of this unfold more than taking part.
“I’m sorry, Mike. I never wanted you to know,” she whimpers.
“Who was it?”
“Mike—”
“Who was it?” I growl, not feeling sympathy for her. My dad—Arthur—is laughing, and the twisted glee on his face is practically glowing.
“Mike you have to understand—”
“Who was it?” I question again, my voice cold and thick like steel.
“Walters,” Arthur answers, when it’s clear Mom won’t. My gaze snaps over to him as he essentially tells me a name that I don’t even know. “You look so stupid right now. Of course, you don’t know him. He left the minute he found out he knocked her up. He used to do our landscaping,” Arthur laughs. “He took the ten thousand I gave him and left town without looking back. See, Mike? You were worthless from the beginning. Walters didn’t even try to ask for more. He took whatever I gave him and hit the road.”
Mom’s crying in the background. I can’t look at her. I don’t want to look at either of them ever again.
“I’m out of here.”
“You’re cut off. I’m not giving you one more dime,” Arthur announces, but I don’t stop walking. I make it to the door.
“My son will have anything he asks for. You forget one thing Arthur. I’m the one that brought money into this marriage. You were just the ambitious little boy without a penny to his name that worked for my father. You lay one finger on Mike again, or he tells me that you haven’t paid for anything he wants? That’s all you will be again,” my mother says. I open the door. “Mike,” Mom whispers, trying to stop me. I don’t turn around, but I wait, my hand tightening on the doorknob. “I love you,” she says a few seconds later. I swallow down the confusion and the emotion that’s swamping me.
I don’t respond to her. I don’t know how.
Instead, I walk away.
30
Violet
I’m exhausted as I walk through the front door. It’s one in the morning and I’m actually home early. Freddie wasn’t too happy, but I told him if he didn’t like it, he could fire me. I’m a fairly popular dancer, so I’m confident he won’t do that. Right now, I’m not sure I care. I’m exhausted and my damn feet hurt.
I’m also a little worried.
Mike said he’d meet me at the club tonight. I kept looking for him, but he never showed. Part of me worried that I was being played again. I know I have trust issues and Mike… I want to believe what he says, and I do mostly. I’m quickly learning that I have trust issues, however.
“Mike?” I call out once I lock the door back. His fancy car was outside on the street. I worried he’d be missing rims and things, but so far no one has bothered it. He doesn’t respond, but he’s sitting in a recliner, beer in his hand. He’s staring at the small television and I know he had to hear me, but he doesn’t move. I can’t see anything but the back of the recliner and his arm that’s holding a beer. For some reason I can feel a heaviness in the air. That’s probably the reason I approach him carefully. A gut instinct just tells me that I need to do that. “Mike? Sweetheart, are you okay?” I’m standing to the side of the chair. I can see his profile, but most of his face is hidden from me. The room is dark except for the glow of the television.
“Peachy,” he says, his voice graveled, hoarse, and in a tone I’ve never heard before.
I turn so I’m standing in front of him and when I get a look at his face, I can’t stop the gasp that escapes. His eye is swollen, there’s cuts on the side of his bruised face and as my gaze drops down I see his swollen knuckles and the cuts on them. I drop down to my knees, taking his free hand and pulling it toward me.
“Sweetheart, you’re hurt,” I cry, hating that he must be in pain. I don’t see how he could keep from it. I gently run my fingers over the bruised knuckles, hissing for him because it hurts me. “I’ll go get some alcohol and try and clean it up,” I murmur after a couple of minutes and it becomes clear he’s not going to talk. As I try and turn my body, his fingers snake around my wrist and he