Page 98 of Fire in You

Ice settled in my veins and my stomach wiggled with a nest of snakes. I wanted to look away. I wanted to walk straight into the bar, unaffected by being here, but I couldn’t.

“Jillian?”

I jerked to my left, not realizing Brock had joined me in front of his car. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Yellow light from the overhead lamp fell upon his face. Concern filled his steady gaze as he took my hand in his. “What are you thinking?”

My mouth dried. The door to Mona’s opened and laughter spilled out into the parking lot.

“I’m thinking about that night.” Brock squeezed my hand as he brought it to his chest. “I think it makes sense. It’s okay if you are.”

I wet my lower lip and then nodded slowly. “I never . . . I never drove past here again. I didn’t come anywhere near here. I just . . .”

Brock circled his other arm around the nape of my neck, drawing me close. For several moments we stood there in silence and he said, “You know, I haven’t gone by the place I grew up since I was . . . hell, in my early twenties?”

Surprise flickered through me. “You haven’t?”

He shook his head. “Not once since then.”

All I could do was stare. Brock rarely talked about his past. He’d always been that way. “I thought you’d gone back.”

“Just that once. Saw my father.” He let out a heavy breath. “He was still drinking and he still wanted to do nothing but talk with his fists.”

“You never told me you saw your father.”

He raised a shoulder in a slight shrug. “There was nothing to tell. The man barely cared that I was even there, standing in front of him and alive. All he saw was that I was wearing nice clothes and driving a nice car. He saw me and saw his next bottle of whiskey.”

Sadness filled me. “And your mom?”

Another slow shake of his head. “She wasn’t there, but that wasn’t anything new. She was never there.”

His parents really were the worst. His dad was a drunk who had never been able to hold down a job. He’d stay out, come home, and even though Brock rarely admitted it, I knew his father used him as a punching bag.

Just like Brock’s father had used his mom.

And which was why his mom was probably never there, but who could leave knowing what was happening to their child? I never understood. Never would.

“I don’t drive down that street. Don’t go into that neighborhood.” He cupped my cheek, smoothing his thumb along the damaged jaw. “I understand why you never drove past here and I get why this is a big deal for you.”

My gaze shifted away from his, to the side parking lot. “I’m . . . I’m okay. It’s just—I don’t know. I almost died here.” I let out a shaky breath as I reached deep in and tried to see how I felt, but there was nothing really there. “I guess . . . I don’t know. I felt like coming back here would be this eye-opening, epiphany moment, but I just kind of feel numb.”

“However you feel, whether it’s nothing or angry or sad, it’s all okay.”

I nodded as I dragged my gaze back to his. “Do you ever want to see them again—your parents?” I asked as a burst of cold wind caused me to shiver.

“You know, I don’t even feel bad about saying this, but no. I don’t.” He shifted so his back took the brunt of the wind. “The only thing those people taught me was to survive, and they weren’t even very good at that.”

“But you did survive,” I pointed out.

“Luck,” he said, the corners of lips curling up.

I shook my head. “No, it’s not luck. You have . . . you have fire in you, Brock. You were determined to do more than survive, but to make something out of your life. To succeed and—”

“And you don’t think you have that?” His eyes searched mine. “After what you’ve survived and where you stand today?”

I lowered my gaze, unsure of how to answer the question, because I wasn’t sure if I had that same kind of fire Brock had, because I’d given up so much and he’d fought for so much.

And I really didn’t want to think about any of this right now. “Let’s get in there before everyone thinks we bailed on them.”

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