bruising honesty. Sela may want her dad to know exactly what went down and I’m prepared for this bear of a man to try to whip my ass for it. “But I swear to you, I understand that now and I’m going to treat her with the care she deserves. I just need to talk to her.”
“Did you hurt her?” His voice is hoarse and pained.
“Badly,” I admit.
William’s eyes get wet and his gaze slides away from me and out to the street. He swallows hard, takes a deep breath, and looks back at me. “Sela’s had immense suffering in her life. She’s—”
“I know,” I tell him, because by those words it’s clear to me that William Halstead knows his daughter was raped and he’s suffered for it as well.
“You know?” he asks with surprise.
“Yes, and I handled it badly. I hurt her badly. So I’m begging you, William . . . please let me go in there and beg her forgiveness. Let me show her I can be a good man. Let me take responsibility for my wrongs and give me the chance to make it right for her. At the least, she deserves to know how very sorry I am.”
He raises a meaty hand and scrubs his fingers through his hair, scratches at the back of his neck in contemplation. Finally, he nods and steps to the side of the porch, giving me silent permission to enter.
I expect him to snarl words of warning, or threaten to throw me out if I upset her, but he merely says ever so quietly, “Please make it right for her.”
“I will,” I say confidently, even though I’m scared shitless that I’ll never see Sela look at me again with warmth, care, or desire.
The house is quiet when I walk in and I assume Maria’s not here. I walk back to Sela’s room and don’t bother to knock on the door. I twist the knob and slowly open it, peering into the gloom. The lights are off, and the only way I can see Sela’s bed is from an outdoor light that’s on right outside of her room and illuminating the front yard. The glow filters in through the open blinds and I can see Sela laying on the bed, on her side, curled into a ball. My heart squeezes in pain over her attempt to crawl into herself.
There’s enough ambient light that I make my way over to the side of her bed, reaching out to turn on the small lamp on her desk as I walk by it. My gaze locks on her and I’m surprised to find her staring straight at me, her blue eyes flat and empty.
Three more steps and I’m beside the bed. I kneel down on the carpeted floor, restraining myself from reaching out to her. Her face is blank, not a drop of emotion showing, but her eyes are slightly red, which tells me she’s been crying.
I take a breath, let it out, and tell her, “You were raped by JT.”
It’s an emphatic statement. Not a question, not a guess, not a possibility. It’s fact. It’s truth.
So I acknowledge it.
She doesn’t respond, but I don’t want her to. I have so much more to say and I’m afraid her next words may very well be to tell me to get out.
So I press on. “It took only moments after I slammed that door in your face for it to sink in. Penetrate the truth of what you were saying. For me to believe you unequivocally. But you were already gone.”
Another breath, and I quickly press forward, needing to explain my bad behavior before I could request absolution.
“Sela . . . you don’t know much about my past, and if you give me the chance, I want to tell you all about it, but just know this . . . I couldn’t even focus on what you were saying to me. It’s like your words weren’t punching through the anger, and I’m so fucking sorry for how much anger there was. My past has shaped me, and one of my weaknesses is a lack of tolerance for dishonesty. I couldn’t see past you being in my office. I reacted so badly, and I’m ashamed and sickened of what I did to you. I have no excuse though . . . not really. I should have given you time to explain. I should have trusted there was an explanation. And when you told me that JT raped