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Becca had to look away for a minute and wait for sudden tears to ease down. She swallowed, willing them away. “That’s awful,” she said, thinking of the hospital bed, the bedpan, the smell of disinfectant. The constant ache of grief. “We have something in common then.”
He frowned out the windshield. “How’s that?”
“I lost my dad when I was twelve, too. Pancreatic cancer.”
He let out a long sigh. “Sucked, didn’t it?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “Big-time.”
“How about your mom?” he asked abruptly.
She was unprepared for him to take the initiative, and had to gather her composure. “Suicide, five years later,” she said. “She never got over Dad. She swallowed all of his leftover pain pills one night. I found her.”
He drew in a breath. “Jesus. That’s bad.”
“Yes, it was. And? That still leaves your father unaccounted for.”
“He died twelve years ago,” Nick said. “Drank himself to death. Counts as suicide. Just slower. He was one tough bastard. He ran a business in Waylon. Sold farm equipment.”
She waited to see if there was more and was on the verge of changing the subject when Nick blew out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “He was a violent, evil-tempered son of a bitch,” he said, his voice harsh. “I was glad when he died.”
Becca was daunted. It was hard to think of a response to that declaration that was not inane or incredibly invasive.
She opted for invasive. “Did he hit you?” she asked timidly.
He shook with bitter laughter. “Oh, hell, only when he was drunk. He tossed me through a plate glass window when I was seventeen.” He touched the scar that slashed crosswise through his thick eyebrow, rubbing it as if it ached. “That was when I decided it was time to beat hell out of there. Before he killed me.”
She winced. “Oh, God. That’s awful.”
He shrugged. “I did OK, once I left his house. Joined the Army. Got sent to Afghanistan. I made MP after a few years. Suited my personality. After I got out of the service, I went to school, got a degree in criminology and Eastern European studies. And then I joined the Feds. That’s it. My life.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “About your dad.”
He acknowledged her words with a curt nod. “As far as crappy childhoods go, I think we’re pretty much neck and neck.”
“I guess so.” Becca gazed at his profile, moved by what he had revealed. It explained so much about who he was. How he was.
The silence between them now felt very different. It was no longer a barrier. They were together in it. Connected by it.
“It’s better in a way,” he went on awkwardly. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m sorry you didn’t have a perfect TV childhood, but at least that means I don’t have to be so embarrassed about my own.”
That held true for her as well. She patted his arm with her fingertips, following the smooth nap of silken dark body hair on his forearm all the way down to his hand.
“Actually, my childhood was pretty good, until Dad got sick,” she said. “And at least I have Carrie and Josh to show for it all.”
“Meaning what?” he demanded. “That I win the crappy childhood contest after all?”
“Yes, but just by a nose,” she told him. “I’m the runner-up.”
“Great. Lucky me,” he said sourly.
It seemed inappropriate to laugh even a little in the face of past tragedy, but she couldn’t stop herself.
“So? Does this meet your high conversational standards?” he asked.
“Actually, it’s more than I bargained for,” she admitted.
He let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Tell me about it. That’s how most women feel after spending time with me.”
