Chapter 16 #2
I climb out of my truck and grab her stack of books, following behind her. She unlocks her door, holding it open for me as we walk in.
Once her books are set to the side and ready for her to put away, I start dinner.
I lean against the counter, watching her rearrange shelves, filling small gaps as she sits cross-legged on the floor, sorting through her new haul looking perfectly content and at peace with herself and the world.
I hate myself for still wanting to push and learn what it is about her family that makes her retreat into that shell of hers, but the idea of being next to her and comforting her while she’s vulnerable awakens a need in me.
An hour later, we’re both on her sofa watching the fire burn as we sit side by side. Our pizza plates are empty and put to one side on the coffee table. The quiet and comfort of just being next to her provides me a sense of stillness I haven’t felt in a long time.
“Are the books your dad gave you up there?” I ask, looking over at the shelf.
“No,” she says with a shake of her head. “I don’t have them anymore.” My eyes move to her hands when she fidgets. They’re covered with her sleeves.
“Why not?”
She shrugs, not looking at me.
I know I shouldn’t push her, but I can’t let it go. I want her to tell me everything. I want her to know she can say anything.
I inch closer, reaching for her hand and rolling the fabric of her cardigan up her wrists and lacing my fingers with hers.
“Your past doesn’t scare me, Erin.”
“That’s because you don’t know how dark it is.”
“I’m not afraid of a little darkness, Erin.”
Her eyes flare with uncertainty.
She takes a breath, pulling her hand from mine. Her back pushes against the armrest as she faces me but closes her eyes, and it seems like, in a split second, she’s a light-year away from this room.
From me.
Back in a place she doesn’t want to be.
Trapped.
I reach for her hand, hoping I can help ground her.
She doesn’t pull away.
“I’m here, baby.”
She lets out a shaky breath.
“I-I didn’t recognize her voice or see the face of the woman who shot my dad three times in the chest.”
Her words slam into me at full force. Her eyes remain closed, but her pain and turmoil wrap around us like bubble wrap, preventing even the smallest breath.
“I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. I was trying hard not to be seen. T-To be next.” She shakes her head, tears spilling down her face. “I d-didn’t save him.”
I wipe her cheek with my thumb, but she still doesn’t give me her eyes.
“Erin,” I whisper, trying to coax her out of her memory. “Look at me, sweetheart.”
“When I saw my mom with that man in the hotel, she warned me not to say anything. Said bad things would happen to my dad…but I didn’t listen. I told my dad what I saw, and he lost his life because of it.”
“You were just a kid, Erin.”
“I never had a chance to call for help—but someone came. A man with a tattoo and dark eyes. He had a needle,” she tells me, her trembling finger running along her neck.
“He put me in a car and said, ‘Sleep now, little Lucia. It’s going to be alright.’ And that’s all I remember before everything went dark. ”
Her eyes open, her tortured brown gaze looking right into me. There’s a look in her pupils that I recognize. Fear. An ache rattles deep inside my bones for the girl sitting in front of me, sharing her ghosts with me.
“Lucia?” I ask her.
“The name I was given at birth. I changed it after I was adopted,” she says.
“I never told anyone what happened that night.” Her words are fragile now, making it easy for me to sense the weight of them.
The heaviness of what she’s faced stirs the ache within me, because I know the burden of carrying someone else’s traumas and truths.
To blame yourself.
I know what she’s going through, and it crushes me that she’s been carrying it since she was eight.
She speaks again after a few silent moments pass between us.
“When I woke up, I was already in my new home. No one asked me anything, so I never came forward. I get panic attacks sometimes about that night. Some are worse than others. It starts off as a nightmare, and when I wake up, it’ll trigger an attack, but it hasn’t happened in a long time.”
The vulnerability on her face is a punch to the gut, and I silently curse myself for pushing her too hard too fast, but at the same time, I’m so damn proud of her for trusting me.
“Rudy was in the system for most of his childhood. A lot of bouncing around before he was ten.”
“I was with my foster father, Roger, until I was twelve. He put on a good front. To outsiders, he was nice and charming, but it was just an act to get a paycheck. He had a foster son, too. I thought it meant he’d be kind, but I don’t think he knew the meaning of the word.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Her body shudders. “Griff was barely a teenager when I moved in. But he was the one who took care of me. He read me stories, made sure I ate, and helped me with homework. Left Jelly Tots under my pillow. He always made sure I was okay.”
“Hell of a brother.”
“He was. At night, I’d hear yelling and screaming. I was too afraid to leave my room to go see what was happening.”
“You did exactly what you should have done, Erin. You took care of yourself. Griff wanted you to be safe.”
Her lip trembles, and when a sob wracks through her, it’s as though oxygen has been stolen from my body.
“I tried not to cause trouble so Griff wouldn’t get hurt. I helped around the house so he could take breaks, but he always ended up underneath Roger’s fists or boots. He had so many bruises.”
Anger spikes inside of me as my mind pictures a scared little Erin, doing everything possible to keep her brother safe.
“The last time it happened, Roger was drunk, and I thought he was going to kill Griff. He just kept hitting him and yelling, ‘Stay down, Griffy! You’re a little turd. Why do you make me do this, Griffy?’ I just reacted.
I threw myself in front of Griff and…” She stops.
Her hand trembles as she pulls her shirt up just enough to show me the scar near her belly button.
It’s small but the story behind it is anything but.
Rage rips through me.
He hurt her.
My breath catches. I want to pull her into my arms, to take away the years of pain behind that mark, but I don’t. Not yet. She’s not ready for that.
“I remember hearing Griff’s voice telling me to hold on and the sound of a car horn beeping like it was right next to me, and then…
nothing,” she says, her voice brittle and seconds from breaking.
“I woke up in the hospital. Alone. Griff was gone. No note. No goodbye. I knew why he left; Roger would have found a way to blame it on him. He was only seventeen, and if they believed Roger…”
Erin talking about Griff makes me think of my own brothers. The accident changed everything, and every day since, we’ve grown farther apart. Sometimes it feels like we’ll never find each other again. Forever lost in a maze with no hope of escaping.
I bring my focus back to Erin, who’s pulling at the tassels of the blanket across her lap.
“Please tell me you didn’t go back to him.”
“I ran away.”
“What?” I rear back, shaking my head. “You were only twelve.”
“I didn’t want to go back to him.”
“Where did you go?”
“Detroit. The day the hospital discharged me, Roger went to a store to buy a bottle. I snuck onto a bus without being seen. When the bus stopped in Detroit, I got off and just kept walking. I found a diner. I was so exhausted, I fell asleep in a booth.”
There’s a tremble in her voice as she carries on.
“I woke up to a drunk guy grabbing me. I screamed. Bella showed up. Tased him. She’d stopped for gas right next to the diner on the drive home from college. She caught her boyfriend cheating on her and was heading back to Huxley Bay. Saw the guy getting handsy and intervened.”
I let out a breath. “Remind me to thank her when she’s back from California.”
I take note of the gratitude that reflects in her eyes, and it cuts through some of the heaviness.
“Why didn’t you tell the Silvers what happened to your dad?” I ask her.
“I was scared—for a lot of reasons. Every time I tried, I ended up chickening out. Just before I turned eighteen, I decided it was time, but then the Silvers died. Their deaths were hard. I didn’t want to be selfish and add more to Bella’s plate,” she explains, and I can’t say that doesn’t make sense.
“I think about telling Bella now and then, but I don’t want her to question if my silence was her fault. ”
“How’d you come up with your name?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.
“I wanted a fresh start with the Silvers, but I also wanted to hold on to my dad. I didn’t have anything to remember him by,” she says with a tenderness in her eyes. “Erin Callahan is the name of my favorite character out of all the books my dad had ever given me—The Detective and Me.”
I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her palm and allowing myself a few extra seconds as I hold her close.
“You’re a fighter, Erin Callahan. Thank you for telling me your story. I promise I’ll keep your secrets, and you, safe. You will always be safe with me.”
Her eyes clear, and I know she believes me. For the first time in my life, I want that responsibility more than anything. Of protecting someone and making sure nothing else hurts them again.