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The pain and embarrassment was a fast-moving storm, taking me by surprise.
Talk to your Dad. Tyler had said that weeks ago and either I’d forgotten. Or…well, maybe I just didn’t want to face what that meant.
“Did you have anything to do with that, Dad?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Did you have anything to do with Tyler leaving that night. Without a word to me.”
“It was for the best.”
I gasped and got to my feet.
“Tell me.”
“Juliette, sit down. It’s ancient history.”
“Tell me!”
“You were thinking about moving in with him. Giving up law school. You were changing your life around for a god-damn O’Neill!”
I pressed my fingers to my nose. And truthfully, I didn’t actually need him to tell me what he did. I could see it. It was in my father’s police chief handbook.
“Let me guess. You threatened him… no. No, Tyler wouldn’t leave just because you threatened him. You put Owens on him like a dog.”
Dad was silent. Damningly silent. “So, that’s it. You beat him. Not bad, but enough that he knew you were serious. Told him it would get worse if he stayed. Maybe you threatened his sister. Or grandmother. Or you gave him some money. Sweetened the deal?” I shook my head, my stomach sick. “For sure you let him know he didn’t deserve me, trash like him. You played into every doubt he had about us. You were always wrong about Tyler.”
“Listen to yourself. You think he’s changed? You think a man like that can change?”
The words stuck pinpricks into my secret heart, where I carried that damning belief, that terrible wish that he was changing. I had to battle the impulse to tell my father about the land outside of town, the houses he was going to build, the way he’d helped me with Miguel and Louisa. The way he made me laugh again, when I thought the whole world was dark.
But my father would only use it as further proof that I had no perspective when it came to Tyler O’Neill.
“He should be given the chance to change,” I said, my anger a bright star on a dark night, leading me in the right direction. “And you stepped way over the line. You stepped over the line with Tyler and when you called OCS about Miguel. You need to leave.”
“Leave?” He smiled. “Come on, honey. We’re just—”
“Leave!” I cried.
The silence was stunning, painful, a gauntlet I had to get through, but finally he stood, putting his napkin on the table.
“I have only wanted the best for you,” he said. “And I know you thought it was a secret, but I knew something was happening with you that summer. You were changing and not for the better.”
“Go,” I said, and then watched my father’s back as he left my home.
My father was wrong about so many things, but there was one thing I could not deny.
Falling in love with Tyler was like having my life realigned. And, stupidly, I could feel it happening all over again.
I put away the dishes. Scrubbed my floors. I held my breath and told myself not to do what I was thinking of doing. What I wanted to do so badly it was like a fire in my belly. I did some work in my fostering handbook. I painted my nails. But when I contemplated making cookies when I was the shittiest baker to ever bake, I knew it was stupid trying.
All the doubts. All the good solid reasons I had for not doing this just got put away. I grabbed my purse and my keys and I went to him. I just…went to him.
I didn’t realize it was raining until I got to the Manor. A light mist in the air that gathered on my skin. My lips. My shirt was damp and clinging to me. I didn’t know what I was going to say. Or do. I just knew that I had to see him. That I had to… apologize? Tell him how sorry I was for what my father did. Ask him to tell me what happened that night. Any of that.
All of it.
I rang the doorbell that I could hear gong through the house and when the door didn’t open it occurred to me how late it was. Past midnight. Oh lord, what a mistake. I stepped back down through the half built porch and turned for the car. Halfway across the yard, I heard him.
Running after me.
“Jules!” He cried and I turned to face him. “Is everything okay?” He reached for me, half naked in the moonlight and rain, wearing just a pair of thin athletic shorts. His blond hair a mess.
“Fine. Fine. I shouldn’t have come.”
“Why did you?” he asked. Rain gathered on his shoulders ran in drops down his chest. Across his face.
“He told me,” I said. “He told me what he did to you. Owens and the beating.”
