And I’d be violating Joe’s trust.
Should I call him first? Did I even have service out here?
“If I tell you,” I said, “you have to promise never to tell another living soul. Especially not Joe.”
“I can’t do that. If you tell me, you have to tell Joe that you did. And what if I feel you’re in danger or something? I can’t promise not to say anything.”
“Then I can’t tell you.”
“Not an option. I’m in this now.”
He nodded, his brow wrinkled. “Tell you what. I’ll make you a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“I’ll tell you, in confidence, what’s going on with Joe and me, and you tell me about that cut on your leg.”
She bit her bottom lip.
Even in the darkness of the cabin, she was beautiful and enticing. Even when she was troubled. Especially when she was troubled. All I wanted to do was take away everything hurting her and banish it so she’d never be unhappy again.
Finally, she cleared her throat softly. “Deal.”
“You go first,” I said.
“We’ll go in shifts,” she said. “You’re right. The wound is self-inflicted. Now…you.”
I couldn’t fault the fairness of her idea. “Something happened about thirty years ago, while Joe and I were camping with my dad. Something we’d both forgotten until recently.”
“Oh my God!” She clamped her hand to her mouth. “He didn’t—”
“No, no, no. Joe and I are fine. He didn’t do anything to us.”
“Thank God.” She rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know what I’d do. This has all been so awful.”
“Honey, you weren’t born yet when this happened, and I promise it has nothing to do with you.”
“I wasn’t born yet when Talon was taken. Rather, I was born while he was gone, and—”
“Look.” I gripped her shoulders. “If this is too much for you, trust me. You’re safer not knowing.”
She shook her head vehemently. “No. I’m in this now. Tell me.”
“You owe me a sentence first.”
“Are you kidding me? What you’re hiding is so much bigger than me cutting myself, Bryce. I fucked up. I let the guilt get to me. Talon was taken because my mother got pregnant with me. No me, no Talon being taken. It’s that simple. And yeah, I had issues. I tormented myself to the point where I needed a release, and physical pain gave me that. I only cut myself in one place, and I thought I had it under control until…”
Her gaze shifted away from me.
The words she didn’t say echoed around me as clear as if she’d uttered them.
Until you, Bryce.
I’d driven her to this.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“It’s not you. It’s me. I’m responsible for my own actions, no matter how much pain I’m in. Melanie taught me that.”
“Melanie.”
“She’s the only person who knows.”
“Not Jade.”
“Only Mel. And now you.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“I know it is. Please give me the same benefit of the doubt. Anything you tell me is safe with me.”
“I just hate to think of you hurting yourself.”
“Is it really anything worse than what you’ve done to yourself? You wallow in the guilt about your father when you had nothing to do with anything he did.”
“It’s not that,” I said truthfully.
“What is it, then?”
“It’s that…he spared me. He never touched me. I remember him as”—I winced before saying the words—“a good father.”
“Is that so horrible?”
“Of course it is! He was a monster. A demon. He raped and murdered children. He tortured your brother. He killed my cousin. He wasn’t human.”
“He was a sick man.”
“He was so far beyond a sick man, Marj. You and I both know that.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“I never physically injured myself.”
“I don’t recommend it.”
“I never even thought about it. Maybe it would help.”
“For God’s sake, Bryce. Self-mutilation isn’t the answer. Please don’t go there.”
“You did, and you said it helped.”
“It only transferred the pain. Pain is pain.”
I squeezed her hand. “I’m so sorry you were in that much pain.”
“I’m sorry you were too. Still are. Let me help. Let me take some of the burden from you. Please.”
I’m sorry, Joe. I’m sorry.
I grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the room, out of the cabin.
Then words tumbled from my mouth.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Marjorie
I sat, numb. Bryce’s voice almost became monotone, as if it were coming from somewhere in the woods. Was he throwing his voice? No. It was both of us. The words were hard for him to say, and they were equally hard for me to hear.
A young boy. A friend. Justin had been his name. Justin Valente.
“You think your father drugged you?”
“It’s the only