"I do," I insisted. "I do want to." And truthfully, I didn't know if I could stop now that I'd started. Telling this story was like a runaway train. I had to see it to its completion—it felt like I didn't have a choice in the matter. Still, it felt good to soak in the warmth of Ryan's body as I told it.
Without leaning back up, I said, "He raped her. He raped her in front of me and I couldn't do a thing. I didn't even fully understand what was happening, just that he was hurting her so brutally." I felt Ryan's body tense, but he kept stroking my hair. He never stopped. "He pushed her aside and he . . . he grabbed for me. His eyes were glazed like he was on something. He started ripping at my clothes, just as he'd done to her." Ryan's arms hugged me tightly again and I could feel him trembling now, too. Ryan, my sweet love. "My mother hadn't fought, not until then. It was like the minute he reached for me, she came back to life. She started screaming and clawing at him. I was screaming, too. It was . . ." My words faded as I wiped at the tears that had begun to fall. "It was as if we'd walked right into hell from that warm, wonderful theater." I paused again, breathing deeply, attempting to gather myself. "The man brought his knife to my mother's face, and he started slashing her, again and again and—"
"Lily, Lily," Ryan crooned. "Sweet Lily, I'm so sorry." I buried my face in his chest, my heart rate increasing, my breath coming out in short bursts as the scene played out behind my eyes.
"There was so much blood," I gasped against his T-shirt. "I'd never seen so much blood. That was the first time I just . . . went away. I just—" I sucked in a deep pull of air.
"I know," Ryan said. "I know." Yes, he did know. Yes, he did. I burrowed deeper into his chest, focusing on the steady rhythm of his heart, the comforting, masculine scent of him. He rubbed my back, murmuring calming words in my ear, soothing me as if he knew just what to do, as if he'd done it a hundred times before. My heart rate lowered, becoming steady and even again. I finally leaned back up and gazed into his face. His expression was filled with so much gentleness and understanding and a raw pain I'd never seen there before, not even when he'd told me about Holden.
"I didn't know my father. Truly, my mother hadn't known him either. She met him one weekend when she was on a girls’ trip in New York City. She’d spent the night with him and then the next morning she found the wedding ring he'd hidden in the nightstand drawer. She found out a month later she was pregnant with me. The doctors say that sometimes these things run in families, but I'll never know as far as that side goes."
Ryan smoothed a piece of hair back that had fallen across my cheek. "Would knowing help, though? I think about that sometimes, too. My mother died when I was just a baby, and I don't know a lot about her side of the family either. Truthfully, I don't know a lot about my father's side of the family, other than most of them are drunks or wastrels." He sighed. "I just don't know what difference it would make."
I gave him a slight smile. "It might feel better to be able to blame someone."
Ryan let out a small laugh on a breath. "Let's blame them, then. They can't do anything about it."
I laughed a small laugh. "Okay."
Ryan's gaze moved over my face. "She didn't die that day, though. She survived."
"My mother? Yes, she survived. Sometimes I wondered if she wished she hadn't. But, . . . yes. She'd been beautiful before and then suddenly, one side of her face was so terribly scarred, ravaged really. Before . . . she'd loved to go out—she was always planning things for us, vacations, day trips, plays, shopping. After that, she never went out anymore. We went to live with my grandparents on their estate, and she became a shut-in. And she didn't want me to go out either. She became afraid of the world, afraid something awful would happen to me. I was put into the hospital for a while." I shook my head. "I wouldn't accept that we'd been attacked, was living in one of my dream worlds." I bit at my lip for a moment. "After that, I was more than happy to stay inside with her where it was safe. I was afraid of the world, too. She took me out of school, hired private tutors. For years, we just . . . clung to each other."
"But you grew brave, didn't you? You wanted more than the small world your mother had created for you."
I nodded, feeling the familiar guilt claw at my throat. "Yes," I whispered raggedly. "I wanted more. We fought. We fought a lot back then."
"That's normal, Lily. What you were feeling was normal."
"I know . . . logically, I do know."
"It doesn't make it easier, though."
"No, it doesn't."
"Did your mother end up giving you more freedom?"
I shook my head. "I got sick again. That time it wasn't even for any particular reason." I frowned. "In any case, by that time my grandfather, who was big in the real estate industry, had purchased Whittington."
"You were sent to Whittington?" Ryan breathed.