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He was uneasy for once.
So I rested my head back on his chest, my hand next to where I lay my cheek.
“Who’s ‘we all’?”
“Me.” He answered that easily, but the rest took longer to say. “My mom. Her family. My housekeeper.” He was quiet for awhile. For the length of several pitches, which in baseball, was even longer than I remembered.
“My dad cheated on both his wives before my mom. And he only married her because she was young and beautiful and most importantly, she could give him children. In particular, a son to carry what he felt was his very storied legacy.”
His voice was quiet, but I detected the wryness and disdain. It made my nose crinkle as I remembered some of the nicer words that Adam had used before to describe Iain’s father.
Pompous.
Narcissistic.
“My mom wanted to enjoy her youth a little longer before she had kids, but my dad was older. He wanted one fast. So they had me. But he was offended by the idea that he had to raise me with her. All he wanted from being a father was the chance to mold another life to his exact liking.”
“I can relate to that,” I grimaced. And I knew he felt it because he rubbed my hip comfortingly.
“I know,” he said as I frowned.
“Why couldn’t you go with your mom when she left?” I asked.
“It was the original plan,” Iain said. “And I preferred her over him, but I was also twelve and I didn’t want to leave the States. I didn’t speak that much Portuguese. So I wound up staying in Scarsdale with my father. Telling myself I’d spend summers with my mom. Maybe learn the language well enough to move by high school if I wanted.”
My head, the whole upper half of my body rose with Iain’s chest as he took in a deep breath.
“But too much happened in the first few years of living with my father, and I just never recovered long enough to learn a language, let alone think about moving to a new country. I guess I missed my window.”
My heart ached as I curled up tighter next to him. It was starting to hurt so badly already, and I wasn’t even sure what the details were just yet. But all I could do was blink ahead, staring at the screen, trying to soothe myself with the sounds of the game, because I didn’t know this story, but I did know something bad was coming.
In silence, we watched Drew wind up for another pitch.
But once it was delivered for a strike, Iain spoke again.
“My mom left in January and I remember the first Thanksgiving without her, our housekeeper stayed to cook and prepare our dinner before she went to spend the holiday with her own family. But she wound up spending the whole day with me in the ER, just trying her hardest to take care of me while dealing with social services, because they wouldn’t stop grilling her. Or me. We just couldn’t get our stories straight.”
My eyes shifted and my pulse picked up as I lay on his chest, putting together the pieces, following what he was saying.
“She claimed I got into a fight with some older kids,” Iain said. “That I mouthed off and we didn’t catch them. They jumped me, broke my arm. Left me with a black eye. That was what she said, and I don’t remember what I said that didn’t match, but it felt like the whole hospital was onto us from the start anyway. Probably because one of the nurses recognized me from the last time I was there.”
I couldn’t stand it at this point. I had to look up at him and when I did, I found him staring ahead at the game. Looking at it but not really seeing it.
I’d never seen such calm agony before.
And while Iain knew I was looking at him, he didn’t meet my gaze. But what he did do was move his hand from the dip of my waist to my hair, ruffling it a little to let me know that he was still with me.
“My dad always had anger issues, but they got that much worse when he was left to raise me. When he was left to face the fact that his grand plan for his life had gone all wrong. If I asked him for help with anything at all, he asked why I couldn’t be more self-sufficient. That or he’d beat the shit out of me.”
I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to sit up. To be closer to him.
I climbed into his lap as I cupped his cheek in my palm, turning his eyes to look into mine.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, my heart breaking in half as I imagined little baby Iain asking for help. Needing someone, but having no one. Having to become unfazed by beatings so vicious they landed him in the hospital repeatedly.
I just wanted to cry but I refu
sed to let myself do it, forcing myself to be strong for him as I listened.
