Page 30 of Out of the Shadow

“Any siblings?”

I shake my head, keeping my eyes on the road. If I look at her, even for a second, she might glean the truth. I do have a half-sister, Melody, but my dad made sure she had nothing to do with me. He didn’t want his perfect daughter around his fucked-up son. I don’t want to talk about her now.

Angie’s ponytail swings as she shakes her head. “I didn’t realize your childhood was so lonely.”

This statement catches me off-guard—and so does the sympathy behind it. Sympathy, not pity. My anger dissipates. “I had a lot of close friends, so I was good. What about you?”

“I got lucky. My parents are great. You’ve met my sister, and I also have two brothers. One older and one younger.”

Grateful to shift the focus onto her, I ask, “What do your brothers do?”

“They’re with the NYPD.”

My eyebrows rise. “They must be badasses.” Everything I know about the NYPD is from the movies, but that one message came across clearly enough.

“Maybe in their jobs, but they’re big teddy bears with me. I can’t imagine my life without them in it.” Her head drops. “I’m sorry about your parents. It sucks that they weren’t there for you.”

We’re back to this? Wanting to end the topic, I spit out the truth. “I remind my mother of my father, and she’s never forgiven me for it.”

“Oh.”

Caught up in another traffic snarl, I flex my fingers around the steering wheel again. Angie faces me but doesn’t say anything, and the silence stretches to the point of discomfort. Finally, I can’t take it anymore.

“My mother used me to get money out of my dad for years. I didn’t see it when I was young, but I started to catch onto her pattern when I was about nine. She asked him for money so I could learn how to sail.”

Next to me, Angie tucks her leg under her. “Sailing sounds fun. I’ve only been out on the Staten Island Ferry.”

I half-smile. “I never sailed, either.”

Her head tilts. “Didn’t your father pay for lessons?”

“Oh, he did. But Mom didn’t spend the money on me. She got jewelry or clothes or booze or drugs or plastic surgery.”

“King. That’s awful.”

I’m not sure why I’m telling her all of this—didn’t I want to close the subject down?—but something about the way she said that, about the real sympathy in her voice, makes me want to keep spilling my guts to her. I’ve never talked so openly about my family history. Only Trevor, Blaine and his wife, Jewel, know these things—and the reason they know is because they lived it with me.

“She paraded me out when it suited her needs,” I continue. “My birthday was always a huge party so she could show off her mansion and backyard. Other times, I was relegated to my bedroom—not that I minded. To appease his guilt over me, I guess, my father stocked me full up with the latest video games. All the neighborhood kids loved my collection, so I had people to play with. Or against, as it were.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Angie clasp and unclasp her hands. A wry smile crosses my lips. “I guess I learned my mother’s lessons. Show off your wares to get attention. Some of them became my friends, like Blaine.”

“You grew up with him?”

I tap my finger on the steering wheel. “Yeah. He’s a good guy. Married to another one of our childhood friends. I’ve known them forever.”

“He seemed nice.” She nods. “So, your mom wasn’t around much?”

“No.” I pause. “She was always out and about. It suited me just fine, because I could basically do whatever I wanted.” Like play video games and hang out with my friends. Later, that meant partying.

Angie brings me out of my head by placing her hand on my arm. “King, I’m so very sorry for how you were raised. Family means everything to me, but I can understand why it’s different for you.”

I rub my hand over my mouth to stop myself from telling her that she’s wrong. That the idea of a family means more than anything to me. That I want nothing more than to belong to a huge family with cousins and multiple generations. That I want to know my own sister, who grew up with all my father’s attention while all I got was gifts to assuage his guilt.

I clench my jaw. I’m all alone, and I always will be.

I catch her hand with mine, her tiny engagement ring biting into my palm. “Family can be important for some people. I’m glad you have a good one.”

Raw and exposed and vulnerable, I turn the radio back on, and Ozzy Martinez’s voice fills the air. Angie taps her knee in time to the Latin beat and I bob my head. Before the song’s over, I turn into the beach’s parking lot, halfway filled with cars. “I heard about this place from some people in my building. They said it’s the best beach in the area.”

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