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“Mm… messed up, confused, troubled.”
I pulled a face. “Shit. I sound horrible.”
He smiled sadly. “I didn’t mean it like that, but you asked.”
“How did you mean it?”
“I’m not a doctor, but you could do with some help to deal with issues.”
“And you couldn’t? After what happened to your dad, you admitted to losing the plot. Which I can understand.” I knitted my fingers. “I would have too. But it helps to talk about it.”
“I know that. You’re the only person I’ve ever told those things to.” His lids lifted slowly for his eyes to meet mine. Sometimes, when he was inside of me, he wore that same vulnerable expression.
“That’s a compliment of sorts, I guess,” I answered.
We sat in awkward silence, watching the waves tumbling along, all frothy and turbulent, just like my emotions.
“I’ve missed you so much. You know more about me than anyone has ever known. It’s like I gave you the only key I owned to my heart and soul, which means I can’t let anyone else in. Not that I want someone else.” My voice cracked, and I had to choke back tears.
“You make us sound like torture.”
“Us?” I smiled weakly. “There’s still an us?”
“Why have you forgiven your mother?”
That sudden shift in subject jarred. “We had a long talk, and she explained everything to me.”
“And what about her selling you to that paedophile? How can you forgive her?”
“Peyton promised her he’d marry me,” I said.
“At fifteen?”
I almost laughed at how preposterous he made that seem.
“Well, they do in the Middle East. And Elvis Presley met Priscilla when she was thirteen or something.”
“What?”
He looked so stunned, I had to control the urge to laugh. More out of nerves than humour.
“That’s fucking nuts,” he said. “And you’re talking about last century, when rape was seen as a Saturday-night sport.”
“I was nearly sixteen, and she thought I was better off with a billionaire who’d promised to marry me than other men.”
“Other men?” He shook his head. “I get that she’s your mum, but her actions were fucking inexcusable.”
“It’s complicated. We had nothing. She gave me life, for God’s sake.”
“There are tons of single mothers who don’t resort to selling their children to creeps. Billionaires or not.”
“I know.” I puffed out in frustration.
I wanted to talk about us, not my crappy past. All the discussion about morality was muddying my perspective on things again.
“She apologised. Something she’s never done before. Resentment weighed down on me. I felt fucking trapped. Forgiveness is liberating, you know.” I released a breath. “Can you ever forgive me?”
I turned to him, but he kept staring ahead, like he couldn’t face me.
