“Six or seven.”
“And later, when you were older and didn’t want me to meet her. What was she doing then?”
“Whatever the hell she wanted. She was a vile, vindictive bitch who manipulated her own son to get what she wanted.”
It happened so long ago and still I ached for the boy he had been. “Manipulated you how?”
“Why are we rehashing this?”
“Damian, how?”
“Filed false reports with the police about abuse so I’d pay her bills, be her beck and call boy, but the bitch enjoyed hurting me. Got off on it because hurting me in her twisted mind was hurting my dad.”
“Oh my God.” My whole body started to shake at the truth I only then understood. “That was part of the reason you left. If she knew about me, she would have hurt me to hurt you.”
“Yeah.”
“Stop the car.” I needed air. “Stop the fucking car.” I didn’t even wait for it to come to a complete stop and I was out and moving with no destination in mind. My chest ached as my heart pounded against my ribs, and the rage, the most acute and potent rage burned through me thinking of a sweet, six-year-old Damian being told he was the devil by his own hateful mother. The sadness behind his eyes, that pain that never faded when he was younger. I understood it now and it lingered still. No amount of fighting, or punching a bag or military training and discipline erased the damage she had inflicted because he had marked himself with the only legacy his mother had left him…the belief that he was bad, evil…the devil.
Damian caught up to me and pulled me into his arms. “What are you doing?”
I jerked free and put distance between us because in his arms was a safe and happy place and right now I wanted to hurt something. “I know she’s dead, but I want to bring her back to life just so I can kill her in the slowest and most painful way possible. She was a hateful person and right now she’s burning in hell for what she did to you. Mom loves you, so did Dad. If they thought you were evil, they would never have opened their home to you. You are not evil and you are not bad. You have spent your life helping people, saving people. Your tattoo is beautiful and in many ways you’re like him—dark, dangerous and beautiful, but you are not bad. Tell me you understand that.”
“Thea.” I couldn’t take tenderness right now, not the softness of his voice or the love I saw burning in his eyes.
“Tell me you understand.”
“I do.”
He reached for me, but I pulled away. Pain flashed in his eyes. “Being in your arms has always been my very favorite place to be, but if you held me now a part of me would always think of her and I am not giving her anymore of you.”
Devotion stared back, but he gave me my minute to calm down.
We rode in silence the rest of the way to the Sharptons, but as we drove down their drive heartache eased at the beauty before us. The Sharptons lived in a rancher on sprawling acres with a barn and horses. Garden beds filled with mums in the colors of rust, burgundy, yellow and white wrapped around the house.
“This is beautiful.”
Damian parked next to an older model Ford F-150 and climbed from the car. He walked around for me, but I was already out and looking around. “Can you imagine calling this place home?”
He was as captivated by the scene as me. He touched the small of my back and led me to the front door. We hadn’t even rung the bell when a girl, who looked just like her mom, opened it.
“They’re here Mommy!”
Missy appeared with a red apron around her waist that she was wiping her hands on. “Let them in, Wynona.”
The little girl turned and started skipping down the hall screaming. “Hank, they’re here.”
“We don’t often get visitors since we’re so far from the heart of town. Wynona is a very social little girl. Please come in.”
“Your house is beautiful,” I said and realized it was on the inside too. Hardwood floors, beautifully designed rooms, comfy furniture, family pictures on the wall, houseplants scattered here and there.
“Bobby’s getting the grill started. We’re doing steaks. I hope that’s okay.”
“Sounds delicious.”
“Can I get you something to drink? Wine, beer?”
It was Damian that answered. “Thea likes red wine, I’ll take a beer.”
“Sure. Let’s go to the kitchen.”
We followed her as I took in everything because it was so perfect it felt as if it were staged, but in a good way. She got my wine and Damian’s beer.
“I’ll see about helping Bobby with the grill,” Damian offered and disappeared outside.