I’d worked hard.
“Mara,” he called.
“Let me go,” I whispered and pushed feebly at his chest.
His arms got tight and he muttered, “Shit, Jesus, Mara, sweetheart, look at me.”
Then it hit me. How angry Mitch got when he walked into Bill’s house. How furious he was with Bill. How he’d lost it.
And at the same time this hit me, it hit me that if Mitch could find this out, Child Protective Services could too.
My head snapped around and my eyes opened. “I’m not like him. Not like what you saw. I’m not like Bill. I left that behind. I left that at home.”
“Jesus, Mara,” Mitch said quietly, watching me closely.
“Bill didn’t leave it behind. I left it behind. Swear to God, I left it behind,” I told him fervently.
“I know, baby.”
“I’ll never let that touch Billy and Billie.” My hands clenched his lapels again and I got up on my toes to get in his face. “I promise, Mitch. Never.”
His eyes bored into mine and he whispered, “Fucking hell, honey, wherever you are now, get the f**k outta there and come back to me.”
I shook my head and kept on target. “You can tell them, anyone, you tell them I promised you and I’ll make certain of it. I’d die before I let that touch those kids, Mitch. I swear to God. I knew he was a drunk and I knew he got high but I never knew it got that bad. I never knew they saw. I never knew they saw what he did. I never knew it until I saw it when you saw it. I knew it was bad but I didn’t know it was that bad. I wouldn’t have left them there if I knew it. Swear to God. Swear to God.” My hands clenched harder into his lapels. “They’re out now and they’re never going back. I promise, no matter how hard it gets, what it costs, they’re never going back.” I pulled his lapels out slightly then pushed them in and whispered, “I swear to God, they’re never going back.”
His hand slid from my hair to curl around the side of my head and his face got within an inch of mine. “Mara, baby, come back to me.”
I didn’t go back to him.
I went back to my earlier, far, far more important theme.
“We’ll never work,” I whispered.
“Mara, stop it and come back to me.”
“The likes of you aren’t for the likes of me,” I told him softly.
“Jesus, baby,” he said softly back, his thumb sweeping my cheekbone, his eyes roaming my face.
“I need to go.”
“You’re not gonna go.”
“I need to go,” I stated urgently.
“Sweetheart, I’m not gonna let you go. You were right, we need to talk.”
“I need to go,” I warned, “before it’s too late.”
He opened his mouth to speak but it was too late.
There was a loud knock in the breezeway. Not at Mitch’s door. Distant.
I knew it was at mine when I heard my mother shout, “Marabelle Jolene Hanover! We’re done f**kin’ with you! Open this goddamned, f**kin’ door!”
Not again!
I froze in Mitch’s arms, my head jerking toward his door and I felt his arms get tight.