“No?” Tears burned in my eyes. “How could you leave a woman who had a little boy to take care of … How could you leave her to die? I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t have lived with myself all these years.”
His own eyes were bright with tears and I was surprised he maintained eye contact with me. When in the wrong, or lying, or being evasive, my father had a habit of looking at the ground, or anywhere but into my eyes. “I was in the kind of denial I didn’t know existed, Lexie. I coped with it because I switched it off. I didn’t allow myself to think of her as the vibrant woman she’d been, a confused, lonely, beautiful woman, who loved her kid more than anything in this world. But like me she was weak and she could be selfish. It was many years until she began to haunt me. I don’t know what happened, I just know that the excuses I made to myself, the rationalizations, they burned up into ash in my mouth. I couldn’t stop seeing her face. That’s when I had my breakdown over it, when I told you and your mother.”
“So you do feel remorse? Just not enough to apologize to the man who lost his mother and father within months of each other?”
My dad looked away, his fingers biting into his armchair. “Apologize? What the hell kind of apology could I give him now? Not one that would matter. I let a woman die because I was afraid and I was weak.” He looked back at me. “You have to come to terms with the man I am, Alexa. I’ve had to. I’m not a perfect man. Far from it. I never will be. I’m a weak man and for a long time I was spoiled.”
Tears dripped off my chin. “Tell me one thing. Did you love my mom? Me?”
His mouth quivered. “I did. I do. I just … I was never cut out to be a husband and a father. I’m not built that way.”
It was the sad, horrible truth, but there it was. There was no magic solution to finding a father who would take care of me whenever I needed him, whose unconditional love would soothe the rejection of others, whose love for me would always exceed his love for himself.
My father would never be that kind of dad.
Yet there was a small measure of satisfaction in witnessing the change in him since the last we’d spoken seven years ago. There was self-awareness in him that hadn’t existed before, and it gave me something at least to know that he was fully aware of his shortcomings. It wasn’t enough to ease the ache, and it still didn’t give me a father, or bring Caine’s family back to him.
I wondered then if that little hole inside me would ever go away, or if I’d just have to get used to it, and hopefully one day meet someone who would distract me from what was missing by giving me a love that eclipsed it.
“Can I get you tea? Coffee?” my father asked uncertainly.
Feeling more pain in my stomach, I nodded. “Tea, please. And a glass of water. I need to take some Percocet.”
Somehow he refrained from giving me a scolding look, realizing that any fatherly admonishment would not be welcome from him.
The door at the back of the room closed behind him as he disappeared into the kitchen. Suddenly exhausted, probably from an adrenaline dive, I rummaged through my bag for my phone. I frowned as I flicked the screen open and discovered I had ten missed calls from Caine.
Hadn’t he gotten my note?
I sighed, even more exhausted at the thought of dealing with his stubbornness. The man was quite happy to watch me walk out of his life for good, just as long as I’d healed up physically first!
Idiot.
I threw my phone back in the bag and slumped on the sofa.
A loud clatter followed by a heavy thud made me jerk upright. “Dad? Are you okay?”
Nothing.
I heard my pulse start to race.
“Dad?” I said more loudly and cautiously stood up so as not to tug on my injury. “Dad, are you okay?” I made my way toward the door and pushed it open only to freeze at the sight of my father sprawled across the kitchen floor.
I moved, to rush to him, only to be yanked back into the solid heat of a hard body. Strong arms tightened around my chest. The silver of metal flashed across my vision.
Terror and adrenaline shot through me and without even thinking I heaved back with all my strength, slamming our attacker into the cabinets behind me. A male grunt of pain sounded and his grip loosened enough for me to tear away from him.
My feet slipped on the tile floor as I yanked open the door to the living room. I propelled myself forward into the room, just catching myself on the side table. Framed photographs crashed into my mother’s favorite vase, the glass shattering behind me as I raced for the front door. I was drawn up sharply four feet from it.
Pain brought stinging tears to my eyes as he grabbed at my hair, hauling me backward. I tugged, crying out in agony at the pressure on my scalp as I attempted to break his grasp.
But it was too late and he clamped an arm around my waist.
Every ounce of fear I’d felt over the last few weeks coalesced inside me, turning from something cold into molten fury. I screamed in outrage, pulling my arm out and then slamming my elbow up high behind me. I connected and heard a satisfying howl of pain as I launched myself toward the door.
It wasn’t enough.
Hands clawed at my jacket, dragging me backward. I kicked and screamed, jabbing my elbows back, but he took the blows, and with a strength that overpowered me he wrestled me to the floor.
Shock moved through me as a hooded face came into view. Hard dark eyes glittered down at me. Eyes I didn’t recognize in a face that was shrouded by a black ski mask. All I could see were the eyes and thin pale lips.
The nothingness of his face, the emptiness in his gaze, was terrifying.
I fought harder.
I felt the warm trickle of blood, followed by the burning sting of a cut on my arm.
He’d sliced me as I grappled with him.
“Stupid bitch,” his deep voice hissed. He let go of one of my arms to drive his fist down into my face.
Fire spread out across my cheek, stinging my nose and eyes and dazing me momentarily. I blinked the overabundance of water out of my eyes, trying to focus away from the pain to the man.
I saw the flash of silver again, this time lowering slowly to my throat.