As she talked, he drew his arm around her. Warm and solid. The more she told him, the lighter she felt.
“That’s a lot to carry,” he murmured when she finished. “I’m so sorry.”
A tear slipped down her cheek. He reached out, brushing it away.
They sat in silence for a few moments. She let out a breath and turned to him.
“I’ve been going on and on,” she said with a half smile. “I’m kind of sick of hearing myself talk at this point.”
“I think given the events of this afternoon, it should be all about you, don’t you think?”
“Still,” she insisted, “I want to know about you. Tell me something.”
His eyes searched hers. “What would you like to know?”
Everything.The thought startled her.I want to know everything about you.
“Anything you want to share,” she said instead.
He considered this, then nodded.
“I guess when you were talking about your father, I could relate.”
“You said he shut down after your mother died, right?”
“Those were the good days. Once my sisters grew up and moved out, he decided to get angry instead.”
His expression darkened. She took his hand.
“Using fists was his go-to,” he said. “Sometimes he got creative, though.”
He raised his shirt, revealing a faint but visible scar across his abdomen.
“Reza—”
“Metal hook. From a fireplace poker. Sophomore year of high school. I forgot to take the trash out on time. Like I said.” He looked at her stricken expression. “Creative.”
“That’s awful.”
“That one actually got him in trouble when a teacher noticed me bleeding through my shirt. Christian Davies got himself a little mug shot. He was more careful after that.”
Reza shrugged, but she recognized the hurt behind his eyes. It was the kind of hurt only a parent could inflict. The kind that stuck to you like a second skin.
“My father could get creative too,” she said. “He mostly hurt my mother. But as I got older, I became a punching bag as well. I couldn’t do anything right because I couldn’t be the son he’d wanted.”
The last time she saw her father, she had come home ten minutes late from school. Her study group had gone over. She’d made sure to get a teacher’s note confirming it because her father valued punctuality. He hated when people “wasted his time.” She’d shown him the note. He didn’t care.
Excuses,he’d sneered.That’s all you ever have.
And then, before she could reply, the punch. Straight in the abdomen.
She’d dropped to the floor. The rest was a blur. Still was. She only knew he’d beaten her so badly she coughed up blood. She knew from the urgent care visit that she’d suffered three broken ribs, a concussion, and two black eyes from her “fall down the stairs.”
She also knew he had been thirsting for more. Had her mother not come into the room when she had, she was sure she’d be dead.
“Sailing saved me,” Reza said. “One of the deckhands at the hotel I worked at in high school offered to teach me. Being out on the water reminded me there was more to life. That I could leave one day.”
“And you did.”
