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“I don’t think “calm” is quite the right word,” he said. “Resigned, perhaps. Angry, if I dwell on it. The older I get, the less power they have to affect me.” It was more of a lip twist than a smile. “Which only serves to annoy my father and Marcus further. Vicious cycle.” He shrugged. “My father has always had very set ideas of what he wants for his life. He expected his children to fit the blueprint of those goals. He managed a carbon copy in Marcus and a socially acceptable daughter in Hayley. I was a bit of a changeling child. More backstreet boxer than bourbon and politics at the club. I got in the occasional fight at school, which only served to reinforce my family’s belief that I think purely with my fists. Marcus was a little more subtle with his transgressions.”
Translation: Marcus was the sort of slimy little tick who snuck around, spied and probably toyed with blackmail and extortion from the cradle, Sophy thought grimly. While she could imagine Mick wading in without hesitation in defence of himself or someone else. She could also see, with no difficulty at all, that Michael Hollister would have reacted badly when faced with a young son whom he was physically unable to dominate. He would undoubtedly have lashed out and attempted to subdue Mick emotionally.
“I was an embarrassment to them,” Mick continued coolly. “Walking evidence of a failure on my father’s part.” His eyes flickered. “A fifty percent success rate was unacceptable.”
Sophy frowned.
“Fifty percent?” she repeated, and remembered his father’s scathing words from the night before: “Between you and your sister…”
“Your sister,” she said slowly. “Hayley? No…”
“No, not Hayley.” He stared out at the water. “My older sister, Samantha.”
She waited, anticipating his next words with a sense of profound sadness and sympathy.
“She died when I was eighteen.” Mick shook his head. “She was only twenty-three. Her…boyfriend,” he paused, and his voice was thick with disgust, “was absolutely wasted on coke. Threw a scene at her work. Insisted on driving her home. Sped right through the barriers at a railway crossing and collided with a freight train at half past five in the afternoon. He was fine.” He took a deep breath that shuddered through his large frame. “She was almost decapitated.”
Sophy brought up her other leg, wrapped both arms around her knees. She felt a bit sick.
“My parents,” he said, stopped, went on: “My parents were outraged that it ended up in the papers. Cokehead races train; kills girlfriend. How very sordid.”
Jesus.
“Samantha was… She made some…questionable choices where men were concerned.” Mick snorted harshly. “Obviously. She was a little too fond of a drink. Stuck her finger up at my father whenever possible.” His knuckles were white around the railing of the dock fence. “She had this dog. This ridiculous black poodle that she treated like it was a kid. And she had this laugh. She would tell these God-awful jokes and just laugh and laugh.”
Tears stung Sophy’s eyes.
“I was away,” Mick said. “I’d just finished high school and bunked off to Oz for a month with Sean.” He swallowed. “They didn’t tell me. By the time I got home, she was safely buried and the scandal was dying down.”
Sophy got up on slightly unsteady legs, went to him and reached for his hand. Halfway through the motion, she changed her mind and wrapped both arms around him, leaning her full weight against his side. He didn’t return the embrace, but accepted it, relaxed just a fraction.
“I was so – Rage doesn’t even describe it.” Mick closed his eyes for a moment. “The bastard was out on bail. I wanted blood.” His short laugh wasn’t even on the same scale as amusement. “All my mother’s fears confirmed. Her unpredictable raging bull of a son. I think she thought I would actually kill him. I’m not sure if she was worried for me at all or if she was thinking what it would do to her standing at the club.”
Sophy could take a reasonable guess.
“Someone beat me to it,” he said grimly. “He was behind with his payments. His supplier wailed into him with a sledgehammer. I was picked up for questioning, held for an hour or two. Not a great day for my parents.”
Looking at his expression, she could imagine the scene that had ensued.
“I came out of a “discussion about my future” in my father’s office and cut off my nose to spite my face. I’d been planning to apply to uni, study commerce. In their eyes, I was nothing but brute force, a liability to the family image. I thought, “Fuck them, then. I’ll go after a physical, active career, and I’ll make a success of it.” I signed up for the Army the next day.” He jerked his chin, twisted slightly away from her in a short, instinctive movement. “Sean’s idea. I was prepared to do anything from mercenary work to illegal cage fighting. In hindsight, I left that room feeling like the thug my father branded me.”
And he’d gone on to get the degree he’d wanted, to build a life for himself.
He was an amazing man. And she loved him.
And she wasn’t ready for any of this.
“Your mother…” she said softly, pressing the bridge of her nose into the hard muscle of his bicep.
“Basically shivers in terror if I look at her.”
Her fingers curled tighter around his waist.
“I’m sorry that they can’t see you.”
He was absolutely still and silent for a long time. Finally, his chest moved in a convulsive shudder. The confession came out grimly, bleakly.
“If I’d got there first, I wouldn’t have held back.”
