Whistling through my teeth, I say, "It's just unfathomable to me, really. That parents would have that stuff in the house."
"Hell, her mom offered to do it with her," she seethes into the phone.
"What the hell? She needs to be removed from that home," I growl into the phone.
Sutton sighs wearily. "She turned eighteen a few months ago, and as an adult, she's beyond the help of social services. All I can do is counsel her, urge her to stay strong. I'm trying to get her to join one of our support groups, but she's resisting."
"Do you see this a lot?" I ask, not really wanting to know the answer I'm pretty sure is coming.
"Unfortunately, I do. But I see a lot of happy endings too. I've been able to help some kids through."
I think of my own craptastic childhood with an alcoholic father who abused his son under the guise of teaching him to play hockey. Unfortunately, it wasn't like anyone could see what was going on. My father's abuse was varied but well played. He bruised me only where it wouldn't show, and no one ever saw his brutal drills that went into the early morning hours and had me collapsing from exhaustion and dehydration. No, there was nothing classic that would raise a single teacher's or coach's eyebrow when it came to me. In fact, John Crossman put on such an affable attitude around others, no one would believe in a million years he would run his young son into the ground in order to develop him into a machine.
What would I have done if I'd had a resource like Sutton when I was younger? Would I have listened to her advice? Her teachings? Would it have helped to have someone to vent to? To know there was someone who had my back?
I have to think the answer is yes. I think I would have responded well to someone like Sutton, because let's face it, I'm responding pretty fucking fantastically to her right now.
"I have faith in you," I tell her. "If anyone can reach her, it's you."
"Yeah? Why so much faith in me?" she teases.
"Because you reached this crusty bastard," I tell her with a laugh. "You accomplished practically the impossible with me."
"You're such a sweet talker."
"Yeah … so not a sweet talker, not normally. I guess you inspire the best in me."
She laughs softly into the phone and I want to immerse myself in the sound. I wonder if she laughs like that just with me-that smoky, rich sort of laugh that comes from a true delight deep down inside of a sexy-as-hell woman. It makes me remember something that I had pushed to the back of my mind, but now surfaces again.
"I'm curious," I tell her, waiting until her laughter dies all the way down. "What ever happened to that date you went on when we first met?"
I'm not sure what I expect her to say. Do I honestly think she's going to say, I canceled it because I couldn't think of anyone but you?
Nice thought, but no, that's not going to happen.
She's silent a moment before she answers, and I think I might have struck a bad nerve with her. I'm on the verge of telling her to forget I even asked, when she says, "The date was good … it was fine. I even had a second dinner with him, but it's not going anywhere."
My interest is perked. "Why's that?"
"Because you came along," she answers me honestly, and I can feel my head swell to epic proportions and fuck, my chest may even be puffing out a little.
She continues on. "His name is Brandon and he was actually my boyfriend in college. We dated for almost four years and he broke up with me right before graduation."
Her words are matter-of-fact, no bitterness, no hurt. Yet rage starts to build inside of me on her behalf. "Why the fuck did he do that?"
"Well, according to him, because he wanted to spread his love around a bit before he settled down with me."
"Are you serious?" I ask. "He actually told you that?"
"Yeah … I mean, I kind of respected his honesty about it," she says. "You know … he was painfully honest."
Painfully honest.
A term that has been thrown about between Sutton and me numerous times. It's something she respects, this I know.
"Still had to hurt," I take a guess.
"Very much," she says. "But I moved on. He contacted me out of the blue a few weeks ago and wanted to see me again. He's ready to move forward with our relationship."
"So he expected you to just wait around for him?"
"I don't know what he expected," she says with a sigh. "But I didn't wait around. I went on with my life. Dated some but nothing serious."
"So what happened on those two dates?" I ask, my curiosity about to kill me, and depending on what Sutton says, I may want to kill this asswipe.