Man of Honor (Battle Scars #3) - Diana Gardin Page 0,41
around in the great room. The girls have kicked off their shoes, legs tucked up underneath them on the couch. Mea heads for a seat next to Berkeley when her ringtone goes off.
She checks the caller ID, and then immediately veers for the hallway. I stand at the entrance to the great room, keeping one eye on her and one on the activity of our friends.
“What?” she asks. Her tone grabs my full attention.
“No,” she says, sounding like she’s in disbelief. “That’s not right. We’re supposed to have two weeks.”
She listens again, and then nods. Her voice makes my throat catch when she speaks again. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine, Mikah. Don’t worry about me. Good night.”
She stands there, staring at her phone. The magnet that pulls me toward her is so strong right now I can’t stay rooted to my spot. I drift toward her, but when she looks at me her eyes are stricken, and I freeze.
“Mea?”
She raises a hand, shakes her head, and flees up the stairs.
I’m left in the hallway, wondering what to do. With everything inside of me I want to go to her. Whatever she heard on the other end of the phone undid her.
Tied her up in knots. Pushed her over the edge.
But what could it have been? I know that Mikah is her brother. What did he tell her?
Enough thinking.
I take the steps two at a time until I reach the closed door of her lavender room. Knocking softly, I wait. I want to barge in, so much so that my hands are fisted in front of me against the door.
“I’m okay.” Her voice is choked on the other side, and another piece of my heart breaks.
“No, you’re not. Let me in, sweetheart.”
There’s a pause, and I can hear the rustling of the sheets on her bed. I think I hear a sob, but it’s so muffled I can’t be sure.
“Mea.” My voice is pained.
Tortured. Tortured. Tortured.
“Go away, Drake.”
I curse, pounding a fist on the door once before I turn away. She needs to be alone.
Translation: I’m not what she needs.
Heading back downstairs, I head straight for the bar and pour myself a whiskey. The liquor burns as it blazes down my throat, and I feel a false sense of relief as it goes down. Finishing that first drink more quickly than I should, I pour another.
And another.
14
Mea
They moved it up, Mea. Aunt T just called me. His parole hearing is tomorrow.”
I replay Mikah’s statement in my head over and over again, all while lying facedown on my gorgeous, temporary, lavender bed. It even smells like lavender.
This can’t be happening. After what my father did to me, there’s no way they’d just let him go, right? But he’s been in prison for ten years already. Of a fifteen-year sentence. Maybe they’ll decide he’s served his time.
When I know the truth: there’ll never be enough time in prison for him. Not even a lifetime would do.
I’m filled with a perverted sense of relief, because I don’t have to go and say anything at all. The parole board can make their decision without me having to go through the turmoil of seeing my father again and speaking about him to a roomful of strangers.
I think about my mother. Not the vacant one who eventually succumbed to her desire to leave. But the one before. The vibrant one I can just barely remember. The one I hold on to so desperately in my heart. What would she do?
She’d say there’s no point agonizing over something you can’t change. And if there’s a possible outcome that worries you, you don’t have to handle it alone.
I’m tired of handling everything alone. I shield most of what I went through emotionally from Mikah, because he’s my little brother. It was always my job to protect him. I never told my best friends, because how do you tell someone that your father repeatedly assaulted you? It doesn’t come up in casual conversation. It really doesn’t even come up in deep conversations.
I never told a man I loved, because I never allowed myself to love one.
The one man I ever loved hurt me.
I roll over onto my back and then sit up. Staring around the gorgeous room, I make a decision. This is not something I can handle alone. Whether my father is released or not, I don’t want the burden of him on my shoulders alone anymore. I want to tell someone.