“It doesn’t matter,” he says, gently wiping away Lacey’s tears before laying a kiss on her forehead.
“It does matter,” I counter softly, barely holding it together. “You being hit because of me matters a lot.”
Cayden sighs as he meets my eyes. “Being with you, touching you…it was worth every beating.” Even now, just as he did years ago, he’s protecting me, shielding me from a reality paved with sorrow. “The months my father went missing were the best months of my life. We did rough it, but we survived. All three of us. A family.”
Lacey sniffs back her tears while I barely keep mine at bay. “What happened when I was seventeen?” I’ve asked him this before when he filled in the blanks.
Up until that point, even though our relationship was hidden kisses and stolen nights, we survived our messed-up circumstances together. Cayden tried to push me away, to protect me, but I didn’t listen. But something heinous changed that.
The color drains from Cayden’s face as he shakes his head slowly. This memory is one he relives every day, and it’s the reason we’re here. “It was the type of night when the earth crackled with electricity. The moon was full. I had just done a drop across the lake and was running late, thanks to some Ivy League assholes fighting over who would pay for their ounce of weed.
“I knew you were waiting for me. Just like you did on most nights. I tied the boat to the dock, hoping I beat you home. But what I heard next”—his Adam’s apple dips as he swallows deeply—“you were screaming. It was a god-awful sound. It still haunts me to this day. I ran to the house, unsure what I would find. But not in a million years did I ever think I’d see what I did.”
My heart begins racing, and bright flickers of white light flash behind my eyes.
“Just like always, you would sneak in through the balcony door. It wasn’t me you found that night, but my father instead. By the time you realized, it was too late, and he had overpowered you.
“When I found you, he had forced himself onto you and torn the front of your dress.”
On instinct, my trembling fingers attempt to conceal my modesty. But it’s in vain.
“He was touching you while you screamed over and over. For me.” He turns his cheek, pained. “I have never, never been angrier. I wasn’t thinking. I charged over and ripped him off you. He was stunned. His whiskey-soaked breath was an indication he was in no state to reason with. So the only way I had to talk some sense into him was the way he knew.
“I had never raised a hand to my father up until that night. I hit him again and again; I don’t even know how many times. He tried to fight back, but he didn’t stand a chance. I wanted him to suffer just how you did. And Lacey. And me. Only when he lay in a bloodied heap on the floor, unconscious, did I realize that ending his worthless life made me no better than him. That was the only reason I stopped.”
I reach for the wall, unable to stand without support for fear of crumpling to the floor. Blood, so much blood. I can taste it lingering on my tongue. I may not remember it clearly, but the flashbacks expose I don’t know if the amnesia is to blame or the fact that this memory is one I’m happy to forget.
“You were petrified. He took away your innocence, your ability to view the world through rose-tinted glasses, and suddenly killing him didn’t seem like such a bad thing. I comforted you, thankful you didn’t tell me to go to hell. You were aware of my father’s fondness for you, but I never told you why. I was ashamed.
“You cried in my arms, and I promised that it would be all right. I would never allow him to lay another finger on you ever again. My father was never one for sentiments, however, and he suddenly came back to life. He caught me unaware, delivering a punch to my kidney, which had me dropping to the floor.
“He then proceeded to return the favor as he kicked and stomped on every part of my body. All I wanted was to protect you, but he made sure I couldn’t do that when he shattered my wrist with the heel of his boot.”
I flinch, unable to see clearly because my vision is cloaked in tears.
“I knew he had no intention of showing me the mercy I showed him, so I fought as hard as I could. I promise.” He begs that I believe him, and not for one moment do I think otherwise. “But it wasn’t good enough. He was intent on killing me, Peyton. Please believe me when I tell you this…it wasn’t your fault.”
Gasping, I attempt to break the surface, but I suddenly can’t swim. The harder I push, the farther I sink. Invisible manacles secure at my ankles, dragging me down. Muddy water fills my lungs, and before long, it’s all I can taste. I stop fighting and surrender…surrender to death.
This memory has plagued me for endless long months. I’m finally about to uncover why.
“You grabbed my baseball bat, the one I kept by the door, and proved to me that this entire time, I thought I was protecting you…but you were the one protecting me. You hit him, and he went down…and he…never got back up.”
Lacey gasps while I’m unsure if I ever will be able to speak again.
Cayden walks toward me slowly, hands raised. He approaches me as he would a rabid animal. But I suppose that’s what I am. I once thought I was a monster, and yes, that may be true. But there is another word for what I am, and that is a murderer.
With the tenderest of contact, Cayden wraps his fingers around my biceps. I need his touch. “You freaked out. Just like you’re doing now. Regardless of the fact that he was moments away from killing me, you still saw yourself as the bad guy. When I checked his pulse, he didn’t have one. I knew what this would do to your future if we called the police. I knew what would happen if your mom found out. If anyone ever found out, they’d take Lacey away and put her into foster care. At the end of the day, it was an accident. There was no other choice.”
Lacey staggers forward, pleading he tell her the truth.
“I’m sorry, Ace. I wanted to tell you, but how do you explain to your eleven-year-old sister that you buried their father…at the bottom of the lake.” She sobs while I just feel numb.
I always knew that the lake was the nucleus of my story. I just never imagined how. “I helped you, didn’t I?” I know the answer as the visions, the ambiguous visions which made no sense, are memories that have risen from their watery grave.
“Yes. I fought for there to be another way, but you wouldn’t allow me to do this alone. We were in it together, you said. But how I wish we weren’t. That night changed us both. Days passed, and I knew what this was doing to you. It was eating you up inside. You couldn’t look at the lake, my house, or me in the same way. I knew what I had to do.”
“But I”—I need a moment—“but I bought your house. How could I want to go back there after everything you’ve just told me?”
“That house may represent heartache, but it also illustrates strength. And it was that strength that had me wanting to convert it into a shelter for kids. We talked about it not long before your accident. You may not have remembered, but a small part of you never forgot.”
“What did you have to do?” I ask, referring to his earlier statement. I know what, but I hope, by some miracle, I am wrong.
“You got accepted into college, but as you know, you spoke of staying here once you graduated from school, but I couldn’t let you. This place had ugly memories. I knew I was the only reason you wanted to stay, but I couldn’t do that. I refused to allow you to relive that memory, and that’s all you’d do by staying here. So I made sure you stayed away.”