to pull himself back to his feet. “I’m done. I’m sorry. I can’t . . .”
    “Then what are we doing?” Gina asked softly. “Is our relationship really just temporary? You know, I keep making deals with myself. I’ll only stay another week, until you’re out of the hospital. I’ll only stay until you get settled into the physical rehab center. I’ll only stay until you can walk without your cane. But really, I’m lying to myself. I just keep waiting, hoping that, I don’t know . . .” She laughed, a pain-filled exhale of air. “Maybe, I think if we keep making love you’ll wake up one morning and say ‘I can’t live without you . . .’ ”
    Jesus. “What I can’t do is give you what you want,” Max whispered.
    “Even when all I want is for you to talk to me?” Her eyes filled with tears. “There was a time when. . . . You used to tell me