shit out of him.”
My eyes widen at this information, at a loss for words. “What?”
Francis’s eyes widen as if he’s given too much that wasn’t his to offer. “He didn’t tell you?” I shake my head, sadness creeping in.
That’s what I am now. Sad. A fucking mess of desolation and the need to not be alive.
“Brant wasn’t a good man, though Millie wasn’t much better. Brant would beat on her, then she’d dope up on Xanny and booze. After Toby would get home, it would happen all over.”
Disgust fills me. It silences all responses while bile rises. How could a parent hurt their child? Their wife? How could they willingly cause pain?
“Millie wouldn’t leave him. In turn, Jase got beat too.”
“They both did? Is that why they weren’t close?” I ask, needing to know how two brothers could hate each other so much.
“No.” He rubs a palm down his face, the wine nearly emptied. At this moment, staring at the remnants of liquid in his glass, I’m suddenly feeling the urge to consume some of my own medicine.
This dose of reality isn’t welcome. It’s heavy and drowning. Pain does that to people.
“While I discovered they were both being abused, neither knew the other was. It actually caused a rift later on when Jase fell in love with Lo.”
“Fuck,” I let out.
“It was bad. Toby loved her. Endlessly. Obsessively, even.” Cringing at that, he rubs a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “He didn’t love her like he loves you,” he explains. “With you, it’s real. It’s something tangible and revolutionary. It’s nothing I’ve witnessed from him before. With her, she saved a broken kid inside him and brought him strength. In turn, he held onto that and ended up destroying her marriage and his family.”
I go to say something, and he stops me. “He wasn’t the only one at fault, no, but he could have walked away and didn’t.”
At this moment, understanding dawns on me. Even without knowing it all right now, it’s apparent why my husband is the way he is. Abandonment.
His mom did that.
His father did that.
His brother did that.
Lo did that.
How the fuck does one expect a man to be strong and resilient if he can’t trust himself to love and let go? And with him not believing me and Francis, it makes sense.
“He had an affair with Lo,” Frankie says a moment later. “Emotional at first—hugs, kisses, love in a profound and comforting kind of way. Then, when Jase admitted to his affair with my ex, she full-blown used Toby.”
Fuck.
Fuck.
What the fuck?
“Why?”
He shrugs. “I thought it was revenge, but then, after they slept together, she begged him to leave and give her a chance to be happy and reconcile with Jase. So I don’t think that was it. I think her comfort in Toby clouded her idealisms of right and wrong. In the end, that never mattered. She broke Toby, and as a result, he and Jase haven’t spoken since.”
Warm anguish runs down my cheeks, pain as primitive as dying flowers consumes me. Toby’s reaction to Francis hugging me, holding me at that moment, must have triggered his regression.
My body aches as reality sinks in.
I have to love him enough to fix this. Whether painful or not, no matter what he does, I won’t fucking abandon him. No matter how bad it gets.
“I’m surprised you’ve stayed,” Francis sounds out as I’m lost in my own head. When our gazes clash, his are full of confusion. “He hurts you so much. Fucks around, terrorizes you.”
“I choose to sleep with him even after he’s with others,” I argue, seeing exactly what he means. I’m degrading myself, allowing his behavior to carry on. But if I were in his shoes, would I be any less unforgivable? “He doesn’t want me to want him, but I can’t stop.”
“Why? What does this do for either of you?”
“Love isn’t always pretty, Francis.”
“Isn’t always ugly, either.”
“I’m not giving up on him,” I promise. “He didn’t give up on me at my lowest. When I cut and he came home to find me covered in blood and tears and sorrow, he stayed. He fixed me. He loved me.” My body trembles with the tears and sobs wracking my frame. “I love him,” I whisper through my sorrow.
“Love isn’t always enough, Ladybug.”
“It is for me.”
“He’ll continue to hurt you,” he tries, running a hand through his hair. Gloss covers his eyes, the storms wage in them, they’re turbulent and fierce. “I don’t want to see you