Page 80 of Betrayed

“There’s so much you don’t know.” I didn’t believe I was a bad person, but I’d inherited my father’s anger issues and didn’t trust myself to not lose my temper and hurt the people I cared about.

“Tell me.” She sat up and crossed her legs. “Please? I want to understand.”

I opened my mouth to repeat the same generic reasons and excuses, the ones I gave everyone, if I gave them at all, but what came out was the truth.

“I have anger issues. I always have, and while I’m better at managing it, I can’t risk losing control and hurting you.” Saying it out loud felt like the final nail being hammered into the coffin of my future. I barely recognized my voice as I confessed, “I’m afraid I’ll be like my father, and you deserve better than that.”

Sympathy filled her eyes.Not fear?

“Did he hit you?”

I’d never admitted it to anyone before, but with Blake, the truth flowed from me like floodwaters rolling down a mountain.

“Yes,” I answered without making eye contact. “He beat me and my mom.”

And just like that, I’d told Blake, who I’d known less than a week, more than I’d ever told my best friend.

Blake’s small hand grabbed my chin and forced me to look at her. “I’m so sorry, Andrew.”

I waited for the usual anger to rise.

“Say it again.”

“I’m sorry-”

“No, my name.”

“Andrew?”

I nodded.

My first name on her lips, the name I shared with my father, the one I refused to use after he abandoned us, felt like a bandage on my wounded soul.

“Thank you.” The words weren’t nearly potent enough, but they were all I had.

We sat in silence for a moment before Blake asked, “Why didn’t your mom help you?”

“She couldn’t, not without incurring his wrath.”

“Do you ever talk to her?”

That was a loaded question. On the surface, sure, I called her for the usual holidays, but we never shared more than pleasantries. I considered filtering the truth, or making a joke, but Blake’s hand on my arm was like a truth serum.

“Not really. I wish I could say I’ve forgiven her for letting the abuse continue, but I’m not quite there yet.”

“She was a victim, too.” Her soft words brought tears to my eyes.

I nodded. Logically, I knew that. Emotionally was a different story.

Blake continued to ask and with each gentle touch, each sympathetic tear, each word of encouragement, I found it easier to open up and share my history.

“I’m sorry you don’t have a family,” she said.

“The Army gave me a brotherhood, which is pretty close.” It wasn’t the same, but she let it slide. The Sheppards offered me acceptance and support. They’d even invited me to holiday dinners; not that I’d ever accepted. Not wanting to feel like an intruder, I usually volunteered for holiday shifts so everyone else could enjoy the time off with their families.

I’m such an idiot. I’d been denying myself a loving family for years.

“AJ?”

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