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He’s exactly how I remember. I wish we were somewhere we could sit because he towers over me like he always did. He’s bald now. His dark hair is gone, but it makes his ocean blues more prominent, and I hate it.
When my father takes another step, Jake digs a hand into his chest, pushing him back, a silent warning spoken between them.
He swallows when he looks at me again. I wish he’d stop looking at me. “I’m not the same, Claire. I’ve been sober for years.”
I erupt into nothing but uncontrollable laughter. “I’m so happy to hear it. What inspired the change? Almost killing your wife and daughter?”
He shuffles on his feet, looking weaker than he should in the strength his uniform inspires. My eye catches on the gold band on his finger.
Oh, no.
He’s hurting other people.
There’s not a lot of shock value here, and I have the devastating feeling I’m the last to know.
I turn to Jake, not bothering to wipe the tears. “You knew?” His grip on me tightens. “How long?”
“Yesterday.”
He sees it in my eyes when I think,Yeah, but you fucked me on a piano since then and everything changed.
At least he didn’t hide it all along…or maybe he did. I’m finding it difficult to trust my judgment right now.
“How?” I ask, ignoring the obvious shadow at our side.
Defeated, he pulls a folded paper folder from his inside pocket.
The wordsClaire Marinomakes the blood drain from my body.
“What is that?” I gasp.
“Your file,” he answers honestly.
“My file? You looked into me?”
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Only to investigate your father after you told me about him. I wanted to make sure you were safe.”
Not just from Rob.
I’m so confused.
My heart doesn’t know where to side.
In my hands, the paper feels like a tonne. I open it, but quickly let it fall.
Those pictures are me, but it doesn’t feel like it.
Those black and purple bruises on my neck don’t feel like mine, yet they’re still there.
A photo floats between us before settling on the concrete and pulling all the air with it. A tear falls when I bend over and pluck it between my fingers. I don’t look at it, but I make sure my father does. He glances around, desperate for an out, but he’s not getting it.
“Look at it,” I shout. “You didn’t stick around long enough to see. Those bruises are your fingers. Sometimes I still feel them there. Mama was in the intensive care unit for days. They put me into care. And you were nowhere to be found.” Ignoring Jake’s objection, I walk to him and tip my head back to meet his gaze. “I was your little girl once, remember? You carried me on those shoulders of yours.” A heavy tear falls down his face. “But do you remember how I cried for you to stop? You were arrested too, and you were let go like him. Please don’t let another little girl fall prey to hands like yours.”
He dips his chin but doesn’t utter a word.
Something changes in me.
I feel the switch.
