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With shaky legs, I sink to the floor at the bottom of the bed and pull my knees to my chest.
Then I cry.
Am I going fucking crazy?
I look away. I can’t . . . beseenby him right now. Not when the world is falling apart in my mind and that awful night is burned into my brain.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper and he growls, tugging me to his chest.
So, I cry harder.
Surprisingly, he lets me, sitting on the rug and tugging me into his lap while I blubber like a baby all over him.
And finally . . . everything makes sense. Everything I’ve blocked out. Everything I’ve tried to hide from myself for all those years.
It was me. My fault.
We don’t move for a long time. Not even when my back starts to hurt and I’m sure his does, too. When the tears stop, he holds me in silence and I listen to the steady beat of his heart under my ear.
This thing between us has far surpassed anything I ever thought it would. Meeting his family, my promise to stay, his profession of adoration only days ago . . .
I don’t deserve any of this.
“I murdered my father.”
He doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. If I wasn’t listening to his heart beating against my ear, I would be sure he’d died.
Finally, when I can’t take his silence anymore, I lift my head to meet his gaze.
It’s volatile.
“Is that supposed to deter me, little doe?”
My mind struggles to catch up when his fingers tighten on my hips. What is he talking about? I just told him I murdered my own father and he acts like I just told him I have a secret crush on the Pillsbury Dough Boy.
“My mother gave me the poison. I didn’t know what it was, but I didn’t ask either when she told me to mix it into his dinner.” I suck in a shaky breath. “He died because he was planning to leave my mother. He was in love with a woman at his work and he was going to take us away from Mom. He knew what kind of person she was and he always tried to protect us from her. He was a good dad.”
Mason looks as unbothered by what I’ve just confessed to him as he would reading the Sunday paper.
“And now he haunts your nightmares.”
“And Melissa. And Mom. Mason . . .” I suck in a heavy breath, tugging my hands away from him.
This is not the response I thought I would get.
“I just told you I murdered my own father and you have nothing to say?”
I move to stand. I need to pace. But . . . he doesn’t let me, grabbing my hand and pulling me closer so my front is pressed against his instead. His hand cups my ass while his other the back of my head, like I’m the most precious thing in the world to him.
“I know, Hannah.”
My mind threatens to explode.
There’s no fucking way.
“How?” I know I sound like I’m accusing him of something, but dammit. My heart feels like it weighs a thousand pounds in my chest.
“Because you’re mine,” he shrugs, brushing a tear from under my eye. “Because of how he disappeared and the guilt you still carry. Because your mother’s never been innocent. And because she’s vindictive and cruel when scorned and evil enough to use a child to do her bidding.”
