Promise Me This(17)

“I don’t like that at all.” I said, grimacing. I enjoyed the anonymity of a large city, even though I’d never quite considered that before. I wasn’t even sure the fishbowl of campus life could compare to what he was describing. “Though my dad used to talk about the smaller town he and his parents lived in for a while.”

I was amazed by how comfortable it felt to bring my dad up around Nate. I had stayed away from the topic forever because it was just too painful. But now it just seemed natural to blurt out little stories about him. As if Nate was someone who would keep them safe.

“Looks like you might have small town living in your DNA, after all.”

“Yeah right.” I laughed. “So why did your family move?”

There was a long dramatic pause before he said, “Because of my father . . . he, uh, got another job.”





Chapter Eight


Nate



I couldn’t tell Jessie that the reason my family moved away from Bridgeway was because the neighbors started talking after an exceptionally brutal altercation between my parents.

My father had beaten my mother pretty badly and he had no choice but to drive her to the emergency room. Luckily for him, they believed my mother’s lie about falling down the stairs. But I’ll never forget that night—it’s been forever burnished into my brain.

My mother’s keening cry, the dull thud of a fist, the crisp slap of a palm. My brother bracing my shoulders tightly, whispering that we couldn’t interrupt or he might beat us, too.

“But what if he kills her?” I had asked my brother, as my entire body shook head to toe.

“He won’t,” my brother said, shushing me. “She shouldn’t have talked back to him.”

And that night was the turning point for me in two different ways. My father had become someone I absolutely hated with all of my being. Before, he was an enigma, a larger-than-life person. He wanted my respect, demanded it even. But you couldn’t respect a person whom you feared might kill you with their bare hands.

In addition, I had begun to see the signs of who my brother would ultimately become. He began siding with my father and viewing my mother as something else—an object, almost. A thing. Someone unworthy.

But wasn’t that exactly how I viewed women now? I rushed my fingers through my hair in frustration. My internal struggle was definitely that, a struggle.

I wouldn’t allow a girl close enough to me to become real; that was my problem. The difference was, I would never scare them or abuse them. I took care of their physical needs and mine, too—up to a point—and then I walked away.

Luke was older, and as a teenager began disrespecting my mother and her rules. When my dad went out of town, my brother would stay out until all hours of the night. My mother would threaten to tell my father but never followed through because she didn’t want him to terrorize Luke the same way he terrorized her.

But as it turned out that would never happen because Luke had become my father’s favorite.

“Hey,” Jessie said, her warm fingers on my arm. “Where did you drift off to on me?”

“Sorry,” I said. “You just got me thinking about my childhood.”

“Was . . .” she sounded hesitant. It was true we never had deep conversations before. But we also had never been alone in a car for hours before. “Was it a happy childhood?”

I felt a shot of pain stab through my chest. How did I respond?

“No,” I said, honestly. “At least not always.”

She scrutinized me under thick eyelashes, looking somewhat concerned. Guess I’ve been ruining her preconceived notions of me one frown at a time.

She pulled into a service station off the exit for some gas. “Sorry, forgot to fill up last night.”

“Let me do it for you,” I offered.

“Nope. I’m a big girl, thanks,” she said, her eyes still softened by my earlier comment. “But you can go in and get us more coffee from their fancy cappuccino machine. I’ll even take a French vanilla.”

Grinning, I took off into the store, pushed the button on the machine, and waited for our drinks. Jessie was sitting on the passenger side with the door open when I emerged. It wasn’t until I got closer that I noticed she had her camera raised and was aiming at me.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Relax, just taking a test shot,” she said, her fingers curling around the edges of the sleek device. “You’re not one of those pretty boys who has to have his hair perfectly coiffed before he gets his photo taken, are you?”

“Very funny,” I said, before setting the coffees on the hood of the car and running my fingers through my hair so that it stuck up all over the place. Then I mugged for the camera, flexing my muscles and making crazy faces. “Make sure to get my good side.”