“But this,” he said, gesturing between us, “giving up your chance at happiness to even some fuckin’ cosmic score with Dillon is beyond screwed up!”
Anger seethed within me, and I launched to my feet. “Do you know how hard it was for me to tell you that?” I pressed a fist to my chest. “I’ve never told anyone that!”
“Yeah, because it’s messed up!” He crossed the room and grabbed my shoulders, bending his head to mine. His voice lowered, his words desperate. “You’re not only forcing yourself to live half a life here, Dahlia. You’re asking me to as well.”
Just like that, my anger deflated.
More guilt filled me.
Great.
“That’s not fair.”
“No. But it’s the truth. You loved your sister, but how much do you love me?”
I was afraid of how much—that was how much I loved Michael Sullivan.
Lifting my hand in his, he placed it over his heart where I could feel it thudding wildly. “I can exist without you, Dahlia. But I can’t live without you. Don’t make me.”
Fury hummed in my veins as I switched off the TV. Ian Devlin had given a grief-stricken statement to the news about how he believed the sheriff’s department and a certain detective were not only failing in their pursuit of the criminal who had murdered his son but were daring to blame the corruption inside the sheriff’s department on him.
Bastard.
It was on national news.
Deep concern for Michael suffused me. After I’d left his house that morning, unable to answer his plea to love him, I hadn’t been able to get the look on his face out of my head.
For once, instead of locking that shit up tight, I’d gone to Bailey. She no longer slept at the inn but had shacked up with Vaughn in his stunning, multimillion-dollar beach house.
Vaughn had answered the door in his pajamas, the scowl of annoyance he wore disappearing at the sight of me disheveled and tearstained on his doorstep. Ushering me in as Bailey hurried downstairs in her robe, Vaughn had made us tea and then discreetly disappeared back upstairs so I could spill my guts to my best friend.
Afterward, I fell asleep on their couch.
When I woke up, it was to Bailey waving coffee under my nose. She told me Vaughn had gone to the hotel, even though it was a Sunday and he and Bailey typically spent the day together. Bailey switched on the news while I nibbled toast and seethed over Ian Devlin.
“I called the girls. They’re on their way over.”
I turned my irritation to her. “Why?”
“Because I feel out of my depth here.” Her features were strained. “I don’t know what I can say to convince you to let go of this spiritual promise you’ve made to your sister, for lack of a better phrase. But I think Jessica might be able to help.”
“So why not only call her?” I was petulant, vulnerable, now that my deepest fears were out in the world.
Bailey turned pensive. “Because you’re right about Emery. Something isn’t right about her situation, and I hope that if you and Jess trust her enough with your history, then maybe one day she’ll trust us with hers.”
“Two birds, one stone,” I muttered.
“If I had a deep, dark past, you know I’d share it in a heartbeat to help her out. Fortunately, my life has been rather blessed.”
I shot her a disbelieving look. “Your boyfriend of ten years cheated on you. Stu Devlin assaulted you, and then your sister tried to sell your inn out from beneath you.”
Bailey waved her hand. “That’s child play compared to what you and Jess have been through.”
Despite my reluctance to share with Emery and Jess, I couldn’t help but admit that I was curious about Jessica’s past.
While we waited for the girls, I washed up and borrowed yoga pants and a T-shirt from Bailey. The yoga pants were a little too long and the T-shirt a little too tight across the chest, but it would have to do. Feeling marginally more human, I made my way downstairs and discovered Emery and Jessica had arrived.
They watched me with round eyes filled with curiosity and concern.
“Let’s get this over with.” I flopped down on an armchair with more nonchalance than I felt. “Get comfy ladies.” I gestured to the enormous L-shaped couch.
Once they were settled, I pushed through my fears, my nerves, and reminded myself this was Jess and Emery. I could trust them. Bailey believed I could trust them too.
Now I’d opened up to Michael, I was desperate for someone to tell me they understood why I believed I owed Dillon. Michael hadn’t understood. Emphatically not. Bailey didn’t say it in so many words, but I had a feeling she didn’t understand it either.
So I told Jess and Emery the whole story. Beginning with meeting Michael, loving him while I was with his best friend, Dillon’s involvement, our betrayal, her accident, her death, my mother, my drinking, Bailey’s rescue … all of it. Thankfully, I told it without tears. It seemed I’d used them all up with Michael.
I told them about last night. My confession. My penance.
The sounds of the gulls flying above the sea outside filled the living room, along with the gentle lap of the water against the bollards that held the living room balcony up. My friends remained silent.
Emery was crying so she couldn’t speak.
Sweet girl. Full of so much empathy. For some bizarre reason, I felt like I should comfort her.
However, the look on Jess’s face arrested me. It was as if she’d seen a ghost.
“Jess?” I was concerned.
She turned to Bailey instead, her blue eyes wide with understanding. “This is why you wanted me here.”
Bailey nodded. “I need someone to get through to her, and I believe only you can.”
Why?
Why Jessica?
Jess straightened her shoulders as if readying for battle. “If it’s okay with you, I want to tell you my story now.”
I nodded, a strange feeling of dread filling my gut and I didn’t know why.
I would understand why very soon.
“I had a little sister too,” she said, her smile melancholy. “She was a ballet dancer. Her name was Julia.”
My eyes moved to Emery, and I saw that this was news to her.
“She was eleven,” Jess continued, “I was fourteen. Our parents were very social people, and they often put their needs above our own. They’d leave us alone a lot, and I was left in charge of Julia. My aunt Theresa would watch her for me when she could, but often, it was left to me to babysit. And I was fourteen—I wanted to be out with my friends.” She grimaced and looked at her hands, pressing her fingertips nervously together. “A few years before the summer I turned fourteen, my father’s little brother, Tony, moved back home. He took a lot of interest in us. I was grateful,” Jess scoffed, the sound hard and ugly. “I would go out with my friends, and he would watch Julia.”
When she looked at me, I shook my head, part of me not wanting to hear what I knew was coming. I saw it in the horror that still lived in the back of her eyes. “I came home early one afternoon, and they weren’t around. Then I heard something down in the basement.”
Emery let out a low moan, and Jess reached for her hand without breaking her gaze from mine.
“He … he was raping her.”
Nausea welled inside of me, and I covered my mouth to hold back the cry I wanted to release. That poor little girl. Oh my God. What Jess had seen … I couldn’t even imagine. If someone had done that to Dillon, I would’ve killed him.
“I flew at them,” she recalled. “I was in this blind rage, and it gave me enough strength to get him off her. We tried to escape. We were running up the stairs, but he caught Julia. I got him away from her, but he came at me at the top of the stairs. He had me on my back, punching me. My sister screamed, and then he wasn’t on me anymore. It disoriented me at first, but when I got up, Tony had Julia pinned against the wall, and he was choking her.” Her hands went to her throat. “And I knew. I knew he wouldn’t let us out
of there alive.
“So I killed him,” she announced, the words hoarse, like they’d been dragged out of her.
That dread I felt wrapped itself around me.
Jessica.
“I took one of my father’s golf clubs, and I hit him over the head. He fell down the stairs and broke his neck.” Swiping at a tear, she continued. “Julia told my parents and the police what had happened and we learned that he’d been raping her for two years. Since she was nine. My parents were so caught up in their own lives, and I was such a self-involved teenager, we hadn’t paid any attention to her. We hadn’t seen the signs.
“Our parents put us both in therapy rather than deal with us themselves, and Julia focused on her dancing. Obsessively.” Her eyes took on a faraway glaze. “When she didn’t get into the school of her dreams, she hung herself in that basement. I found her. My parents blamed me. They didn’t want to believe it was Tony’s abuse that caused all her pain. They said it was the memory of me killing a man in front of her.”
I was cold. All the way through. Because I hated that this was her story. She was so kind and warm, and she took care of people. She helped people. I hated that this was her story. She deserved so much better.
Emery and Bailey were both crying, and I realized that my cheeks were wet too. Our eyes locked as an unspoken connection wrapped itself around us.
“For a long time, I blamed myself. I wanted to punish myself for killing Tony, for failing Julia. I believed I didn’t deserve good things. That living an empty life was my penance.”
“Jess,” I sobbed. It was like she was inside my head, my heart. I didn’t feel alone anymore.
And then she was up and across the room. She lowered to her knees in front of me and grabbed both my hands in hers. “I put Cooper through the wringer because I was afraid to tell him what I’d done. That he would realize he deserved better than me. He made me see the truth. His love—his strength—helped me find the peace I thought I didn’t deserve. But I do deserve it.” She tugged my hands to her chest, her eyes pleading. “And it breaks my heart you don’t think you deserve it too. You do, Dahlia. The guilt won’t go away overnight, maybe not ever,” Jess whispered. “Not completely. But loving Michael, letting him love you, will make it a little easier every day. Do you know what my redemption is?”
I shook my head, unable to speak past the emotions in my throat.
“Cooper. Knowing I make him as happy as I do. That he needs me. That’s my redemption right there.” Her expression turned fierce. “I don’t believe you need to prove yourself or find redemption. But I know you think you do. So … make Michael yours.”
I slid off the chair and wrapped my arms around her, inhaling her strength, breathing it in. If Jessica Huntington-Lawson could get through such horror and come out the other side as strong as this warrior in front of me, then for God’s sake, so could I.
Instead of going into Cooper’s to question the introverted cook, Crosby, Michael wished he was going in there to drown his own sorrows. In lieu of that, he was chasing their only lead so far. Cooper had called to tell him Crosby might have seen Jackson but wasn’t one hundred percent sure and didn’t want to waste police time.
It wasn’t a waste of Michael’s time.
He was following every lead possible.
Cooper nodded to him as soon as he strode through the door. Michael could sense the bar quiet down a little and eyes were on him as Cooper lifted the bar top, came out from behind it, and gestured for him to follow into the back room.
“He’s pissed I called you,” Cooper said as he led Michael down a short hallway and into the kitchen.
Crosby made that clear from the moment he saw Michael. “I hate goddamn cops,” he blurted, shaking a metal basket of fries in the fryer.
After baring his soul to Dahlia that morning, Michael wasn’t in the mood for anyone else’s shit. “Just tell me what you saw.”
Crosby glared at Cooper. “I said I wasn’t sure.”
Michael snapped his fingers in front of Crosby’s face, his own expression severe with impatience. “Answer my question.”
“That’s why I hate cops,” Crosby grumbled. “No manners.”
“That’s funny coming from you, Crosby. Answer Detective Sullivan’s questions or I’ll send Isla in here.”
Michael didn’t know why the idea of sending one of the wait staff in here would bother the cook so much, but it did. He cursed under his breath and then glared at Michael like a petulant schoolboy. “I got a trailer over on Oak Meadows.”
Michael nodded, knowing the area well after searching all over Hartwell for Jackson.
“This morning, before dawn, I saw someone sneaking out of Willy Nettle’s old trailer.”
Michael turned to Cooper.
“He died about eight months ago,” Cooper explained. “His daughter lives in New York. She must not have gotten around to selling it.”
Jesus. Son of a bitch. Michael had been out all over the county looking for him, they had an APB out all over the East Coast for this dirty bastard, and he’d been hiding under their fuckin’ noses?
“How did I not know about this?”
Cooper grimaced at Crosby. “Please tell me you didn’t know that place was lying empty and didn’t say anything?”
His cook scowled. “If I had seen anything weird going on there, I would have said something. And we don’t know it was Freddie Jackson I saw.”
“Was the person male or female? How tall? What build?”
“It. Was. Dark,” Crosby spoke condescendingly slow.
Michael tried to hold on to his patience. “But you saw someone. You also saw how big they were.”
He shifted uncomfortably. “It was a man. But that’s all I know.”
Giving Crosby an abrupt nod, Michael turned on his heel and pulled out his cell. Jeff picked up after two rings.
“Got a lead. Pete Crosby saw a man leaving Willy Nettle’s empty trailer out on Oak Meadows just before dawn. Can’t say for sure it was Jackson, but I think it’s worth checking out.”
“I’ll send a couple deputies.” Jeff sighed. “If that son of a bitch has been in town this whole time …”
“I know.” Michael shared his frustration. “I’m on my way there now.”
They hung up, and Michael followed Cooper out of the kitchen.
“I’ll be glad when this is over,” Cooper said.
“Yeah, we don’t want a killer on the loose, scaring off tourists.”
Cooper glared at him as Michael rubbed the nape of his neck.
“I didn’t mean that,” Cooper said. The glare dissipated, replaced with concern. “You okay, Mike?”
“I’ve been better.” Together they pushed the doors open.
Michael wished he’d stayed in the hallway.
Standing at the bar, lips pursed, his eyes dark on Bryn, one of Cooper’s bartenders, was Michael’s old man.
What the hell was Aengus Sullivan doing in Hartwell?
His dad jerked his head toward him.
It was like the floor fell away under his feet.
As Aengus strode around the bar to come to a stop in front of him, Michael fought the need to walk away, like always. He knew before Aengus even spoke that he was drunk. It was a goddamn miracle he’d made it all the way to Delaware in this state.
Alcohol was also the reason he’d do something so ridiculous as driving here for a son who’d made it clear he wanted nothing to do with him.
Michael hated being in the same room as his dad. Looking at him now, no one would know that he’d once been a handsome bastard. So good-looking, he’d snared Michael’s mom, the prettiest girl in Southie. Michael hated that he looked like his father and was grateful for the miracle of genetics that gave him his mother’s blond hair.
Just that little difference to separate him physically from the asshole in front of him.
Of course, Aengus Sullivan wasn’t what he used to be. His face was haggard from smoking, and he had a gut from
drinking.
“What are you doing here?” Michael was grateful he sounded calmer than he was feeling.
His father scrunched up his face in disgust, his voice loud when he answered, “You’re on the news. My fuckin’ waste-of-space son is on the news. And everyone is asking me why the fuck my son is in this pissy little town pissing away that detective badge he’s so fuckin’ smug about.”
“Jesus,” Cooper muttered behind him.
Michael’s neck grew hot and he bit back the urge to lash out at his father. Was he so sick in the head, he’d come all this way to berate his own son? “Lower your voice.”
Aengus curled his lip. “I know why you’re here.”
Before Michael could respond, his evening went from bad to worse as Cooper’s door flew open, and Dahlia rushed in with Bailey at her back.
Jesus Christ.
His father turned to see what had grabbed his attention as Dahlia spotted him. The look of relief on her face turned to confusion when she recognized Aengus. She stepped toward them.
“And speak of the fuckin’ devil.”
“Dad.” Michael grabbed his arm, jerking him back around. “I’m on duty right now, so let’s step outside. You can say what you came here to say, and then you’ll get the fuck out of my town.”
“Your town?” He guffawed loudly, and the bar went silent.
Michael pinched the bridge of his nose as if it would somehow stop his headache and make his father disappear at the same time.
“You move to this nowhere little shithole on the sea for that piece behind me—”
Things We Never Said: A Hart's Boardwalk Novel Page 29