He tried to make his tone light, but it fell flat in the wake of his guilty anxiety.
Allie didn't answer for a few seconds. She took her time, steadying her voice to get past the lump in her throat. She'd never realized he felt responsible…yet, she should've known. "First of all, Brandon, you never 'ran out' on me. I knew – I knew you had to leave. Eventually, Tolliver would've killed you if you'd stayed there any longer. I never thought that you deserted me. I understood." Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them back, thinking of the horrific abuse that had been a way of life for both of them. "Of course I missed you, but – I knew, or at least hoped, you were safe somewhere. Anywhere but there. All that you suffered at that man's hands – I've felt guilty all these years. But there was no way to make it right. No way to tell you how – how sorry I was."
The catch in her voice was almost a sob. Brandon tensed at her admission. "Guilty? Why?"
She swallowed hard. "I took that piece of bread, Bran. The one you got whipped for."
He was silent a moment. "I knew that, sweetheart. I just never knew why. It was enough that you took it – you must've needed it. Maybe – you were hungry."
She bit her lip to keep her emotions in check. It was enough that you took it – you must've needed it. His blind trust in the reason for her disobedience nearly broke her heart, even now. "It wasn't for me. It was for Dickey Jackson. Remember him?"
Brandon nodded. "Lula's little brother. Whatever happened to him?"
"He died. A few days after you left. The bread was for him – to try and make him better. He wouldn't eat." Her voice was barely audible as she tried to hang on to her self-control. "He was dying, and they – they did nothing. We were trying to…to make him well."
"Poor little guy. He couldn't've been more than five, six years old."
Allie nodded. "I know. It was…well, we couldn't help him." She sniffed and looked away. "Of course. Being children, we didn't realize…" Her voice trailed away. "I never got to thank you."
"No need for that." He touched her hand. "I'm glad it was all for a good cause."
"You never did say where it was you went when you left." She changed the subject quickly. Dickey's death still haunted her, after all these years. The feeling of helplessness was something she'd never forget.
"I went back to my grandmother's house to heal. Just for a few days. Then, I was gone again." He said it as if it were nothing.
Allie gave him a piercing look. "I didn't know you had anyone, Bran. I thought your mother—"
"She died when I was eight," he said, almost curtly. "I lived on the streets of Kellyville for nearly two years until the good townsfolk rounded up the 'beggar boys' – there were about six of us – and shipped us off to the orphanage. We all had our 'crimes'. I was too Indian."
"Why didn't you live with your grandmother?" Allie asked softly, lying down again.
She nestled beside him and he smiled against her hair. "For that, I was too white." Before she could say anything, he steered the subject back to her. "What about you?"
She stiffened at the question, unable to stop the reaction. "I – eventually got 'chosen'. By an older couple."
Brandon hesitated. "Allie? What? Was it bad?"
She gave a rueful chuckle. "Well, it wasn't good."
"You can tell me, sweetheart. Anything."
She'd never told anyone about her time with the Nielsons. It didn't come easily. After a moment, she said, "Mrs. Nielson was ill. She didn't need a daughter – she needed a nurse. Which is how I spent the two years following my so-called adoption. I'd just turned sixteen when she died."
Brandon's throat tightened. Something had happened. He knew her well enough to read between the lines. Her hesitancy, her gaps in the story, the way she picked her words so carefully…
"And what of Mr. Nielson? What did he want?" Somehow, he already knew before she voiced it.
"A virgin. Someone he could – " She didn't finish, only snuggled close to him.
With a curse, he wrapped her in his embrace, holding her near, the rage filling his veins until it squeezed out the space for his blood. His heart thundered against his chest. He had abandoned her to monsters.
"What did he do to you?" His own voice was raspy with anger, and he made himself relax his hold on her.
"You said I wasn't a killer, earlier. Remember?"
He nodded, closing his eyes. "Yeah. I remember."
"But, I am, Brandon. I – I killed him. I didn't mean to, but I couldn't let him do what – what he tried to do. I was just a child. I didn't mean for it to happen." Determination replaced the sadness in her tone. "I'm not sorry. I'd do it all the same way, if I had to do it again."
Brandon let his hand rest on her hair, his fingertips nestled against the silky texture. "Tell, me, Allie. Tell me everything."