Dark Heart (Dark Heart 1)

“It won’t take long,” he says, and I can read what his brown eyes are saying: right now, motherfucker. I don’t want to get Elise in trouble, so I nod.

“Bye, E. Thank you.”

I feel weird and sweaty as I follow her dad down two long halls that I can’t track, into a dark room that’s not dark when he turns on a lamp. It’s a library.

“Have a seat.” He points to a leather chair.

I look at it, thinking about getting out of it with no hands. I think I can do it, so I sit.

“I’m sorry I came here,” I say, and I try to keep my voice steady. Mr. O’Hara leans on his desk, crosses his arms, and frowns at me.

I’m kind of worried I’ll puke on the nice rug, but I tilt my head back and make myself meet his eyes, and when he holds my gaze, I hold his back—because that’s what men do.

Then he turns around and grabs another arm chair, pulling it closer to my chair, so when he sits in it, we’re maybe three feet apart.

“I’m not good enough for her, but I love her.” I say it in a rush, surprising myself.

Elise’s father leans forward in his chair, his brows drawn together pensively. I feel nauseated as he looks me over, his gaze lingering on my face and shoulder.

Then he sighs. He sits back in his chair and says, “I’m the product of a married man’s affair with his mistress. My mother was Elaine O’Hara. She was raised by her grandmother, who worked long hours in a clothing factory. So Elaine made her own way. She met my father, and he took care of her. Even part-time was enough to please her. She could have chosen to end her pregnancy. My father offered to pay. But she wanted to have me. By then, her grandmother had passed on, and she was lonely, I think. But I don’t know, because she died while giving birth to me.”

My stomach lurches.

“I went to foster families.” His jaw tics as his eyes hold mine, but when he speaks again, his voice is smooth and easy. “There were twenty-seven. Homes,” he clarifies. “Some families are good. They take kids because they want to help. I knew two families like that. One of them, I still keep up with.” He smiles, but it’s tense, like he’s forcing it. “Most people took in an orphan because they wanted the extra income from the state of New York.” He stands from the chair and holds a finger up. “I’m going to get you some water.”

He walks to a marble-topped bar, giving me his back.

“Many of them had no problem hitting a child. I had never known a steady home or the same caretakers for longer than a few months. I was not a pleasant child. I met Elise’s mother when I was eighteen and didn’t speak to her until we both were twenty.” He walks over to me, sits back down, and hands me a glass of water.

“I’ve got a flashlight,” he says, half a second before he shines one in my eyes.

“Fuck.”

“That hurts, doesn’t it?” He does it again on my left eye, and I grit my teeth.

“Anyway—” The flashlight goes away. “Elise’s mother was a beauty. Still is. She came from money, and she had brains, too. She was studying to be a chemist. I was a student of mere rhetoric.” He smiles fondly. “I knew from day one I wasn’t good enough for her. But I couldn’t keep myself away.” His mouth presses into a frown. “In the years since, it’s been difficult for me to stay…available to her at times. Sometimes things happen, and I want to shut myself away. Sometimes I do that.”

I swallow as my heart pounds harder again.

“When someone hits you, even someone you don’t know well, something changes inside. It makes you a victim, even if you don’t want to be. The way you see yourself changes—more so than the way you see them. I imagine it’s a lot worse when it’s someone close to you.”

I inhale.

“Your father is a weak, pathetic excuse for a man. No self-control or accountability. And somehow, you seem to have both. Some of both,” he amends. “You stood outside for more than an hour before calling my daughter tonight.”

My throat tightens. How does he know? “You came here because you wanted comfort and some kindness, but you almost backed out. Right?”

Tears well in my eyes, so unexpected that my inner recoil sends another wave of cold sweat through me.

“Luca, I think you need to see a doctor. Get some imaging done, to be sure nothing’s wrong. I have someone who can take you there, and I can pick the bill up. For my daughter. I know she would want that.”