I have to wonder how much of the unreachable, tormented man I saw the other night was shaped by everything Nick went through as a child.
A truly awful thought begins to take shape in my mind as I look at him and process all he’s said about the violence and degradation he suffered at his father’s hands.
What if the abuse went further than mental and physical? My stomach roils at the idea because I’ve been there too. Without my mother to protect me, I doubt I would have survived.
And from what he has just described, he had no one after his mother died. Not a single person in his family whom he could turn to.
“Nick, that night you fought with your father eight years ago . . . how did it start?”
He shrugs, too quickly, I think. “I don’t remember. We were both drunk. Started saying things neither one of us wanted to hear.”
I recall the few details he’s told me about the confrontation that almost cost him his right hand if not half his arm. Whatever words were said were volatile enough for his father to nearly kill Nick in his rage.
“You told me once that your father knocked you through that window because he wanted to shut you up,” I remind him quietly. “What was it that he didn’t want to hear?”
“I don’t know. Something stupid, probably.” Nick draws his hand out of my loose grasp. He takes in a long breath, then lets it gust out of him sharply. “I don’t remember much about that night. It’s not important anymore.”
He’s lying to me. I accept it without feeling stung, but I am troubled by what telling this lie is doing to him. I can feel the edge of desperation in it. He’s keeping a secret and it’s eating him alive.
A chill sweeps over me because I’m terrified that I know what it is. I’ve survived something equally abhorrent too.
I don’t want to push him to say words he’s not ready to speak, but I can’t let him think he’s alone anymore. I need him to understand that I’m someone he can turn to now. I always will be.
“Nick, did your father ever . . .”
On a curse, he swings a wild, repulsed look on me. “No. Never. Jesus Christ, he was an asshole but he never touched me. Not like that.”
Thank God. My chest feels tight and I realize I’d been holding my breath waiting for his answer. I look for some hint that he’s not being truthful, but all I see in his face is outrage that I would even think such a thing.
Maybe my sense was wrong about the nature of his abuse by his father, but I’m still not convinced that he doesn’t remember every detail about the night he and his father nearly killed each other.
“I’m sorry, Nick. I just . . . I had to ask.”
“I know.” His expression relaxes into something tender, all of his attention focused on me. He cups my face in his palms. “Every time I think of what your stepfather did to you, Avery, I wish I had been the one to end him. I would’ve made him suffer a hell of a lot more than you or your mother did.”
I nod, knowing he means it. “What happened to me is over. I came through it. My mom came through it too. A lot of the reason I can say that now is you, Nick.”
“Even after the other night?” He brushes the pad of his thumb across my lips. “I don’t have any excuses, Avery. You said no and that should’ve been enough.”
“You told me once that I’d never need a safe word with you.”
“And you don’t. You won’t, not ever again.” His curse is soft but vivid. “What I did was wrong. I failed you. Christ, I scared you.”
I shake my head. “I wasn’t afraid. I was disappointed.”
His gaze drops to my mouth as if he wants to kiss me but won’t permit himself to do anything more than simply hold on to me. “I hate that I lost control the way I did. With the alcohol and with you.”
“It seemed to me that you needed that control. And I don’t think it had anything to do with the whisky you were drinking.”
He absorbs my words for a long moment, so long I’m not even sure he’s going to respond. When he does, his deep voice has a tremor to it, as if his emotions are almost too much for him to contain. “Do you have any idea how much I love you, Avery? I’ve never felt this close to a woman before—not to anyone. I need you. I can’t function when you’re not with me. And that scares the living fuck out of me.”
He draws me closer, holding my face as if I’m made of glass yet looking at me with a raw ferocity that shocks me. All the things he says he feels, I feel for him too.
“After Paris, I felt what it was like to lose you, Avery. Now that you’re here with me again, I’m scared to fucking death that you’re going to slip away from me.”
My smile wavers on my lips. “So inste
ad you push me away like you did the other night?”