Page 36 of June 7

He leaned forward, frowning at her, and planted his elbows on his knees. "Then, keep it to yourself."

"What?"

"Don't tell me."

"I thought you wanted to know why I—"

"Yeah, but not at the expense of hurting you." He let his head hang and rubbed the back of his neck. "Babe."

Tears blurred her vision. She inhaled slowly, an expert at keeping them at bay.

"I want you." Bane raised his head. "I want to fix whatever makes you pull away from me. I want to fix whatever is making you hurt."

She shook her head. "You can't fix me."

"You're not the damn problem," he muttered.

"Maybe I am," she said.

He ran his hands over his face and blew out his pent-up breath. She gazed at him. He was honest and sincere.

He was not like the other men she'd dated in the past. She'd purposely gone out with guys who weren't from around Seaglass Cove, hoping to always hide her past. But even then, stories got to them.

They made excuses to keep their distance. They stopped taking her out to restaurants. They never invited her to meet their parents, siblings, or friends. They hadn't wanted anyone to know they were seeing the Daisy Hill.

But Bane was different. He knew nothing about the shadows of Seaglass Cove. Pretending she could hide away in the duplex with him and be happy was unfair. She wanted to see him at his work and around his club. She wanted to go out without worrying if some asshole was going to comment about her past.

"Four months before my eighteenth birthday, my dad told me to go outside because he had a surprise for my mom." She inhaled deeply. "We lived about eight miles south of here at the time. I went outside—we lived on the coastline. It was dark but not late. Probably around nine-thirty. I sat on the dune at the back of the house where I often sat when I wanted to think or watch the sunset."

The roar of the ocean filled her ears. She closed her eyes, trying not to slip backward while she retold the story.

"It was chilly. The sand was warm. I dug my feet in the sand while I waited. I honestly thought my dad was surprising my mom with a gift. She'd been talking about a suncatcher for the window she spotted at the Saturday Market in town." Opening her eyes, she stared down at the coffee mug. "It seemed like I was sitting there forever, waiting for my parents to tell me I could come in and share their surprise with them, when I spotted headlights on the beach."

"Because of the darkness, I couldn't make out whose car it was." She raised her gaze. "A block from our house, there was an entrance onto the beach. It could've been anyone."

Bane's gaze never left her. She had to go on. Letting him learn on his own from someone else in the town would be worse than him knowing the truth.

"But, it was my dad. He'd taken our car and drove onto the beach." She swallowed hard. "He'd taken my mom down onto the packed sand and shot her in the back of the head as she looked out at the ocean. Then, he put the car into Drive and drove into the ocean, killing himself."

Bane watched her, never reacting to what she'd confessed.

"I heard the gunshot that killed my mother. I watched the ocean swallow the car, killing my father." She moistened her lips, knowing her voice was slipping into a whisper. "A neighbor recognized the car and called the police. As the emergency vehicles arrived with lights and sirens, I sat on the dune with my legs buried in the sand and watched it all."

She inhaled deeply. "Because I was a few months away from my eighteenth birthday, Diane, Liz's mom, let me stay with them. It took six months for the death certificates to get to me and three months after that to settle my parents' bills with the money they had saved. Their house was paid for—it had belonged to my father's parents until they passed away before I was born. My dad had prepared everything. There was a will, leaving me with everything."

Her lungs tightened. There were so many things she'd done wrong. But she had no one to help her. She was a child suddenly thrust into a world without any experience to help her move forward.

"When I turned eighteen, I contacted a realtor and sold the house instead of moving back home. With the profit, I bought the duplex. I-I thought it was far enough away from the area where my father killed my mother and then himself that no one would connect me with what my father had done. I put the rest of the money in the bank. I don't know. I bought this place because it was different and someone else could live by me. Yet, I wanted the water—the same water I hate now—because it was home to me. It's all I ever knew. I know this probably makes no sense to you. Even hearing myself explain things is confusing."

She took a sip of coffee. The liquid was now cold. She noticed Bane hadn't taken a drink from his mug.

"It makes sense. You were a child," whispered Bane.

"I was never a child." She shrugged. "If I was, my childhood fled that night my father decided to murder my mother and then commit suicide."

"Why were you afraid to tell me this?" he asked. "What your father did was on him, babe, not you."

"Did you hear the man at the parts store?"

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