Page 76 of The Hangman's Rope

“Is he part of the reason why you’re worried the cops might victim blame you?” he asked.

I didn’t say anything. I mean, what could I say? It was my dad who had honestly led the charge on practically grilling meabout that night. He’d only circled the wagons at the hospital and kept everyone at bay to save face, more than any actual care he had for me. At least, it felt that way after we’d gotten home and behind closed doors. I should have known it was too good to be true when it came to all of that. My silence must have told Hangman everything that he needed to know.

“Alright,” he soothed, smoothing a hand over the satin covering my back. “Okay,” he murmured.

I covered my face with my hands and scrubbed at it, sighing. He sat with me while I collected myself, my nerves jangled with the rude awakening.

“I don’t know why he would send the police,” I said after a moment. I went to my phone and looked at it. A ridiculous number of missed calls and texts, all from my father and a few from my mother. My father’s texts becoming increasingly irate when I wouldn’t answer him, my mother’s texts few and succinct, telling me to ignore my father and to do what I needed to do to find myself.

I loved my mother in that moment. My heart swelling to the point of cracking in the face of her calm and supportive words. Meanwhile, in juxtaposition, my father’s texts becoming more unhinged and even downright mean in places from my not answering.

“Let me see, Sweetpea,” Hangman urged gently.

A bit reluctantly, I handed him the phone.

I mean, if we were going to be together, or whatever this was or was becoming… I rather liked that there were no secrets between us. That meant something to me… even if it did sting letting him in to see this part of my childhood.

“He was probably drunk,” I said timidly, in a rather lackluster defense of my father; but it was the truth. He was prone to drinking when things got hard or stressful, and whilehe’d never hit me or my mother his words could be cruel and cut rather deep.

“Jesus,” Hangman muttered, glancing through the texts. He took screenshots of a few, and sent them somewhere. Presumably to himself.

“He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” I murmured weakly.

“He knows,” he said. “I can see why you would come to me. Not exactly the kind of environment for healing.”

“It’s calm here,” I confessed. “I think it might have something to do with the graves outside your door… honestly, I don’t know but I feel better here.”

“I’m glad about that,” he said. “You need to get dressed, pick one of your nice dresses and some comfortable walking shoes. The girls are coming by to scoop you up while I’m at work for the day. I told them to take you someplace to find your tea and a proper set or whatever up to your standards.”

He smiled at me, this crooked smile and I felt an answering one of my own.

“That sounds quite lovely,” I said and his smile grew.

“Enjoy your day, Sweetpea. I’ll see you at the end.”

He bowed at the waist and pressed lips to my forehead, putting my phone back into my hands.

I let my eyes flutter shut and melted into the touch.

“I love you,” he whispered against my skin, and I felt suffused with a glow of happiness.

“I love you, too,” I murmured.

“I’ll get you a set of keys to things so you can come and go as you please,” he said.

“Thank you,” I murmured, a bit surprised by that.

“Try to have a good day, and ignore Daddy Dearest until he can act right.”

I blushed faintly and chuckled at that.

“I better message my mom,” I said softly.

He nodded.

“You do that.”

“Okay,” I said and he pulled some things from some drawers and disappeared into the bathroom to finish getting ready for his day.

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