Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

I would understand why very soon.

“I had a little sister too,” she said, her smile melancholy. “She was a ballet dancer. Her name was Julia.”

My eyes moved to Emery, and I saw that this was news to her.

“She was eleven,” Jess continued, “I was fourteen. Our parents were very social people, and they often put their needs above our own. They’d leave us alone a lot, and I was left in charge of Julia. My aunt Theresa would watch her for me when she could, but often, it was left to me to babysit. And I was fourteen—I wanted to be out with my friends.” She grimaced and looked at her hands, pressing her fingertips nervously together. “A few years before the summer I turned fourteen, my father’s little brother, Tony, moved back home. He took a lot of interest in us. I was grateful,” Jess scoffed, the sound hard and ugly. “I would go out with my friends, and he would watch Julia.”

When she looked at me, I shook my head, part of me not wanting to hear what I knew was coming. I saw it in the horror that still lived in the back of her eyes. “I came home early one afternoon, and they weren’t around. Then I heard something down in the basement.”

Emery let out a low moan, and Jess reached for her hand without breaking her gaze from mine.

“He … he was raping her.”

Nausea welled inside of me, and I covered my mouth to hold back the cry I wanted to release. That poor little girl. Oh my God. What Jess had seen … I couldn’t even imagine. If someone had done that to Dillon, I would’ve killed him.

“I flew at them,” she recalled. “I was in this blind rage, and it gave me enough strength to get him off her. We tried to escape. We were running up the stairs, but he caught Julia. I got him away from her, but he came at me at the top of the stairs. He had me on my back, punching me. My sister screamed, and then he wasn’t on me anymore. It disoriented me at first, but when I got up, Tony had Julia pinned against the wall, and he was choking her.” Her hands went to her throat. “And I knew. I knew he wouldn’t let us out of there alive.

“So I killed him,” she announced, the words hoarse, like they’d been dragged out of her.

That dread I felt wrapped itself around me.

Jessica.

“I took one of my father’s golf clubs, and I hit him over the head. He fell down the stairs and broke his neck.” Swiping at a tear, she continued. “Julia told my parents and the police what had happened and we learned that he’d been raping her for two years. Since she was nine. My parents were so caught up in their own lives, and I was such a self-involved teenager, we hadn’t paid any attention to her. We hadn’t seen the signs.

“Our parents put us both in therapy rather than deal with us themselves, and Julia focused on her dancing. Obsessively.” Her eyes took on a faraway glaze. “When she didn’t get into the school of her dreams, she hung herself in that basement. I found her. My parents blamed me. They didn’t want to believe it was Tony’s abuse that caused all her pain. They said it was the memory of me killing a man in front of her.”

I was cold. All the way through. Because I hated that this was her story. She was so kind and warm, and she took care of people. She helped people. I hated that this was her story. She deserved so much better.

Emery and Bailey were both crying, and I realized that my cheeks were wet too. Our eyes locked as an unspoken connection wrapped itself around us.

“For a long time, I blamed myself. I wanted to punish myself for killing Tony, for failing Julia. I believed I didn’t deserve good things. That living an empty life was my penance.”

“Jess,” I sobbed. It was like she was inside my head, my heart. I didn’t feel alone anymore.

And then she was up and across the room. She lowered to her knees in front of me and grabbed both my hands in hers. “I put Cooper through the wringer because I was afraid to tell him what I’d done. That he would realize he deserved better than me. He made me see the truth. His love—his strength—helped me find the peace I thought I didn’t deserve. But I do deserve it.” She tugged my hands to her chest, her eyes pleading. “And it breaks my heart you don’t think you deserve it too. You do, Dahlia. The guilt won’t go away overnight, maybe not ever,” Jess whispered. “Not completely. But loving Michael, letting him love you, will make it a little easier every day. Do you know what my redemption is?”

I shook my head, unable to speak past the emotions in my throat.

“Cooper. Knowing I make him as happy as I do. That he needs me. That’s my redemption right there.” Her expression turned fierce. “I don’t believe you need to prove yourself or find redemption. But I know you think you do. So … make Michael yours.”

I slid off the chair and wrapped my arms around her, inhaling her strength, breathing it in. If Jessica Huntington-Lawson could get through such horror and come out the other side as strong as this warrior in front of me, then for God’s sake, so could I.

Instead of going into Cooper’s to question the introverted cook, Crosby, Michael wished he was going in there to drown his own sorrows. In lieu of that, he was chasing their only lead so far. Cooper had called to tell him Crosby might have seen Jackson but wasn’t one hundred percent sure and didn’t want to waste police time.

It wasn’t a waste of Michael’s time.

He was following every lead possible.

Cooper nodded to him as soon as he strode through the door. Michael could sense the bar quiet down a little and eyes were on him as Cooper lifted the bar top, came out from behind it, and gestured for him to follow into the back room.

“He’s pissed I called you,” Cooper said as he led Michael down a short hallway and into the kitchen.

Crosby made that clear from the moment he saw Michael. “I hate goddamn cops,” he blurted, shaking a metal basket of fries in the fryer.

After baring his soul to Dahlia that morning, Michael wasn’t in the mood for anyone else’s shit. “Just tell me what you saw.”

Crosby glared at Cooper. “I said I wasn’t sure.”