Page 71 of Shuttered Hearts

He shakes his head, a fond look passing over his face. “I will always have time for you.”

“I saw Mom at The Diner as I finished breakfast with Ava.”

He freezes for a moment, unable to say anything. I see him swallow before he asks, “Did she do something?”

“No, I asked her to talk. I needed to understand what happened, why she left.”

“Quinn—”

“No, I needed it, Dad,” I continue before he can say anything else. “I’ve spent the last ten years feeling more and more like her, and I needed to know.”

“Quinn, you are nothing like your mother,” he says emphatically.

“Dad.” My voice breaks. “I’m more like her than you could ever know.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but I don’t let him. For him to understand everything, I’m going to have to tell him about the rape and everything I did after it. I take a deep breath. “Do you remember my accident a few years ago, back in New York?”

He straightens in his seat, his body going taut as if preparing for a blow. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Did Caleb ever give you any details about it?” I know I never told Emily and Caleb exactly what happened to me, but with all of my injuries and the way I’d been around them, it wasn’t hard to figure out. I was pretty confident they knew. I just don’t know if they told Dad.

Dad studies me for a minute. “Yeah, Caleb told me he thought it was more than an accident.” I see his eyes fill with tears, and I wish more than anything I could take this all back and never have to see that pain on his face. “Your brother had been working in the ER for a few years by that point. Unfortunately, he knew the signs.”

“What did he tell you?” I look down at my hands, avoiding the look in my dad’s eyes.

“He shared your injuries with me, the broken jaw and wrist, the sprained ankle, lots of cuts and bruises.”

We’re both quiet. I’m not sure if he’ll say it, but it doesn’t surprise me when he does. Dad’s always been direct, never one to beat around the bush, especially when it comes to important topics. And this is one of those times when everything needs to be explicitly stated, leaving nothing open to interpretation.

“He told me he thought you were raped, not hurt in an accident.” His voice is quiet, though, as if he doesn’t want to say the words.

I nod my head slightly, trying to organize my thoughts. It’s not so much the rape I’m afraid of talking about, but my actions after that I fear telling him. I don’t want to hurt him, not more than I already know hearing about this will hurt to the very depths of his soul.

“I figured he knew. It wasn’t something I could hide,” I say quietly. “I didn’t want to tell any of you what happened.” I glance over at him. “I didn’t want you to worry about me, and I knew you would. I mean, how could you not? But you hadn’t gone into remission yet, and you needed to focus on yourself.”

It’s much harder to tell Dad about it than Declan. I don’t want to cause Dad any more pain than he’s already had in this life, but I need to talk to someone about everything in my head right now. I’m also still so raw from my conversation with Mom that I feel the tears building in the corner of my eyes.

“Bean.” Dad’s voice is as quiet as mine. He stands from his seat and moves to sit by my side on the couch.

“Dad, it’s okay. I’m okay. I got the help I needed, eventually. I just didn’t get that help until a year after the rape, and it’s that year I’m most ashamed of and the reason seeing Mom has stirred up all these feelings.”

“What happened?” He reaches for my hand, squeezing tight.

I know Dad doesn’t want to hear all the nitty-gritty details of this, but I love him all the more for giving me the space I need to talk about it right now.

“I was lost after the rape. I was scared, and I didn’t know how to get back to living the life I had been living. I mean, I was afraid to walk down the street in broad daylight.”

Dad nods in understanding but says nothing, giving me space to organize my thoughts.

“At first, I turned to alcohol to numb that fear.” I look down at his hand holding mine, looking at his face as I tell him this isn’t something I can do. “Then I turned to drugs, specifically cocaine.” I hear the sharp intake of air, and the tears in my eyes burn more than ever. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“No.” Dad squeezes my hand and waits until I lift my head to look at him before he continues. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing. Do you hear me?”

I nod my head and fall into his chest, hugging him tightly as the tears break free. Dad doesn’t say anything else, he holds me tightly until I calm down and pull away.

“There’s more.”

“I’ll listen to whatever you want to tell me.” Dad reaches forward and wipes the tears from my cheeks.

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