Page 138 of Revere: A Legacy Novel

“I do understand, but I also think the culture you’ve created between you two through her raising is what has brought you to this point. And unless you deal with that, then this will never be fixed.”

“I did it, then,” Dante said. “That’s what you’re trying to tell me. I was the one who pushed my daughter into the attempt to take her own life. Thank you for that, really. My guilt is already sky-high; adding to it does me wonders, believe that.”

“I didn’t say that … Jesus, Dante.”

Catherine finally decided at that point she had enough of hiding in the hallway. For many reasons, but mostly for her father. He was in pain, and she could hear it clearly. He was suffering, and she was letting him.

Her grandfather was right.

Her mother was right.

Catherine knew, though, that no matter how many times her father heard it told to him by other people he wouldn’t really hear it. It would not register to him as fact or truth. He didn’t need other people telling him things he already knew, but didn’t want to believe. He needed Catherine to do it.

He also needed her to be okay.

To say she was okay.

That she would be.

From the moment she had gotten into that waiting town car, and was delivered to her parents’ mansion, Catherine hadn’t spoken a single word. Not once. Not to her mother on the drive over, and not to her father when he finally arrived home. She didn’t think she had much to say, and so, she avoided talking to them, or explaining why she had lied about going out of country with Cross when they demanded answers. She stuck to her room, locked the door behind her, and wouldn’t come out when asked.

Like a child.

She was not a child anymore. And she needed to stop using child-like tactics to avoid things she didn’t want to deal with.

Catherine moved to the doorway to make her presence known. The gazes of her family turned on her standing there, but none of them seemed all too surprised that she was.

“You react to the things I hide, or the lies I tell,” Catherine said softly. “That’s what he told me today.”

“What, who?” Dante asked.

“Cross. And he’s right because you do. The problem is, you know I’m lying a lot of the time, but instead of calling me out on it you choose to wait. Like you’re waiting for me to trip on my own lies, and then we go from there.”

Her mother’s gaze darted between Catherine in the doorway, and Dante near the large window. Antony didn’t move from his position beside her father’s large desk, but he did take one of the high-back leather chairs to sit in.

“Perhaps I do,” Dante finally replied, “but I don’t always mean for it to happen that way. I want you to come to me, and tell me the truth. While I’m waiting for that to happen, sometimes you … trip, as you say.”

“We’re not going to do that anymore, Daddy.”

“And what does that mean, Catherine?”

A lot of things.

It meant a lot of things.

Catherine ignored the nerves clawing their way around her belly, and attempting to climb into her throat. If she allowed her anxiety to take control, she wouldn’t be able to talk at all. She really needed to talk right now. It was more important than ever.

She stroked her inner wrist, letting her thumb rove back and forth overtop the black cross tattoo. The familiar action soothed her anxiety, and the scar hidden beneath the ink reminded her of just how far she actually had come since that day.

“It’s not Cross’s fault,” Catherine said. “Not for leaving me back when I was eighteen, not for my depression, and not for a bunch of other things you don’t even know about. But also, he did not cause me to break apart my razor that night, and slit my wrist open.”

Dante opened his mouth to speak, but Catherine was already beating him to the punch.

“And neither did you, Daddy,” she added, still quiet but firm. “The only person who caused me to do that, was me. I made the choice to do that because I felt I had no other choice. Because I was so unhappy, and had been that way for a long time. I would just become happier, and it seemed like because I was doing well my mind had to step in and remind me just why I couldn’t stay that way for long.”

“Catherine.”

“I sabotaged myself—over and over. In ways you don’t even know. But he did; he knew every time. I’ve lied to you and to Ma … to everyone. Yet, I never lied to Cross until the very end. And do you know what he did when he caught me lying to him?”