“I hate that I’m the one to tell you these things Demi. Blake said he would . . . one day. But I guess he ran out of days.”
Lexi looks at me and opens her mouth, but I shake my head. I don’t want Lexi flipping out on Roxy because then I might never know what Roxy knows. And right now, I desperately need to know what Roxy knows.
“Were you and Blake . . .” I can’t even say it. Lovers? Were they? God, Blake, how could you?
“No, no, no,” Roxy says, adamantly. “Blake loved you. He’d never have cheated on you.”
“Thanks for telling us who Blake is,” Lexi snaps.
“Lex,” I warn.
Roxy, undeterred by Lexi’s attitude continues. “I met Blake in a group for sexual abuse victims.” I don’t even get a chance to absorb her words as we arrive at the café and she opens the door, walking in. Lexi and I stand outside for a moment, speechless. This is a first for her. My sister is rarely at a loss for words. After a moment, I follow Roxy inside, figuring if I want to feel any less confused I better go in and listen to what she has to say. We’re seated, upon Roxy’s request, at a table in the back where it’s more private. We all order coffee and no one speaks a word until our server has delivered our beverages and left.
“In a group for the sexually abused?” I begin, quietly, leaning in. “That makes no sense . . . Blake wasn’t a victim of sexual abuse.”
Roxy’s eyes immediately move down to her mug in front of her. “That you know of,” she says, quietly.
“So you’re telling me that you . . . YOU,” Lexi points in emphasis, “know more about Blake than his wife did?” It’s not hard to hear the anger in Lexi’s voice.
“No,” Roxy says, firmly, looking Lexi square in the eyes. “But I do know this one thing about him that apparently Demi doesn’t.”
“So when was he abused?” Lexi continues, attitude still full throttle.
“When he was eleven. After his second open-heart surgery. It was a man his aunt, Connor’s mother, had been dating.”
My heart squeezes. I know Blake and Connor’s childhood was rough. While they lived with their grandmother who was very loving and nurturing, she was a bit of an enabler. Blake and Connor’s mothers, one a drunk, the other a drug addict, would both return home, and their mother would always let them even though she knew at some point they wouldn’t stay sober, and they’d run off without a word leaving their son’s behind. When they were there, Blake had mentioned there were men in and out of the house constantly, but he never mentioned any of them harming him in any way.
“He was still recovering at home . . . still on pain meds. Guy named Richard Malone,” she pauses and looks at me as if waiting for me to say or show some recognition of the name, but the name means nothing to me.
“Do you know anything about who Connor killed and why?”
I flick an embarrassed glance at Lexi. I should know this. I should know all of this. Blake was my husband, and this woman knows his deepest and darkest secret, not me—his wife. So not only have I been in the dark about my husband, she knows more about Connor, who I’m in love with and who lives with me, too.
“No.” It’s a simple answer, however ridiculous it is.
“Connor caught Malone . . .” her eyes drop to her hands wrapped around her coffee mug, “in the act.”
I can’t even swallow down the knot in my throat it’s so big. The tears won’t stop either. My poor, beautiful husband. Is this really true? How could he have never told me? How could he tell Roxy and not me?
“Connor was fifteen at the time. He fought with the guy, but Malone ran out. The guys didn’t tell anyone.”
“Why?”
Roxy looks at me, pity rich in her gaze and a little part of me hates her for it. She feels sorry for me because I don’t understand. “You’ll have to ask Connor that.”
“So this Malone never went to prison?”