Unconditional

Carina nods slowly. She looks out across the bay. “It’s so pretty here,” she says quietly.

I follow her gaze. The ocean is calm, dark, and still. The waves lap gently against the jetty beams below us, and overhead, a crescent moon shines bright in the sky.

“It is,” I agree. I can’t help looking back at her, my eyes going to the smudge of a bruise on her cheek, almost hidden out of sight.

Carina turns and catches me looking. She blushes, like she’s got anything to be ashamed of.

“Was it him?” I ask grimly. “Your father. Did he…?”

She shakes her head. “No, this was courtesy of Alexander. My oh-so-charming ex-fiancé.” She says it flip, almost sarcastic, but it can’t hide the ugly truth of her words.

I feel the rage return. “I figured,” I mutter. “After I saw it, I went out back and I got in my truck,” I admit. “I wanted to drive right up to his doorstep and smash his f**king face in.”

I stop, realizing how crazy that sounds. “Sorry,” I add.

To my surprise, Carina gives me a shy smile. “Thank you.”

I shrug, awkward. “It’s nothing. I got as far as the corner before I realized I didn’t know where you lived, or anything about him.”

I realize in a flash just how lucky it was—if I hadn’t changed my mind, I wouldn’t have heard the yells and gone to find her in the back. And then…

I block out the thought. She’s safe now with me, and that’s all that matters.

“I can’t believe I ever thought he’d take my side.” Carina’s voice comes, quiet and sad, and I realize she’s talking about her father.

“Of course you did.” I frown. “Why wouldn’t you?”

Carina lets out a sad laugh. “You don’t understand.”

The moonlight casts shadows across her face, her hair spun silver in the night. She looks so small and delicate, like she’s buckled under the weight of her life, ready to shatter into a thousand pieces. I wonder how long she’s been bearing her secrets alone, with nobody to talk to, no one to turn to when she needed it most.

Suddenly, I want nothing in the world more than to be the one she turns to. The man she can believe in, trust, when everyone else has let her down.

I want to hold her and wipe those tears away, make sure that nobody ever mars that beautiful face with misery again.

My heart swells, something inside me reaching for her, needing her like never before. Because I know what it’s like to lose everything, to have your trust broken so hard you think you might never be able to believe in anyone again. I’ve hidden secrets, shed bitter lonely tears late into the night.

I know her pain, and God, I’d do anything to spare her this wretched misery.

I reach out and take her hand, squeezing it softly. “Try me.”

8

I take a shaking breath and wonder where on earth I can begin. How I can explain to him everything that’s happened—how wrong I’ve been all this time? What will he think of me when he knows the truth? When he knows how much I’ve been complicit, how I’ve betrayed the ones I love?

He’ll know this is all my fault.

I watch the dark ocean, holding his hand tight, trying to delay the inevitable. I can feel the warmth of his body, pressed against my side, and I try to breathe it in, absorb his strength like I did back at the wedding, wrapped up in his coat against the winter chill.

I realize, the two moments I’ve felt safest in my life, they’ve both been with him.

I hold that thought tightly, a talisman against my heart as I find my voice and begin.

“It’s always been like this.” My throat scratches, dry from all the tears I’ve shed, but I swallow them back, and force myself to keep talking. There’s no going back now, I couldn’t pretend even if I tried.

“My father, the way he is. Most of the time, it’s just criticism. Judgmental, picking everything you do apart, like he’s so much better than everyone. But when he’s been drinking…” I pause. “He gets louder, angry. He’ll lose it on a dime, blow up over the smallest things. It was never physical,” I add quickly, “it was different, just this…constant disappointment, like nothing we did was ever good enough.”

I glance down, still holding onto him. Garrett’s hand dwarves mine, big and tanned, dusted with golden hairs. I intertwine my fingers with his, like I can lace him to me, so that he can’t let go, even when he hears the truth.

“I hated it, always being on edge, never knowing what I would do to set him off.” I swallow again, remembering tiptoeing around that house, always waiting for the next scathing comment. “I was about eight years old when I finally figured it out. There were rules, you see, like a game. If I wore a pretty dress, and I made him a drink when he got home from work. If I asked him about his day, and acted interested in all his stories. If I laughed along with him, instead of talking back.” I flush, feeling the sting of shame. “It was a game, and I figured out how to win. How to keep him happy.” I stop, hating myself even more to hear the words out loud.

Garrett squeezes my hand. “It’s OK,” he tells me, his voice grim. “You did what you had to do. You found a way to survive him.”

“You don’t understand.” I swallow back the ache. He still doesn’t see, and I wish I could keep it from him, but I have to tell him now, I have to come clean. “Mom, and Juliet, they never played along. And I resented them for it,” I tell him. “They would say the wrong thing, and set him off, and I would get so mad. Not at him, but them, for breaking the rules, for not just playing along like I did.”