Page 83 of Cruel Debts
And then I made my way home, with a few fresh mangoes and some pasta in hand.
I hadn't had someone in the house who enjoyed my cooking in a long ass time, so cooking for Trinity was a refreshing new experience. She enjoyed food like a child enjoyed candy, and she didn't hold back. Her refreshing personality at the table was enough to revive my desire to cook every day.
As I marched back into the dorm, I found myself whistling, excited to dive into the kitchen. I wondered if Trinity would want to learn more. I could teach her the thing that saved me from becoming my mother, and then later, my father. I could share this part of me with her, and then when she left, it would be like taking a piece of me with her everywhere.
She would always think of me, and there would be no getting me out of her head.
"Trinity, do you have any food allergies?" I called out, but there was no answer. "Trinity?"
The bag made a dull thud on the counter as I set it down and moved to her door. Open, and the room empty. I knocked on Liam's, and he growled at me to go away, so he's likely not in there. Asher was still out on recon for the job, so it wouldn't be possible for her to be in there.
That left?—
My room.
I'd never moved so slowly and so fast at the same time. I can't explain it, really. It was like running in slow motion, though I didn't choose to. My legs moved, but now how I wanted, and my worst nightmares were revealed to me when I rounded the corner and found her standing int he center of my room with a broom. She'd taken it upon herself to clean the space, it seemed, and in her hands?—
"What are you doing with my mother's diary?"
THIRTY-FIVE
TRINITY
Hawke wasn't normallynice to me. So repaying him for the kindness and pity he showed me, and for teaching me how to make my own food without burning it, was a no-brainer. But I couldn't leave the asylum, I couldn't shop online, and I couldn't make him food that he couldn't make himself.
I could clean, though. And his room had always been the messiest place in the world. He was a tad lazy with his organization. I could tidy his space up for him, give his mind some peace.
So that's what I did.
I swept the floor. I mopped. I washed up his bathroom counter, cleaned his mirror. I tossed his laundry in the empty basket in the corner. And then I moved to make his bed.
And discovered something I shouldn't have.
The diary—it was obviously a diary, from the feel of it—was old, weathered, and beaten to shit, but the seam held, and the pages were complete and intact. I knew damn well I shouldn't open the thing. I knew I shouldn't read anything in this book. It wasn't mine. I had no business inserting my nose in Hawke's personal life.
And then I saw the first page, and the name on it, and gasped.
Millie Hawke.
And below it, an address I recognized as Hawke's old street in Covenant Hollow.
Was this his mother's diary? He didn't have a sister, so it couldn't be that. Ithadto be his mother's.
"I really shouldn't do this," I said aloud, but my curiosity got the better of me. I opened the next page, and my heart sank.
Thomas hit me again today.
I keep reminding myself that it's not my fault, and the thoughts of leaving rise up again. But then I think of the kid, and I know I can't.
I can't leave him here alone. Not with him.
But I can't support him on my own.
As long as he doesn't hit our son, it'll be okay. I can bear it for him. I'll be fine.
When he's grown, and he's out on his own, I'll walk away from this.
The man I used to love might still be in there somewhere, but I can't spend the rest of my life looking for him.
