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“Doesn’t matter, because it’s over. I’ll keep your secret. There’s no harm done anyway.” She smiles, takes a sip of the Chianti, and then grimaces. “Oh, my. I used to love Chianti, but I’m spoiled now, with my brother-in-law’s and my son’s wines.”
I haven’t tasted the wine yet, so I bring the goblet to my lips. I let the liquid rest on my tongue for a few minutes. It’s a little too acidic for my tastes, but it’s a basic table wine. “This isn’t Chianti Classico,” I say. “You’ll find it better once our food arrives, especially if you order something with a tomato base.”
She smiles. “You just sounded a lot like Dale.”
“He does know his wine.”
“As do you.”
I can’t help a laugh. “Well, I am almost a doctor of wine!”
Her tone becomes serious again. “If you’re able to get through to my son, you have my blessing. You’re a wonderful young woman.”
My cheeks warm. Jade has no way of knowing how much her words mean to me, and I can’t begin to express the thought in mere words myself. So I say simply, “Thank you.”
“If I had it my way, you’d be together,” she says. “I want happiness for my son, and if he’d let himself feel something, I think he could find happiness with you.”
“Dale knows he’s loved,” I say. “I can tell that just by my limited interaction with him.”
I force myself not to wince at the use of the term “limited interaction.” Our interaction has hardly been limited physically. But emotionally? It’s been very limited. Nonexistent, even.
“I believe you’re right,” Jade says. “Dale knows how much we all love him. What he doesn’t know, though—and may never be able to grasp as long as he lives within those walls he’s erected around himself—is how much he’s cherished.”
Chapter Eight
Dale
I turn to my father. “It’s your money. If you want to help him, help him.”
“I’d like to have the support of his biological sons.”
“You have mine,” Donny says.
Begrudgingly, I finally say, “Fine. You have mine as well.”
Why so much anger? So he abandoned his kids. He’s not the first lowlife to do that. And he bears no blame for what happened to us.
Except that maybe he does. We were alone in our house the day we were taken. If he hadn’t abandoned us, maybe our mother could have been there with us instead of working all the time.
But many single mothers leave their children home alone, and they grow up just fine without ever experiencing what my brother and I did.
Still, the rage claws at the back of my neck.
Rage I never let myself feel before. I tamped down all emotions long ago to survive.
I had to.
For if I’d allowed myself to feel, I wouldn’t have been able to deal with what happened to me. The horror and torture I endured to spare my brother.
It was worth it. It still is. My brother is a fine young man, and though he may have his struggles, he’s put the past behind him in a way I’ll never be able to.
I’d do it all again to protect him. I have no regrets.
Which is a lie. That thing buried inside me is pawing at its cage, determined to escape.
I ignore it and focus on my conscious regret.
Allowing emotion to overtake me.
I’m in love.
I’m in love with Ashley White, and the feelings are so overwhelming I can’t make sense of them.
They’re beautiful but chaotic. Like all the perfect notes of a symphony but with discordant undertones that keep it from its pureness.
And those feelings have also given rise to the intense anger that consumes me now.
“I want to meet him,” Donny says once again.
“All right,” Dad says.
“And just so you know, he’ll never be my real dad.” Donny smiles.
“I know that.” Dad returns his smile. “Trust me, I’m not in any way feeling displaced.”
“Good,” I say. “You’ll never be displaced.”
“Are you boys hungry?” he asks. “We can hit up one of Denver’s fine restaurants.”
“Starved,” Donny says.
I regard my brother. He just had news that could have upended his life, but he’s jovial as ever, starving as usual.
I worry about him sometimes. Though I took the brunt of abuse while we were in captivity, he still took a lot. Yes, we had the finest therapy money could buy once we came to the ranch, but I fear something remains in my brother that he doesn’t let anyone else see.
And I fear it could come out with a vengeance.
If it does, I’ll no longer be able to protect him.
Dad and I return to the ranch at noon the next day. We eat a quick lunch with Mom at the house.
“I had the pleasure of dining with Ashley last night,” Mom offers.
“Oh?” Dad says.
I say nothing. Of course she ate with Ashley last night. Ashley lives here, Dad and I were in Denver, so they ate together. I fail to see the point in my mother’s assertion.
