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“You can ask whatever you want to ask, Jake.”
He scans my face before reaching for my hand and lacing my fingers in his.
“Did he ever reach out to you again after that night?”
I shake my head, still mad at myself for feeling the sting. “No. I don’t remember a lot. Mama kept most of it hidden. I know he filed for divorce shortly after he left. It was quick. He didn’t fight her on anything. Amy was past the legal age, so it was only me. He relinquished his rights to me, and I never saw him again.
“He was a well-liked cop and climbing the career ladder. He knew a lot of influential people. I’m sure the advice was to leave and not look back.
“I kind of wished he had. Not for me, but so we knew where he was. At least my mother wouldn’t live her life with the fear of him returning.”
Embarrassment bubbles as emotions make my eyes water, but when I attempt to drop my gaze, he holds my chin. He’s wordless, but I know what he’s saying.
Head high.
“Everyone on the outside said he was such a sweetheart. Nobody could understand why he would just leave his family. It was the first time my mother allowed people to see the bruises. Not everyone was supportive. Some said she must have done something. Anything to justify why the town’s favorite cop up and left his family. Rumors started about my mother having an affair.”
He flinches, like he’s in pain for me, and takes my hand again.
I need it.
Choosing the moment to finally hand over some trust and utter the words I’ve never spoken has my heart hammering in my chest. “She was having an affair. Amy doesn’t know. I’ve never told her because, to me, it doesn’t matter. And I’ve never brought it up to my mother. I don’t want to give him an excuse for what he did. But that’s what their argument was about that night, and I know it’s why my mother carries so much guilt. It doesn’t matter what my mother did, he would have snapped anyway. He would have found an excuse.”
I take his hand and guide his fingers to the scar on my head.
His body tenses.
“I don’t remember much of the aftermath, but there was so much blood in my hair, they wanted to cut it.” I laugh, remembering the tantrum I threw. I was more concerned about my hair than the bleeding. “I created chaos.” He smiles, and it eases my erratic pulse. “They shaved a small patch so they could stitch it.”
He wipes a lone tear before it falls. I inhale a shaky breath and continue. “The most devastating part is: they tried to say my mother hurt me, and that’s why my father left. Despite her bruises, they put me into foster care, and I got a place in a Hope Foundation children’s home.”
“That’s how you know Nora,” he says.
I nod, smiling. “She was good to me. She’s probably the reason I am where I am.”
“If that night didn’t happen, where would you be?”
That’s a loaded question, and I’m not fond of what-ifs, but I enlighten him and answer. “I was offered a scholarship when I was seventeen.”
He squeezes my hand, his eyes never leaving mine, attentive to every word. My heart melts a little right here in this bed.
“For social care?”
“No. It was the same scholarship as Amy’s. Music.”
His eyes widen. “Why didn’t you take it?”
I shrug, content in my decision. “It meant going abroad. I wasn’t just a car journey away. Besides, I wanted to help people like my mother. People like me. I love music, but I play for myself. I play because I think it’s the only thing keeping me connected to my mother. She doesn’t play anymore, and I think a part of me plays for her. The university was close enough to home, which meant I could stay with her while studying. Amy came back during my final year. My mother wasn’t getting better with me there. If anything, she was crawling deeper into herself. So, I moved with my friends to Penrith.”
He runs a soothing finger over my collarbone. “You’re still young, Claire. You can still see the world.”
I bite my lips together, afraid of what will come out if I open them.
“I traveled after college,” he continues.
I slap his arm playfully. “It must have taken a long time back then—traveling by boat.”
I’m rewarded with another slap on the ass.
