Totally wasn’t expecting that.

“How’d you know that?”

He poured another drink and took a sip, drinking this one much slower than the last.  “Layla, I’m sure you’ve worked out by now I get to know everything I can about the people in my life.”

“I figured as much, but I’m not really in your life.”

He stared at me with a hint of frustration.  “What would you call it, then?”

“I don’t know.  You visit my bar and help me out when I need it.”

“And is that not what you’d call a friendship?”

“Okay, so we’re friends.  Do you really investigate all your friends?”

“I do.  So tell me, what happened with your family?”

Unease stirred in my gut.  I hated talking about this stuff, because it meant I actually had to dredge the shitty memories up.  And usually I had to censor the story, but something told me I could share the full truth with Donovan if I really wanted.

Did I want to?

He waited silently for me to talk.  I took a deep breath and began.  “Annie and I grew up almost as sisters.  Our parents hardly spent any time with us, always leaving us with babysitters so they could attend social functions or go on holidays.  So we had that strong bond, you know?”  He nodded his understanding, and I continued.  “When I was eighteen and Annie was sixteen, I discovered her father had been molesting her for years.  She was fucked-up, and I finally dragged the truth out of her.”  I took another breath and looked at him.  He was watching me intently, waiting patiently for me to get it out.  I still hadn’t decided how much to share with him.  “I . . . ” my voice drifted off as I struggled with what to tell him.

“What did you do?”  He tried to coax it out of me, and as I looked at him, I knew he could handle the truth and not judge me for it.

“I tried to kill her father.  I walked in on them and couldn’t stop myself.  They were in their kitchen and I grabbed a knife... I stabbed him a couple of times and slashed his face but the bastard didn’t die.  Annie tried to stop me.  She didn’t want me to go to jail, but I didn’t care about that.  I just wanted her safe from him forever.  In the end, his wife came home and saved him.  I’ll never understand a mother who puts a husband like that above their child.”  Memories assaulted my mind and I thought I might vomit.  To this day, it still made me sick to think about what Annie endured throughout her childhood.

“Did her mother know it was going on all that time?”  Donovan seemed as sickened by it as I was.

“No, but I screamed it at her while she tried to stop me from killing him.  She wouldn’t listen.”

“So he didn’t die?”

“Not from what I did to him, but he killed himself a week later.”

“Why did you two walk away from your family if he was dead?”

I took another deep breath.  “In the week between my attack and his suicide, our families covered it all up.  I tried to go to the police to have him charged for what he did to Annie but my parents wouldn’t let me and her mother made her stay silent too.  They were more concerned with their social standing and good reputation in business than with looking after Annie.  After he killed himself, the reporters came sniffing around, wanting to know why.  I’ll never forget the day my father threatened to disown me and cut me out of his will if I breathed a word of it.”  My chest ached with hurt and sadness, and I looked up into Donovan’s eyes to find softness there.  I’d never seen it in him before, not like that.

He understands.

“You cut yourself out of it anyway,” he murmured.

“Yes, and I took Annie with me.  She was so broken and fucked-up, and her mother was useless.  The worst mother I’ve ever met.  She grieved a husband who didn’t deserve any grief and ignored a child who needed her unconditional love.”  I blinked back the tears that threatened to fall every time I thought about how they’d screwed Annie up.  Staring at him, I asked, “Who the fuck does that?”

He poured the rest of his scotch down his throat and then surprised me by sharing something personal.  “My father beat my mother and ignored me for most of my life.  Some people should not have the privilege of being parents.”  His voice was tight and controlled, but there was a vulnerability to it that I caught.  He still battled with this.

I moved my hand across the table and clasped his.  Instinctively, I knew the physical contact would be soothing, and I was right.  Donovan’s touch calmed me.  When he intertwined our fingers a moment later, I knew he felt it, too.

“Do you have anything to do with your father these days?” I asked.

His face hardened and his shoulders tensed.  I waited for him to pull his hand away from mine, but he didn’t.  “He’s in my life but not by my choice.  My mother is weak where he’s concerned.  He stopped seeing her about a year ago but he’s back, sniffing around at the moment.”  He tried to hide his brokenness with his tough exterior, but the survivor in me knew that, on the inside, he fought his demons.  By the exhaustion on his face, I figured it was a fight he wasn’t currently winning.

“I’m guessing you’re close to your mother.”  I loosened my grip on his hand and let my finger trace lazy patterns over his.