Page 49 of The Sound of Us

If only he knew.

I moved to leave, and Skye put a gentle hand on my arm. “Are you okay?”

Unable to bear her touch, I jerked away. I couldn’t look at her, couldn’t bear to witness the fear and horror in her eyes. She’d seen me now—the worst of me. A monster. Not a man.

“Skye, please just go. I need to be alone.” I walked quickly, wanting to put as much distance between us as possible, until finally my chest loosened and I could breathe again. It had been too damn easy to step into that fight, too easy to loose my fists, too easy to break that guy’s nose. The second he punched me, I was right back in the family kitchen taking a beating from my dad so I could keep Sasha safe. But this time I wasn’t a helpless child. I was a man, and I could make sure that no one hurt the people I cared about ever again.

I was grateful Noah wasn’t at his desk when I finally arrived at the station. One look at me and he would have demanded a recounting and then I would have had to deal with his disappointment. It would have been too much to bear. Hell, I was still such mess, there was no way I could do a live. I didn’t want to listen to other people’s problems while I was struggling with my own. I’d taken jiu-jitsu to learn how to defend myself and control my anger, but ten years of study and a black belt had all been in vain. Instead of deescalating the situation, I’d resorted to violence. No one was safe around me.

After checking the equipment in the studio and cueing up a recorded show, I made my way to the music library and lay on the couch in the darkness, staring at Noah’s vast collection of vinyl. Somewhere on those shelves, there was music that would take away my pain, but for the first time in my life, I couldn’t think of a single song.

I don’t know how long I lay there before I heard the thud of the front door, the ring of footsteps. I tensed, expecting Noah to walk in, but Skye appeared in the doorway instead, her face creased with concern.

“I know you said you wanted to be alone, but—”

“How did you get in here?” Gritting my teeth, I stared at the ceiling and waited for the axe to fall. I’d scared her and she didn’t want to see me again.

“I was worried, so I called Noah. I told him you’d been in a fight and I needed the door codes so I could check on you. He said he can be here in half an hour—”

“Tell him not to come.”

“I don’t think you should be alone.” She hadn’t moved from the doorway. She was probably terrified to be near me.

“Noah is the last person I want to see.” I grabbed my phone and sent Noah a message telling him I was fine.

Lies.

“You’re hurt,” Skye said. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

I didn’t deserve to be cared for. I didn’t deserve her sympathy. “I should have just walked away,” I said bitterly.

“He took a swing at you. What were you supposed to do? He didn’t give you a choice.”

“There’s always a choice.” I pushed up and crossed the room to the bins where Noah kept his boxes of 8-track tapes. I wanted to listen to something raw—pure, real music from a time when people played with nothing more than an instrument and an amp.

“If you hadn’t stepped in, he would have hit Nick. Maybe Isla. Chad would have gotten involved because he’s an act-first-think-later kind of guy, and maybe the rest of us would have joined in and we don’t know how to fight. You saved a lot of people a lot of pain.”

“I broke someone’s nose,” I shouted at her, throwing one of the empty boxes on the floor. “Do you know what that means?”

“No. I don’t.” Despite my outburst, her voice was calm and even. “You don’t share very much about yourself. I don’t know anything about your family or your friends. I don’t know about your childhood. I don’t know why this has affected you so badly. I don’t know what classes you’re taking or even where you live…”

Share? I’d shared everything about myself outside the bar. I’d just shown her the man I really was—violent, unpredictable, uncontrolled. I was my father’s son. Dangerous. Deadly. She should have been running away. I needed her to run away.

“I don’t know what it means,” she continued. “Tell me. Help me to understand.”

“It means I’m just like my dad,” I gritted out. “It means that during the day I’ll put on my suit, shake hands with bankers and politicians, run a multimillion-dollar business, give to charity and get write-ups in the local papers, but at night…” I drew in a ragged breath. “At night, I’ll come home, and I’ll drink and beat my wife for no reason other than I can. And when my son tries to protect her, I’ll beat him, too. Or sometimes I’ll beat on him just because he looked at me the wrong way. And when the doctors and teachers report the bruises and broken bones and the police and social workers come calling, I’ll use all my power and influence to make them go away.”

“No one came to save you,” Skye said quietly, her eyes wet and glittering.

I willed myself to stop. I had only shared this story with Noah and I’d made him promise not to go to the police. But I couldn’t stop. The words kept coming in a torrent of pain, and there was no way I could slow them down.

“No one.” My hands shook so violently I couldn’t pick up anything else to throw. “And then one day, I’ll start looking at my daughter in a way no father should look at his child. But every time I do, my son will get in my way and I’ll punish him for interfering. My wife will know that she has to leave. By then, she’ll have secretly gathered enough evidence of my criminal activities that she thinks she’ll be safe if she takes the children and goes to the police. But I’ll discover her plan. I’ll confront her, and in a fit of rage, I’ll push her down the stairs and she’ll break her neck.”

“Oh my God.” Skye gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. Tears welled up in her eyes. Now, I was hurting her, too.

Stop. Stop. Stop.But I couldn’t. Skye needed to know the truth. She needed to know what kind of man I was and why she’d been right to be hesitant. She should know why this couldn’t work and why she should run away while she still had the chance.

“Of course, I’ll pay people off and it will get recorded as a tragic accident,” I spat out. “I won’t know that my daughter knows the truth, that she saw everything, and because there was no justice, she’ll lose hope in the world. I won’t know that her brother can’t save her, and when she takes her own life, she’ll leave a letter begging him to make me pay for my crimes.”

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