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Words about us that I’d longed to hear. Words about his past that I wished weren’t true.

Words that filled in the missing pieces of the puzzle that had confused and hurt me over the years.

“I booked my first session with a therapist in Oban. I’ve been seeing her once a month ever since. We unpacked a lot of dark shit from my childhood and … she’s helped me. So much. It’s not perfect. I’ve had nightmares like I was twelve all over again. It’s been brutal. And I’m not perfect and I think there’s stuff there that I’ll be working on maybe for the rest of my life.” Forde slid his hand from my face to around my neck and under my hair to clasp my nape. His grip was strong as he squeezed me, forcing me to hold his gaze and hear his words. “I’m working on being a better man, Cameron. A better man for me. But also, a better man for you. I just … I just hope I’m not too late.”

I fought through the fog of desire and emotional turmoil to take his hand and draw it between us. I covered it with both of mine as my mind raced, searching for the right answer, and knowing I didn’t have it.

“I … Thank you for trusting me with all of that.”

He flinched, trying to pull away, but I tugged his hand closer.

“No, Forde, I’m not … you dropped a lot of truth bombs on me and right now I’m shell-shocked.”

He relaxed, understanding softening his features. “Okay.”

“Give me time to process. Please.”

I saw the flash of disappointment he tried and failed to hide. Yet he nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry for dropping it on you after what you went through last night.”

“Don’t be sorry. Forde … whatever happens between us, I am so grateful you told me. Not just because you trusted me—” My voice broke as fresh tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes. “But because it helps heal some wounds. Truly.”

His expression twisted with pain. “Fuck. I’m sorry I hurt you so much.”

I couldn’t tell him that he hadn’t. It wasn’t true. However, I realized it was so much more complicated than I could have imagined. Therefore, I threw my arms around him, holding him tight as I cried quietly for all the years lost between us.

25. Forde

It had been different telling Dr. Gardener about my parents. The first time I relayed the facts to her, that’s how I did it, like I was stating facts. As we dug deeper, the retelling got rawer until I felt like she’d scraped the top layer of my skin right off. I was sick with it, afraid of what conjuring those memories would do to me and nearly gave up on the sessions when the nightmares started. I kept reliving that day when I’d come home to find my mum brutally attacked when I hadn’t dreamt of it in years. However, thankfully, I stuck it out. Dr. Gardener had helped me make sense of those memories and the feelings they evoked.

I’d woken up only a few hours after Cameron and I fell asleep. I’d not only lain there worried about her and whoever had attacked her, but I worked myself up over my promise to tell her everything. By the time I was in the kitchen hours later making sandwiches for us, I was nervous as fuck.

Yet … none of what I’d feared came to fruition.

It hadn’t felt the same telling Cameron.

Instead, as we held each other, despite all the uncertainties between us, I experienced a lightness of being I couldn’t quite explain. I’d told the truth to one of the people I cared about most and she hadn’t rejected me. Instead, she held me.

I didn’t think a person ever got over coming home to find their mum so badly beaten she was unrecognizable. Or their dad, high as a fucking kite, hallucinating, covered in her blood and ranting about the demon he’d just killed. I didn’t think a person ever got over having to flee the house to call the police at thirteen years old to have your dad restrained and arrested for murder of your mum. Or the years that came before it. A mum who showed me she loved me, but who often neglected me anyway because she was too high or drunk to take care of me. A dad who tried to fill my head with ignorant nonsense and smacked my mum around in front of me.

And I might not get over my only living relatives passing the sins of my father onto me.

I had a lot of fucked-up memories toying with my emotions and perception.

But I wanted to be done with that. Because I’d created a good life in spite of it all.

I wanted Cameron to believe that I was done with letting the past overshadow the good. I want her to believe in me.

Yet I realized that wouldn’t magically happen overnight. She needed time to learn to trust me again.

A banging on my front door jolted us apart and we quickly wiped at our wet faces at the sound of Quinn calling out to announce his arrival. Cameron squeezed my hand again. She didn’t say anything. Her sympathy and kindness shone from her gorgeous blue eyes. I gave her a small, grateful smile and stood to let her brother into the house.

Quinn’s expression was like thunder as he gave me a once-over before brushing past to get to Cameron. “What the hell happened?” He lowered to his haunches in front of her, his gaze dropping to her foot before returning to search her face. “Are you okay?”

Cameron relayed the facts to him, her voice shaking a little with the retelling.

“Right, well, you’re coming home with me and staying with us until you can get back into your house,” Quinn decided.

I opened my mouth to protest but quickly clamped it shut.