Page 35 of Fake Coral and Keys

“Do you always resort to violence when you’re angry?” she asks flatly.

The tension in me seems to build higher to the point I may break. That’s all she saw. Me angry. Violent. Just like my father. I promised myself I’d never be like him, yet here I am, smashing men’s faces into bar tops and storming around Daisy like a possessive creep. I flex my fist, remembering the many noses I’ve broken, the hot-tempered fights in dirty bars over women getting felt up by lecherous men. I’ve fucked everything up on so many levels, and she’s not even brought up what Justine said.

“No,” I tell her, my shoulders slump as the tension leaves me. “But I have before.”

“Kind of a big red flag,” she says.

“Huge,” I agree. “Not only do I resort to violence when provoked, but I’m covered in tattoos and own a Harley.”

“You’re an all-around bad boy.”

“The baddest boy ever.”

“Are you in a motorcycle club, too?” There’s a hint of a smirk.

“Worse,” I tell her. “I was in a computer hacker club in college and president of my high school debate team.”

The smirk disappears as her jaw goes slack. “Are you serious?”

“I was the nerdiest of the nerds,” I confess. “Scrawny, smart, and beat up at least once a week.”

Daisy narrows her eyes and crosses her arms. Those green eyes scan over me, taking in each detail. After her close inspection, she says, “I can see it. You’re intelligent and just enough of a smart-ass that I can picture teen Blake mouthing off in a debate club.” She looks at my arms. “Then you grew up and started working out so no one could bully you again. Let me guess. You started playing a sport?”

“Perceptive,” I say. Daisy’s almost spot on. I started working out to bulk up, but it was mostly so my father would leave me alone. “I joined the wrestling team my senior year. And I don’t like people in positions of power taking advantage of people who can’t defend themselves.”

Daisy releases a long sigh that seems to leave her deflated. “That guy deserved it, even if it was embarrassing to have my pretend boyfriend manhandling someone in the middle of a resort ran party. But you know that’s not why I’m upset.”

Upset. The word is so much worse than mad. Anger I can deal with. Anger can be fucked away or bought off with pretty flowers. But being upset? That means hurt. I hurt her.

“I didn’t know it was a secret,” I tell her, my excuse sounding meek in my ears. “I realized she worked for a publishing house, and I was talking before I was thinking.”

She leans her head back on the headboard. “You did exactly what any actual boyfriend would have done. Well, maybe a bit more.” She sits upright and looks at me. “I am upset because you don’t understand, Justine, and that’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

Unsure what to say, I crawl up the bed to sit next to her. I grab her hand. Her fingers taste like salt when I kiss them. “Then help me understand. What happened between you two?”

Daisy shifts next to me, and we sit quietly for a while. Just when I don’t think she will speak, she says, “Jim was abusive.”

I shift so I’m facing her, letting her know she’s got my undivided attention.

“Punching walls, throwing plates, and hitting me kind of abusive,” she says, looking away. “He’d accuse me of things, or get jealous, then punish me by leaving me places, sometimes for hours, before coming back to get me. Jim kicked me out of the car and left me on the side of a road for three hours once. I vowed I’d never go back to him, but I did. He’d turn on thecharm and cry and make promises. I’d go back wanting it to be different.”

“That’s the cycle of abuse,” I tell her. The number of times I’d witnessed this cycle with my father and various women was disheartening. I was glad when I finally had enough money to move out when I went to college. “It’s hard to break the cycle.”

She nods but still won’t look at me. “Justine saw us in the parking lot one day, and he was being awful. Really awful. Even for him. A few weeks later, I ended up in the emergency room with a fractured wrist. Justine found out somehow. She showed up at my apartment and offered to help me leave him.”

So far, this matches what Justine told me. I debate saying anything but fear if I do, it will derail her openness, and Daisy will stop talking. I run my hand over her arm to reassure her.

Daisy looks at her hands. “Justine got me set up with an agency to help file a restraining order. When they said the courts may not approve it for lack of evidence, I hired an attorney to help me. I was lucky because Jim let it drop when I told him to leave me alone and that I wasn’t going back. Even when the order was approved and issued.”

“Most aren’t so lucky,” I tell her. “Do you know what made him stay away?”

She smiles faintly and lets out a bitter laugh. “Justine.”

“What do you mean?”

Daisy looks me in the eye. “According to Jim, he ran into this amazing woman in a bar one night, and they hit it off. He’d been fucking her for weeks. Turns out it was Justine.”

My stomach can’t decide if it wants to lurch into my throat or drop to my feet. “What?”

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