“I’m not going to say a word about those photos. You think I want those things out in the world? As it stands, nobody else knows, right?”
I nod. Harriet knows about the blackmail, but she’d learned it in the course of representing her client, and wouldn’t say a word. Not only that, but as far as she knows, Reed’s copies of the photos are still missing.
“I’m staying silent,” my dad says again. “I’m not going to make it worse for you than I already have.”
“Daddy.” I blink, realizing that my eyes have filled with tears.
He starts to reach for me, but has to stop because of the cuffs. “Oh, hell, honey. Did I screw up that bad? Did I destroy you?”
“I—” I close my mouth because I don’t know what to say. Yes? No? Sometimes I feel ripped to pieces? Sometimes I’m okay?
I choose to stay silent, and he just sighs.
“I fucked up, Sylvia, I did. And I know I hurt you, but look at you. You’re so damn strong. Look at everything you’ve done. At all you’ve become. You’re smart and you’re poised and you go after what you want. And I think that’s the only reason I can stand my life right now. Because I know that despite what I did to you, that you were strong enough not to let me destroy you.”
He draws in a deep breath. “Jackson’s a good man. I wanted to hurt the fucker for rubbing my nose in the truth. But I’m glad he did it. You deserve a man who’ll protect you. God knows it wasn’t your father. Least not until I killed that bastard.”
It’s only when a fat tear lands on the metal table that I realize I’ve been crying. “Daddy,” I say, but then I have to stop, because I can’t get any more words out. After I calm myself and breathe a little, I try again. “Daddy, you have to tell them about the blackmail. They need to know you acted in a moment of passion. That’s got to be important.”
“Hell, no.”
“Then I’ll release the pictures to the press and I’ll tell the cops myself.” Even as I say the words, I know that I mean them. For years, I’ve been scared of those damn photos. Of the past they represent. Of the shame. But I’m tired of giving them power. Hell, I’m tired of giving Reed power.
Jackson’s right—I know how to fight my nightmares. And the way to do it is by ripping the last bit of control from Reed’s hands.
“No, honey, no. I already worked out a nice deal. A good deal. We pleaded down. No premeditation. Three years at most.”
He’s right, I know. That is a good deal. But it could be better if I turn over the photos.
But when I suggest it, my dad steadfastly shakes his head. “No,” he says firmly as he meets my eyes.
“Why not? I can handle it. And if we just turn them over to the prosecutor, they might even seal them.”
“Maybe you can, and maybe they would, but I want to do that time.”
I blink, confused. “What? Why?”
“I owe you, Elle,” he says softly, calling me by the name I stopped using when Reed started touching me.
“Being in a cage doesn’t change anything.”
His smile is infinitely sad. “Maybe not. But it makes me feel better.”
The guard raps on the window, signaling time.
“I don’t know if I can truly forgive you, Daddy,” I say as the guard opens the door and starts to walk toward my dad. “But I think maybe I want to try.”
twenty-nine
The only reason Jackson got through the rest of Sunday was because he had Ronnie to take care of. And the only reason he survived Monday morning was because Stella took care of Ronnie, and Jackson buried himself in work.
But by mid-afternoon, even the pull of the resort wasn’t keeping him on track. He was edgy. Lost. Angry.
He wanted to lash out, and more than once during the morning he’d considered calling Sutter and getting him to open the gym. Maybe even go a few rounds. But the idea of losing himself to the dance and weave, the sweat and pain, the screaming muscles and pumped up adrenaline wasn’t doing it for him today.
No, he knew what the goddamn antidote for his misery was—and she’d up and left him.
Goddammit.
And for that matter, goddamn her. He wanted to be patient. He wanted to help. But at the same time he wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. And it frustrated the hell out of him that while he could grab control from her in bed, in life, she had to make her own choices, her own decisions.
He only hoped she made the right one. Because he loved her, and he knew that she loved him. He wanted to make a family with her, a life. And he believed with all his heart that she wanted the same thing. But it was fear that had pushed her away. And all he could do was hope that her innate strength would bring her back. She had a lot of strength, after all. She’d pulled him back, hadn’t she?