“How?” I asked quietly.
“Cassidy, only someone who would react that way to their own parent dying would understand your reaction.”
My brow furrowed and I looked around like the walls would be able to explain that confusing statement. When my gaze met his, I saw it, the tortured numbness. I inhaled sharply and started to reach for his arm but stopped myself. “You?”
He nodded slowly. “My mother was a junkie. I knew who she was, but she wasn’t around much. She’d sell herself to be able to afford her addiction, which is how my sister came along, and then me. Through all this, her husband stayed married to her. He didn’t do drugs and he didn’t drink; I wish he did so I could blame what he did on either of those. But he just hated us because we weren’t his, and because of what we represented. My sister was six years older than me, so for the longest time, she was the one who took all the beatings he dealt. When I was old enough to understand what was happening when she’d lock me in the closet, I started holding my own and taking my half of the beatings. She didn’t want to tell anyone, said what you told Tyler, that if we told anyone they would separate us. She said if we could make it until she was eighteen, she’d take me away and we’d start over.
“Then one night when I was seven he just lost it. He hit Amy so hard she wasn’t waking up and ended up breaking both my legs and my left arm. I waited until he went to his room, like he always did after, and dragged myself out of the trailer and tried to make it to the neighbor’s. I didn’t get that far, but someone from the park had been walking their dog and found me, called 911. I’d passed out, and with all the blood they had thought I was dead, so police, EMTs, and homicide detectives all came out. My father was arrested, and Amy and I were rushed to the hospital. All I remember from that night other than trying to make it to the neighbor’s trailer was waking up to one of the detectives sitting next to my hospital bed. He didn’t say a word to me then, but when I woke up the next day he told me he was going to make sure no one ever touched me or Amy again. He and his wife fought hard and were able to adopt both of us. To me, they are Mom and Dad.”
“Is he why you wanted to be a detective?”
Connor smiled his acknowledgment and his eyes went over my face. “I would never wish death on anyone, Cassidy, and like you, I wouldn’t blink if someone told me that man or my real mother was dead.” He stayed quiet for a few moments before speaking again. “I had to continue questioning you, even though I knew exactly what was going through your mind. But I hated every second. Looking at you, knowing what I’d come to realize, and seeing you with a black eye, I wanted to grab you and run you out of that house.”
“I don’t have a reason to lie to you now that you know the truth. I really was trying to break up a fight.”
“I know. Once I realized Tyler wasn’t your boyfriend, I sat there wondering who was so I could find him instead. But after Tyler basically spilled all your secrets and told us how you got the shiner, I figured it’d be pointless for him to lie about something like that. It’s not like he gave us the whole ‘she tripped’ excuse.”
I sighed and mumbled pathetically, “I’ve used that one before.”
He grimaced. “You really don’t talk about it often?”
“No. I mean, I told Tyler everything, but it was so he could figure out how best to take care of my injuries.”
“I didn’t open up for a long time, until I was almost sixteen I think, but once I finally did everything changed. I still don’t tell just anyone; you’re actually the first person I’ve told in a long time. But you need to relive it all and get everything out there, or else you’re never going to move past it. You may think you have, but it’ll always haunt you, Cassidy.”
Thoughts of how easily all my fears had surfaced when I saw Gage at the party that night came to mind. Connor was right, but I’d spent so long not talking, I didn’t know how, or if I even wanted to start now. “Did you have bones broken a lot?”
“That last night was the only time. Did you?” I don’t think he’d even realized it, but his eyes had slipped into that same intensity he’d had a little over a week ago in the Bradleys’ den.
“No, they were too smart to break anything. Had a lot of cracked ribs, but anything that would have required a cast they stayed away from. Stitches though . . . they didn’t seem to understand or care that people needed to get stitches.”
“Did that happen a lot?”
“Stitches? I needed them probably once a month or so, only ever got them a few times though. Tyler was good with butterfly bandages.”
Connor’s eyes widened for a moment and I bit my tongue.
“Uh, didn’t you ever need stitches?”
He shook his head. “No, I didn’t. Not until that last night.” He paused and then leaned closer, his face only inches from mine. “Cassidy, how often did you get hit?”
I began to back away but one hand snaked up and locked behind my neck.
“Cassidy, how often did they hit you?” he repeated, and that cool intensity in his stare held me where I was. What was it about that stare and those eyes?
“Every day. Is that—is that not like your situation?” I asked when his next breath was audible.
The hand on my neck squeezed lightly and he hung his head. “No. For us it was every two weeks or so.”
“Cassidy, only someone who would react that way to their own parent dying would understand your reaction.”
My brow furrowed and I looked around like the walls would be able to explain that confusing statement. When my gaze met his, I saw it, the tortured numbness. I inhaled sharply and started to reach for his arm but stopped myself. “You?”
He nodded slowly. “My mother was a junkie. I knew who she was, but she wasn’t around much. She’d sell herself to be able to afford her addiction, which is how my sister came along, and then me. Through all this, her husband stayed married to her. He didn’t do drugs and he didn’t drink; I wish he did so I could blame what he did on either of those. But he just hated us because we weren’t his, and because of what we represented. My sister was six years older than me, so for the longest time, she was the one who took all the beatings he dealt. When I was old enough to understand what was happening when she’d lock me in the closet, I started holding my own and taking my half of the beatings. She didn’t want to tell anyone, said what you told Tyler, that if we told anyone they would separate us. She said if we could make it until she was eighteen, she’d take me away and we’d start over.
“Then one night when I was seven he just lost it. He hit Amy so hard she wasn’t waking up and ended up breaking both my legs and my left arm. I waited until he went to his room, like he always did after, and dragged myself out of the trailer and tried to make it to the neighbor’s. I didn’t get that far, but someone from the park had been walking their dog and found me, called 911. I’d passed out, and with all the blood they had thought I was dead, so police, EMTs, and homicide detectives all came out. My father was arrested, and Amy and I were rushed to the hospital. All I remember from that night other than trying to make it to the neighbor’s trailer was waking up to one of the detectives sitting next to my hospital bed. He didn’t say a word to me then, but when I woke up the next day he told me he was going to make sure no one ever touched me or Amy again. He and his wife fought hard and were able to adopt both of us. To me, they are Mom and Dad.”
“Is he why you wanted to be a detective?”
Connor smiled his acknowledgment and his eyes went over my face. “I would never wish death on anyone, Cassidy, and like you, I wouldn’t blink if someone told me that man or my real mother was dead.” He stayed quiet for a few moments before speaking again. “I had to continue questioning you, even though I knew exactly what was going through your mind. But I hated every second. Looking at you, knowing what I’d come to realize, and seeing you with a black eye, I wanted to grab you and run you out of that house.”
“I don’t have a reason to lie to you now that you know the truth. I really was trying to break up a fight.”
“I know. Once I realized Tyler wasn’t your boyfriend, I sat there wondering who was so I could find him instead. But after Tyler basically spilled all your secrets and told us how you got the shiner, I figured it’d be pointless for him to lie about something like that. It’s not like he gave us the whole ‘she tripped’ excuse.”
I sighed and mumbled pathetically, “I’ve used that one before.”
He grimaced. “You really don’t talk about it often?”
“No. I mean, I told Tyler everything, but it was so he could figure out how best to take care of my injuries.”
“I didn’t open up for a long time, until I was almost sixteen I think, but once I finally did everything changed. I still don’t tell just anyone; you’re actually the first person I’ve told in a long time. But you need to relive it all and get everything out there, or else you’re never going to move past it. You may think you have, but it’ll always haunt you, Cassidy.”
Thoughts of how easily all my fears had surfaced when I saw Gage at the party that night came to mind. Connor was right, but I’d spent so long not talking, I didn’t know how, or if I even wanted to start now. “Did you have bones broken a lot?”
“That last night was the only time. Did you?” I don’t think he’d even realized it, but his eyes had slipped into that same intensity he’d had a little over a week ago in the Bradleys’ den.
“No, they were too smart to break anything. Had a lot of cracked ribs, but anything that would have required a cast they stayed away from. Stitches though . . . they didn’t seem to understand or care that people needed to get stitches.”
“Did that happen a lot?”
“Stitches? I needed them probably once a month or so, only ever got them a few times though. Tyler was good with butterfly bandages.”
Connor’s eyes widened for a moment and I bit my tongue.
“Uh, didn’t you ever need stitches?”
He shook his head. “No, I didn’t. Not until that last night.” He paused and then leaned closer, his face only inches from mine. “Cassidy, how often did you get hit?”
I began to back away but one hand snaked up and locked behind my neck.
“Cassidy, how often did they hit you?” he repeated, and that cool intensity in his stare held me where I was. What was it about that stare and those eyes?
“Every day. Is that—is that not like your situation?” I asked when his next breath was audible.
The hand on my neck squeezed lightly and he hung his head. “No. For us it was every two weeks or so.”
