Chapter 62
AMY
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Despair and anger swell inside me as Kane’s gaze searches my face. How dare he raise this topic again? There are rooms in my mind I never visit, and this is one of them.
We’re sitting on a bench overlooking a murky pond, ducks preening on the grassy bank. The scene is peaceful, unlike the chaos currently churning inside me, thanks to Kane bringing me out here and wasting no time asking what happened the night my mother died.
Yesterday, this was the spot where we kissed and allowed neither the past nor the future to intrude. There’s no kissing now. Now Kane is in interrogation mode.
“Why don’t you want to talk about it?”
Resentment ripples through me. “Why are you bringing it up again?”
“Because I think it’s important.”
“Important to your mission?”
“Not this time.” He rubs the back of his neck.
“When I asked you about your fear of the dark before, I wanted that information as ammunition against you.” A muscle jumps in his cheek.
“I keep replaying that moment I locked you in the storeroom. You looking at me like you’d just realized I was capable of anything.
” Remorse shudders over his face. “I don’t want ammunition against you.
Now I want to know you. And I think that whatever happened that night is an important part of your past.”
I say hoarsely, “Leave it alone, Kane.”
“I can’t leave it alone.” He drags a hand down his face, as if he’s trying to wipe something off that won’t come clean.
“I did something unforgivable to you,” he says hoarsely.
“I took what scared you most and I used it. I’ll carry that with me for the rest of my life.
” He swallows. “Please let me help you. Let me try to make up for what I did.”
I stay silent. Apart from the sessions with a therapist my dad insisted I undergo right after Mom’s death, I’ve never spoken about what happened.
The few times I tried to bring it up with my father he shut me down.
It’s been a taboo subject for so long I have no idea how to overcome all those years of conditioning.
Kane entwines his fingers in mine and presses a soft kiss to the back of my hand. “Somewhere in the last couple of days,” he says, a curious note in his voice, as if he has trouble believing it himself, “you’ve become more important than this mission.”
Stunned by his confession, I stare at our joined hands, at a loss for words, disarmed by his frankness.
“There was a power outage the night your mom died,” Kane begins, a patient and tender look in his eyes. “A news article mentioned you were with her.”
My heart beats faster. He opened up to me, I can open up to him. The words, however, won’t come.
“Were you with her?” he asks gently.
I nod.
“Where was your father?”
I force myself to answer through dry lips. “Away at a conference.”
His hand tightens on mine. “Your mom didn’t die of a heart attack, did she?”
I shake my head.
“What happened?”
I shudder out a breath. “She shot herself.”
There’s no surprise on Kane’s face.
“How did you find out?” I ask in a whisper.
“I did a little digging. A police statement mentioned a gun found at your house. Two days later though, the police officer retracted his statement. A couple of weeks after that, that same officer bought himself a brand-new BMW.”
A brittle laugh escapes me. “That would be my dad.”
“That was my guess.” A frown draws his brows together. “Why would your father want to cover it up? Why not come clean?”
“We never spoke about it, but I think he did it for me. I don’t believe he wanted me to live the rest of my life with the stigma of a mother who’d taken her own life. Or maybe it was Mom’s reputation Dad wanted to preserve.”
I bite my lip. And then I blurt out, “It was my fault. My mom shot herself because of me.” There’s such a feeling of relief in the telling. I didn’t expect to feel such relief.
“Now why would you think that?” Kane asks softly.
I tell him all about that selfish fourteen-year-old girl, how my lack of compassion drove my mother to end her life, to get away from a daughter who thought only of herself.
There’s no need to mention that the same girl has become a self-centered thirty-three-year-old woman.
There’s nothing revelatory about that aspect of my life.
After all, why become someone better when my mom couldn’t?
Why not live out the image my mother had of me in the last hours of her life?
That’s what I’ve been telling myself all these years. Now realization strikes me like a slap in the face. I got it so wrong.
As if sensing my inner turmoil, Kane wraps his arms around me for a hug that’s over way too soon.
“Nineteen years ago, your mom was sick and struggling in ways you couldn’t fix,” he says firmly, but his eyes are gentle. “What happened wasn’t on you. She made a choice you never should have had to live with.”
Pressure builds behind my eyes. My throat works to hold back the tears.
“That night, you were fourteen. Alone. In the dark.” His voice falters. “And I locked you in the dark again. If I could take that back, I would.”
Tears slip down my cheeks, my breath catching at his words.
Concern sweeps over his face. “Hey, please don’t cry. It kills me to see you upset.”
The tears come harder. He gathers me up against him again, holding me as though I’m infinitely precious, touching his lips to my hair. An ache swells in my throat at his tenderness.
Maybe it’s time to forgive fourteen-year-old me and stop punishing myself. Maybe a better way to honor my mom would be to become a better, less destructive version of myself.
“There’s something I’m having trouble understanding,” Kane says. “Maybe you can help.”
“I’ll try.”
He draws back so his eyes lock with mine.
“This has nothing to do with your kidnapping,” he says, then winces.
“No, that’s a lie. Everything does.” He exhales slowly.
“But I need you to know this question isn’t coming from the man who took you.
It’s coming from the man who’s ashamed of what he did. Okay?”
I nod slowly. “Okay.”
“Your father’s spinal cord research started roughly thirty years ago, about the time your mother first showed symptoms of a spinal degenerative disease.”
“That sounds about right,” I say. “I was three years old. I don’t remember much.”
“So your dad’s interest in spinal research—”
I make a scoffing noise. “Interest? Try obsession.”
“All right,” he concedes. “Your dad’s obsession started around this time because presumably he wanted to find a cure for your mother. But she’s been dead nineteen years, yet your dad is still working obsessively to find a cure. Why?”
Frowning, I think about that. “Maybe it’s Dad’s way of atonement,” I reflect aloud. “He didn’t find a cure in time to save Mom so now he’s trying to save others who have the same disease.”
“Would that account for such single-minded obsession?” Kane asks, doubt coloring his voice. “It feels like there’s something more there.”
I stir uneasily. I’m inclined to agree with him. I’ve always felt as though my father is working against an internal deadline I’ve never understood. I’m no closer to understanding it now. But I don’t want to spend any more time in the past.
“Let’s talk about more interesting things,” I say, changing the subject. “Like how I’m really falling for you here.”
Kane closes his eyes. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I ask, trying and failing to keep the hurt from my voice. “Don’t be honest about my feelings for you?”
He opens his eyes. The bleak look there has my heart tripping faster. “Amy...”
I speak quickly, forestalling words I don’t want to hear.
“You know what I’ve realized? I’ve realized I’ve been a coward pretty much my whole life.
It’s not only the dark I’m afraid of. With the exception of my dad, I’m afraid of loving anyone else because they could hurt me like my mom did.
” I pause. “I don’t want to be a coward anymore,” I add softly.
When Kane doesn’t say anything, I gather up my newfound courage and ask, “So how do you feel about me?”
Clearly unhappy, Kane says, “We shouldn’t be talking about this.”
“Oh, so we should be kissing instead. Why? Because that’s neutral territory?”
“Amy, you’re starting to mean a lot to me, but I’m still trying to sort through my feelings for you.”
I release a careful breath. “But they’re good feelings, right?”
“Yeah, they’re good.” He rubs his forehead with the heel of his hand and releases a pained laugh. “This is one heck of a complication.”
I swallow. “What do we do about it?”
His sigh is heavy. “I’m going to let you go, and you’re going to carry on with your life.”
His flat statement completely unravels me. “You’re going to let me go?” I repeat in disbelief.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t get to keep you. Not after everything I did to you.” His mouth twists. “Wanting you doesn’t erase that.”
“When will you let me go?”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
I should be overwhelmed with joy, but I’m not. Instead, a hollow feeling has taken over my stomach. “After you let me go, where are you in my life?”
“I’m not there. I can’t be there.”
I stare at him numbly. “Coward,” I whisper accusingly.
Kane shifts away from me on the bench, deliberately putting distance between us. “Amy, there’s a well-documented psychological condition called Stockholm Syndrome.”
Before he’s even finished speaking, I’m shaking my head. No, no, no.
“Hear me out,” he says grimly. “Please.”
“You’re wasting your breath,” I mutter.
“If a kidnapper displays kindness or compassion toward his captives—”
“That’s not what this is.”
His voice hardens, at himself, not me. “It doesn’t erase the terror he caused first. And it sure as hell doesn’t earn him forgiveness.
” His forehead furrows, a conflicted look on his face.
“But they can become emotionally attached to him. It’s a dependency brought about by survival.
You’ve been isolated, fearing for your life, completely dependent on me.
What you’re feeling is the kind of traumatic bonding that sometimes happens between a captor and his captive. ”
“You’re wrong,” I say emphatically. “These past few days here at the sanctuary I haven’t felt like a hostage. Not really. And it’s during my time here that I’ve started falling for you.”
There’s a hard set to Kane’s mouth. “Amy, I’m attracted to you and my feelings for you run deeper than they should, but there’s no rosy future for us.” His voice roughens. “There can’t be.”