Page 79 of The Pretender

Gabby turned the whole way around in the tub until her legs draped over his knee and she faced him head-on. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I don’t hate her.”

He believed her, but that wasn’t the point. The way her eye contact bounced in and out, and she fought back with strong words but no real emotion underneath made him think she knew that. This was a big stall. A way for her to gloss over the hard topic and double back to a place where she felt more comfortable.

“You can be ticked off and still love her, Gabby.” He fought the urge to touch her until they talked this through. “That’s human.”

“It’s sick.”

She’d spent so much time protecting her baby sister that she lost the ability to see Tabitha clearly. There, in the middle of the angst and pain, it was tough to kick to the top and see daylight.

“Tabitha made choices that hurt you.” This was the hard part but he pushed through. “And you let her.”

“Now it’s my fault?”

“I’m talking about how you hold everything. You’re so busy explaining her actions that you never talk about how she hurt you.”

Gabby stood up in the middle of the tub. Water ran down her legs and soapsuds clung to her stomach. “She was... my parents coddled her.”

“I’ve heard these arguments.” He slowly got up, giving her time to step away. “Say it, Gabby.”

“I don’t know—”

“Admit that she hurt you. You can’t deal with your emotions if you’re hiding them.” The words stunned him. Here he was giving the lecture when he should be listening to it.

She began to tremble. “You’re talking to me about emotions? You?”

It was a fair argument. He deserved it. He was the last person who should be giving this speech or pushing this talk, but he was the only one there. It fell to him, an imperfect messenger. “Lash out at me all you want.”

Her hands balled into fists at her sides. “What do you want from me?”

Everything. That thought hit him and he shoved it back. He had to concentrate on her now. On what she needed.

“It’s like poison.” He knew that from personal experience.

“What?”

He should reach for a towel and wrap her up in it, but he had to get this out first. “There’s a part of you that’s angry with her. A human part. A real, human, decent part. You loved her and miss her, but you can still be frustrated that she left you, and that when she did she left you in this position.”

She shook her head. No other part of her moved. “I can’t.”

“You protected her, but she never protected you.”

“She was a child.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

“Not at the end. Don’t let her off the hook.” She’d spent a lifetime doing just that, but he didn’t know how to make her see it. So, he kept talking, hoping the sound of his voice might break through.

She was shaking so hard that he ripped the towel from the bar and draped it around her.

Her hands came up and she held the edges together as she huddled under it. “Why are you doing this?”

The pain was right there in her voice. He knew he was pushing her to places she didn’t want to go, but he couldn’t stop. Deep inside he knew this mattered. He’d spent so much of his life dealing with a form of this. Of trying to justify someone else’s choices.

“Because in making her the innocent, lifelong, victimized party you’re casting yourself as the bad guy.” He knew the drill. He’d lived it.

“Maybe I was the bad guy.”

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