Page 9 of Sleigh My Name
Tears glaze her eyes as she stares straight ahead, lost in memories. “He offered me the money on the condition thatwe leave and I never contact you again. No goodbye. I had to disappear from your life like a ghost.”
My father paid her to leave me? My mind reels as I try to absorb this revelation. “How did he know?”
Charley shakes as tears storm down her face. “My mother went to him. She thought that since we were dating, he might help. He laughed at her. Told her that the problems of the parents of his son’s whore weren’t his to fix. Then he added that nothing in life was free, but he’d pay her to take the trash away from his son. My mother told him to go to hell, but I heard her telling my father about it that night. What was I supposed to do? What kind of person would risk their father’s life over love? I couldn’t let him die, Liam.”
I sit beside her, wanting to touch her, comfort her, but I can’t. It would be so easy to put my arm around her and pull her against me, to show her it’s okay, offer solace, but my rage is a deep-seated monster. It’s a cold, hard knot in my chest, twisted and ancient.
I thought she’d left me by choice. I’ve spent years believing she didn’t want me. All this time, I thought I’d done something wrong. I’ve replayed every fight, every careless word and missed opportunity to show her how much she meant to me.
Rummaging in my shirt pocket, I pull out a pack of cigarettes, the familiar crinkle of the cellophane a small comfort in the face of this gut-wrenching truth. I light it and take a deep haul. The smoke stings my throat, and I finally feel a small sliver of control.
“If he weren’t already dead, I might kill him.”
My words hang heavy in the air, a testament to the fury consuming me.
“You still smoke?”
I pull on the cigarette, watching the ember glow like my anger. “Only when I’m stressed or pissed.”
“Which are you now?”
“Pissed.” I manage in a harsh whisper.
“I’m sorry.” Charley’s voice is thick with emotion. “You’ve got every right to be angry with me.”
She thinks I’m angry with her. What the fuck can I be angry about? That she left me, shattered my life, to save her father’s? Fuck, she’s still sacrificing herself. For her parents, bound by blood and obligation. For Penny, her younger sister. She’s burdened with responsibilities she never asked for. She’s a goddamn martyr, a fucking saint.
A part of me, the selfish, wounded part, wants to cling to the anger. I want to scream and lash out, to make her feel the raw, gaping wound she left in my chest when she disappeared without a word. I want to punish her for choosing them over me, but I know that would be asinine. How the fuck can someone like me, full of sin, harbor resentment toward someone practically wearing a damn halo?
The part of me that’s always been irrevocably in love with Charley recognizes the unwavering core of her being—kind, loving, and selfless. It’s who she is. That giving nature, that burning desire to protect and care for everyone she loves, are the very traits that have me in her grasp and refuse to let me go.
Charley is beautiful. She walks into a room, and a man is bound to forget everything but her. Yet that’s not what makes her special. It’s the pure essence of her soul.
My stubble abrades my palm as I scrub my hand over my jaw. “What kind of asshole would be angry at a saint?” I mutter.
Charley, her face blotchy and streaked with tears, sniffles and wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I’m nowhere near a saint. Trust me.” Her voice is laced with a self-deprecating tremor that tugs at my heart.
“I have a hard time believing that.”
Charley wrings her hands. Her gaze is fixed on the blades of grass swaying gently in the breeze as silence stretches between us. Her shoulders slump as if the weight of the burdens she’s carried for so long presses down on her.
“I resent her. Penny,” she admits in a whisper. “What kind of horrible person resents a child?”
I chuckle, causing her to turn toward me with a frown. I press my finger against her soft lips before she can berate me. “All parents resent their children at one point or another. Raising little humans is the hardest job in the world. Once you have kids, your dreams are sidelined, your freedom limited. Even people who dream of parenthood occasionally hate the job. You were nineteen, and circumstances forced you to care for a toddler. From what I’ve seen of Penny, you’ve done an incredible job.”
She sniffles. “I feel lost most of the time and terrified all the time.”
“I think that’s how most parents feel, Charley. At least the good ones.”
CHAPTER 6
Charley
I’d forgottenhow easy it was to be around Liam, how clearly he saw the world. How laid-back he was about strife, and how much his words comforted me.
Nothing about this is crazy. Liam’s presence stills the noise in my head. No anxiety chasing me. Not being overwhelmed, threatening my sanity. Liam is fresh air in a smoke-filled building. I can breathe freely for the first time in years.
I look at his handsome face and smile, my eyes crinkling with a warmth that mirrors the sensation in my chest. His profile is sharp, highlighted by the afternoon sun, which illuminates the fine stubble dusting his jaw. My gaze lingers for a moment, memorizing his beauty.
