“Goddamn it. I could have taken it, Coralie.” I start pacing up and down in the small kitchen, trying to walk off the frustration I’m feeling, but it doesn’t dissipate. It only grows stronger and stronger, building inside me until it takes me over. I’m so angry, fit to bursting with rage that I don’t know what to do with myself. I let it have me in the end. I hand myself over to the fizzing, bubbling chaos inside me, and the next thing I know I’m pile-driving my fist through the plasterboard of the kitchen wall. White dust flies everywhere, clogging the air, but I can’t seem to make myself give a shit. Coralie yelps, skittering back, wrapping her arms around herself. She looks so scared, and for a heartbeat I struggle to understand why. It clicks when a small voice in the back of my head whispers, ‘she was beaten, you idiot. Her father used violence against her for years. Of course she’s going to freak out if you start smashing your fist into things.’
“God, Coralie, I’m sorry. Fuck. Come here.” She’s rigid as a board, shaking like a leaf as I take hold of her and pull her to me. “I would never, never hurt you, no matter how angry I was, bluebird. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” My hand is pulsing with pain, my knuckles scuffed and bruised, but it doesn’t hurt anywhere near as badly as my heart. Coralie cries against me, her tears running down my bare chest, and the two of us stand there like that for a while. I know she’s in pain. She’s been in pain for all these years. I hurt for her, for everything she’s been through, but I’m also a little resentful, too. If only she’d had faith in us. If only she’d trusted me to protect her. Sure, I was a teenaged idiot at the time, but the love we had was real. I would have laid down my life for her if I’d thought for a second she was in danger. I’d have moved mountains and held back the seas if only it meant that she was safe.
Eventually Coralie stops crying. She looks up at me, eyes wide, wet with tears and I find myself lost in that damn dark spot in her iris. I told her once it looked like the raging storm on the surface of Jupiter, and it still does. She’s the most stunning, fascinating creature I’ve ever met. She really is like a bird—small, cautious, intricate and beautiful. And ready to take flight at the first sign of danger.
“I need you to leave now,” I tell her.
Her face falls, like she’s been waiting for this to happen ever since she spoke. Like she’s already accepted it. “Of course. It’s okay. I understand.”
“I just need a moment to process everything. I can’t do that when you’re looking at me like this.”
She nods. “I know you probably won’t be able to forgive me, Callan, but you should know that I’ve regretted my decision every day since I said goodbye to you. I know I should have told you, and I know I should have stayed.” She lets me go and slips quietly out of the kitchen. I’m left, staring through the gigantic fucking hole I just knocked through the wall into the family room next door, and for the first time in twelve years I feel empty. It’s a goddamn relief.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CALLAN
No Surprises
NOW
I spoke to Malcolm Taylor only once. During the whole time Coralie and I were sneaking around, taking photographs, holding onto each other fiercely in my bed, running as wild as we possibly could with the old bastard controlling her so doggedly, I only had occasion to face him and actually speak once. That seems strange to me now, but at the time I’d been relieved. Coralie had told me he was a hard ass, over protective, and I’d been willing to take her at her word and avoid him at all costs.
“You never suspected that he was hurting her, though. That night she left town was the first time she ever said anything about it. I remember, man. I remember being shocked when you told me, too. She always hid it well.” Shane gives me a third beer. I’d sat around at home and tried to think things through after Coralie left, but I’d started to go a little crazy. I stopped by Willoughby’s, looking for an old friend to talk to, and we’d ended up going to Chase’s—the only dive bar in town that seems to have escaped the community’s ‘regeneration.’ Shane and I used to come here and get fucked up after my mom died. I can’t even recall how many times I’ve puked in the men’s toilets. At the speed we’re going, I’ll probably end up revisiting that tradition tonight, if only for old time’s sake.
“Yeah. I had no fucking idea. Still. Part of me feels like I should have somehow.”
“Fuck, man. I still can’t believe you were going to be a dad. I can’t believe you were going to be a dad and you didn’t fucking tell me.”
“Sorry. Seems like we were all full of secrets back then.” I pull at my beer, thankful that it’s ice cold so I can’t taste how cheap and shitty it is. “Not like we were shouting it from the rooftops at the time, y’know?”