Page 140 of Revere: A Legacy Novel

She stroked her tattoo once more.

The nerves climbed higher.

She chose to speak through it.

“When I was fourteen and snuck out to the beach that summer when John was supposed to be looking after me, I did that. Cross had no idea you didn’t approve; I never told him different. I broke up with him after that because I thought it would make you happy. It only made me worse.”

Catherine chewed on her inner cheek before adding, “That time with the Lexus, at school …”

Dante cleared his throat, looking more uncomfortable by the second. “Sex in the car, yeah. I remember.”

“I let you think that was his fault. You assumed it had been his idea, that it was something I followed along with, and I never bothered to tell you different. I didn’t want you to look at me differently. You already hated him for it—I didn’t want you to hate me, too.”

“Catherine—”

“I was raped at a party by an older boy when I was sixteen, and Cross beat the shit out of him at school when I went to him for help.”

“What?”

Pain saturated her father’s tone.

Catherine kept talking.

“The school thought it was a fight between the boys over me; I begged Cross not to tell the truth, so he let them think what they wanted. They told you what they thought happened, I never let you think anything different because I didn’t want you to know the truth. I was scared someone might look at me and think it was my fault; I allowed myself to be raped. All you saw was Cross making a scene, and I happened to be at the center of it.”

Catherine looked down at her hands. “Out of everything, I regret that one the most. Had I spoke up then, had I asked for help, the rest might not have happened. That one thing took a happy me, and turned her into someone I didn’t know—someone I didn’t like. I couldn’t even look at my reflection because I felt wrong inside. The only thing that ever felt good and right after that was Cross.”

Catrina seemed as though she was going to get up off the couch, but Catherine held her hand up to stop her mother.

“Please, don’t,” she said gently.

“Reginella,” Catrina murmured.

“I’m fine. Really. The best thing you and Daddy ever did for me was force Cara’s presence in this house, and had me talk to her. She helped me more than I can explain; she made me look in the mirror, and take responsibility for myself. I have tried to do that ever since, but there’s still things I’ve not done that for. I’m trying to do that now, so that I can get it right this time. Please let me do that. Let me stand on my own; let me hold myself together. I can handle it, Ma. I have handled it.”

“Okay.”

Dante still hadn’t moved.

Neither had her grandfather.

“Who was the boy?” Dante asked, eerily calm.

“He doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, he does, sweetheart.”

“He doesn’t because he’s dead.” Catherine flicked a hand as if to wave her statement off when she added, “And I suppose you can thank Cross for that, too.”

“That year of high school … when you partied and stayed away for days, fucked off all the time … on and off again with Cross,” her father said.

Catherine nodded once. “I wanted to feel better, but I couldn’t seem to fix how I felt inside. Cross helped, but only enough to keep me relatively safe. He gave me someone to go to. A safe place to fall. I would fuck up, call him, and he would fix it. Or hide things for me. He always made sure I got home safe and sober, though, but all you saw was him and me—fighting, or being out, unhappy. You didn’t know, so it isn’t your fault, really.”

“What else?”

This wasn’t easy.

She supposed it wasn’t meant to be.