I rack my brain for where I can take her for this conversation she wants to have before we head to Molly Darcy’s. That’s assuming she wants to go after we talk.
We make our way into the parking lot with Ry and Jared ahead of us, holding hands. Cassidy stops with her hand on her heart.
“What is it, Pixie?” I murmur, needing to know her thoughts.
“Sometimes I work with people who don’t have that special something. They go through the motions, but you know the marriage isn’t going to last much longer than it takes to plan it. They have it,” she says, nodding at Ry and Jared. My heart balloons in my chest. She’s right. “It makes working with them a pleasure. It makes spending time with them more so.”
“No one deserves it more than, Ry,” I agree, knowing she understood from our talk on Monday.
She smiles with a touch of sadness in her eyes, but she masks it quickly. Idiot, I curse myself. She deserves it more than anyone I’ve ever met.
We meet the guys on the steps. “So, Molly Darcy’s?” Ry rubs his hands together in anticipation.
“Actually, Cassidy and I have a stop to make first. We’ll see you there in a bit.” Ry raises an eyebrow and tilts his head while Cassidy flushes. Jared quickly whacks his fiancé upside the head and I nod my thanks to Jared as I open the door for Cassidy.
After we’re settled inside my Porsche, Cassidy says, “So…” She plays with an imaginary piece of lint on her jeans, worked up by whatever it is she has to say.
“I figured we might check out the sights by the lake,” I reply calmly, though my heart is starting to race while my eyes seek hers out in the dark confines of the car.
When they connect, she answers, “Okay.” It’s a long, drawn out word, her Southern accent seeping through. She places her hands on top of each other.
I turn on the radio. “Music preference?”
She waves one hand in the air, turning the choice over to me. As I drive to Kenosia Avenue, I realize I’m starting to feel something more than just an above average attraction for this incredible woman.
She’s quiet on our way out to the lake. I reach over at one point and place one of my hands on hers, claiming her fingers. She turns to me and I glance over. Slowly, carefully, she returns the gesture and grips mine. I let out a sigh of relief.
“Why do I have a feeling I’m not the only one with something on their mind?” she says quietly.
I don’t reply.
She sighs.
“At the lake, Pixie. We’ll talk there.”
Turning off Christopher Columbus Avenue, we arrive at a small twenty-five-acre state park. I get out of the car and take a deep breath of cold air. Reaching behind the driver’s seat, I grab my leather jacket and shrug it on before walking around to open Cassidy’s door. She’s shivering.
“Where’s your coat, Pixie?” Reaching down, she grabs it off the floor of the Porsche. I wait for her to pull the poncho over her head and hold out my hand to take hers as she steps from the car. The soft material brushes against my hand. “It’s so soft,” I murmur softly.
“Cashmere. A gift from the family for my birthday.”
I turn her to face me and lift her hair out, then slide my hands down her arms until they reach her hands. “Can you walk in those?” I tip my chin at her shoes.
“If we stay on paths, yes.”
“Come with me,” I coax.
We start off down the path toward the water that will either lead to our destruction or the beginning of something great. Right now, I’m not sure which.
We reach a picnic table and bench. After making sure there are no animals around it or bird crap on top of it, I hop on top of it and hold her hand as she climbs carefully next to me. We have a gorgeous view of the lake. If I strain my eyes a bit, I can make out the birds on the banks huddling down for warmth in the night air.
Fuck, how the hell was I supposed to do this?
I want to kick my own ass. I feel like I’ve done everything wrong since we got to the restaurant, like the kiss on the stairs. I could feel her pulse hammering against her ribs where my hands were. The tension when I held her wrist. Then she relaxed so seamlessly with us at dinner, I’d thought she was ready for more.
All I did was hold her hand and she ran. Now, she wants to talk. I have no idea what to say.
I think back to the Thomas Paine quote Matt gave me that I have folded in my wallet, “The real man smiles in trouble, gathers strength from distress, and grows brave by reflection.”
Having read Common Sense in college and knowing Paine meant the value of happiness didn’t mean much without strife, I know Matt was trying to tell me I had to navigate this minefield with Cassidy before I would be able to fully experience joy with her.
Until then, it would always be between us.
I’m just about to start talking when Cassidy asks me, “Have you had a good time tonight?”
She’s still facing the lake.
I turn slightly toward her. “Yes. Haven’t you?”
Her profile reveals a wry smile. “Probably one of the best nights of my life. I imagine for a woman, the first date of your life would be.”
I don’t react. In fact, I think I’m frozen. Did she say what I think she said? “What?” I manage to croak out. I hope my voice holds surprise, when in reality, it’s not a surprise at all.
Is she going there?
“Cassidy? Are you telling me that tonight is your first date? As in ever?” I hold my breath in anticipation of her answer.
“Yes,” she answers quietly.
“Why?” There are so many things that why is for. Why are you telling me this right now? Did something happen where I tipped off what I know?
She’s quiet, still focused on the lake, lost in thought.
“Pixie, why?” I whisper in the cold darkness.
“I didn’t understand the first time it happened,” I hear her say softly. “I didn’t understand the pain. I was too young.”
I feel like I’ve been slapped across the face. Holy sweet motherfucking Jesus. She’s talking.
She stands and steps away from the table, her delicate arms wrapping around herself. I stand and take a step closer to her. Her back is to me, but she must hear my feet in the fall leaves. She holds up her hand. “No, Caleb. I need to tell this my way. I need to do it on my own.”
I keep my distance as she seems to pull her thoughts together. “I must have been four, maybe five? I don’t know. I still technically don’t know my age. I know I wasn’t in school. There was no need to send the thing I was to school. To educate me to escape?” She laughs harshly.
I watch her from behind reach up and wipe her cheeks.
I want to be the one doing that for her. I stand where I am, my fists clenched at my sides, waiting for her to continue. Knowing what’s coming and unable to stop it.
“I remember through the haze hearing that if I bled, that he would get more crack or Ecstasy, whatever he needed. So he let them hurt me more. Hardly ever my face, but my body was fair game.” She takes a deep breath.
“Years later, we hired an investigative firm to make sure none of them could find us. The investigator asked me if I could describe any of them. I think by then, he wanted them as badly as we wanted to know if they were gone. There were so few I could describe because eventually, they would tether me, blindfolded, face down on the bed, spread eagle while they raped me.”
I feel the rage burning through me as if I’m learning this for the first time rather than just hearing her soft voice say it aloud.
I want to go back in time and kill every one of the motherfuckers who hurt the baby, the girl, this beautiful woman standing before me who is ramrod straight, full of tormented pride and misplaced shame.
“I assume you got free? Did someone find out or did you escape?” I ask. It was in her file. I know Phil rescued her, but now I want her to tell me everything so I don’t have to tell her I already know.
She makes a bitter sound of remembrance,
her back still to me. “One night they didn't tether me down as much, or drug me as much, I guess. They were probably too whacked out on whatever they were on. I kicked the wall frantically and was screaming for my life.” She takes deep breaths. “I figured no one would come, or would care.”
Calming herself down, she takes eight breaths, the same technique I observed her using in her office. “Phil was in the apartment next door. His father had already used and forgotten about Phil after finding out about the new toy on the block. Phil told me later that until he’d heard me scream, he was practically catatonic in his own hellacious nightmare.” Her voice begins to crack. “I’ll never forget Phil coming in swinging his bat. He took out his father, two other men and my father, I guess? I don’t know. God, years later, I can’t fathom the adrenaline running through his veins. It was the only thing that stood between him and freedom and he used it to save me too. He could have just grabbed his shit and left, and instead he took on four grown men hopped up on drugs to get himself, a thirteen-year-old boy, and a nine-year-old girl out of hell.”
She turns to face me, and there are tears on her face. I no sooner can stay away from her than I could stop breathing.
Stepping closer, I slowly wrap my arms around her. Using one hand, I start to wipe under her eyes. “What happened then, Pixie? How did you survive?”
She shakes her head, not wanting to say. “Tell me, Cassidy.” I know, but she needs to get it out.
I watch her drowning in her memories. I grip her a bit tighter, trying to anchor her to me. “We ran. I was so hurt. I was bleeding so, so much. We couldn’t, wouldn’t, go to the police because we would have been taken into the foster care system. That’s how Phil ended up with his so-called father and he refused to go back. He had been stealing small amounts from his father for a while and had hidden it. So, for a few days, we laid low in a shit hole of a motel. It was so bad. I can still hear the rats and bugs in the walls, but it was better than where we were because no one was trying to hurt us. Phil pushed every piece of furniture against the one door, barricading us in. I remember sleeping and eating chips. Eventually, we figured someone would suspect two kids, even in that hell hole and call the cops. So we left. Phil…oh God, I can’t.” She tries to pull out of my arms, but I hold her tighter.
“I think you have to. It’s burning a hole inside of you,” I encourage her softly.
My heart aches as this little warrior struggles to keep her family’s secrets.
“Who the hell are you to know this? Who are you?” she screams at me. Tears are flowing down her cheeks. Her chest is heaving, her hands shaking as she tries to fight to get away from me. “You know too much already. Dammit, let me go!”
My arms open. “You’ve already let me in, Cassidy. You can trust me. Think about it. I deal with worse than this every day investigating the worst of people. Nothing you say is going to shock or repel me. I’ve seen what it takes to survive, and I know what people do in order to live. And if they do it for love…” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the full truth either.
The fear crumbles and I see her shattered heart reappear from underneath. She can barely get the words out, but I hear her.
“He prostituted himself to get us a ride out of Jacksonville. Before, his father had forced him to. It was the last time he ever did, and he did it for me. Oh God, he did it for me.”
She pushes back into my arms and I pull her head to my chest, my breathing rough. My hand skims her neck and I touch the amaryllis tattoo I know is there from the file.
Strong, self-confident, pride. This family symbol is incredibly beautiful and fitting.
After letting her cry out her pain and fears while digging her nails into my chest, she calms down. Just when I’m about to suggest we move back to the car, she surprises me again by continuing.
“Phil has always been much more practical about what he did than me. To him it was the means to an end. To me it was—is—the ultimate sacrifice. What was so special about me for him to do that for?” she whispers so quietly that if the wind was blowing, I never would have heard her.
“We ended up in a little town in South Carolina. We met Em in the park we were sleeping in. Her parents had just been killed over a drug deal in front of her and they had the gun to her head when the cops busted in. She was placed with her great aunt in a trailer. Her Aunt Dee was trying to get her to talk when they came across us sleeping in the park. Phil wanted to run, but I was so tired. Dee convinced him to stay for a few days. With Dee, that was all it took. She gave us the only home we knew.” Reaching up, Cassidy wipes her eyes.
“How long were you there?”
“Phil had graduated high school a few months earlier.” Incredibly, she manages to smile softly through her tears. “Dee was so proud of him, of all of us. Then she was gone. We were there for about four and a half years. About halfway through it, Em started talking again. When Dee died in her sleep, we all grieved hard. Our family was shattered. The authorities wanted to take Em and I away, and Phil fought them with everything in him. Remember, this was the South. It was completely unseemly for an eighteen-year-old to watch over two fifteen-year old girls. He wasn’t a kid, but he wasn’t a man yet either. It didn’t matter that he was a gay man. If anything, that made it worse. He was a bad influence. Phil worked two jobs and went to court to petition to be our legal guardian. We had social services breathing down our necks every month for a year. Once we turned sixteen, Em and I both petitioned the state to be emancipated. We got our GEDs online so we could get full-time jobs. We legally had to be able to support ourselves. It took a while, but we did it. Finally, we felt settled again.” She goes quiet. “We met the rest of the girls later.”
I hug her hard, rocking her small body back and forth. Giving her strength, comfort; whatever she needs. I feel her relax into me. I know from the file the rest of the story isn’t easy to tell, but isn’t as physically traumatic to her personally.
“With the three of us working, Phil got to cut back to one job. We had the trailer, and trust me, the upkeep on that wasn’t a hell of a lot when you had three salaries coming in, even if you were paid piddly shit. But we all started to want something more. I started community college at night, got my Associates, and then went to the College of Charleston. It’s a state school with a good business management and hospitality program. Em did the same, only her major was studio art. Phil got his AA. He found his calling working at a florist.” She looks up at me, her eyes are wide and earnest. “It’s what we were meant to do.”
“I understand, Pixie,” I murmur.
“I mean, we all can’t go to Harvard.” A bit of her sauciness returns as she draws out my alma mater's name in her Southern accent. I smile as she lays her head back on my chest.
The first thread of trust snaps between us.
She goes quiet in my arms and I rub my hands up and down her back, absorbing what she told me and reconciling it to what I had read in the file.
“How did you pick Connecticut?”
“Phil loved the pictures he saw in the library when we were thinking about moving. It also called to me for some reason. I have no idea why, but it felt like I was meant to be here. We all liked the proximity to New York for work, and we did some research on schools for the girls, found Collyer and made our home here.” She goes quiet as she reaches under her hair and touches the back of her neck.
I don’t interrupt our silence with questions or words. She hasn’t told me about how they found the younger girls, how they chose their names, how they bought the farm or any of the other details I read in the report. The worst of the worst is out there between us. I know. She knows I know. And neither of us have gone anywhere. That’s got to count for something, right?
“Why did you tell me, Cassidy?” She blinks up at me, looking uncertain. “Not that I don’t feel honored you did, but why?”
Pushing out of my arms, she stomps away before spinning around. Throwing her arms out, she yells, “Because I’m not normal, Cal
eb! I’m twenty-nine years old and I agonized over what to wear tonight. A man holding my hand sends my pulse racing. You kissed me on the stairs as if it didn’t mean anything to you, but it meant something to me. I can’t have you not know when the little casual touches mean nothing to you, because they mean a hell of a lot to me. Every time you touch me, I feel something here.” She hits her heart with her open hand.
Her breathing is ragged. I can hear her try to get it under control before she goes on.
“If you don’t want to continue this”—she points between us— “because of my past or inexperience, that’s fine. But I can’t be casual.” She stops and stares at me.
I stare back at her across the space of darkness.
During my tours in the Army, I thought I saw all kinds of bravery. I thought what Keene had done, stepping in front of a hail of bullets to save me had to be the bravest thing ever in this world or the next. Brother saving brother.
I was wrong.
The definition of valiant and brave were standing in front of me on a cold night, wrapped in a cashmere coat with the fall leaves swirling around her ankles.
“I think…” I say as I move closer. Her eyes widen—not from fear, just wariness. “You might be the most beautiful, courageous, strongest woman I’ve ever met.” The disbelief creeps into her eyes. “No arguing, Cassidy. My opinion. And if it takes forever, you’ll believe it too.” Slowly, so not to scare her, I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her flush against my body. I lower my forehead to hers, just to hold her for a few moments.
When she looks up at me, her gaze holds a mix of hope, hesitancy, and amazingly, desire.
I can’t resist.
Leaning down, I brush my lips once, twice against hers. I hear a soft expulsion of breath and settle my mouth on hers for a deeper kiss, hearing a delicate moan escape her.
Free to Dream Page 13