Page 81 of Deacon

I nod. “Yeah, sometimes. Not by women.”

“And you just never hit anyone back?”

“No, if I’m being honest, I fought a lot. I learned pretty quick that if you’re being abused, one good punch can shut that shit down forever. But I have the privilege of being six and a half feet tall. And a man. Not everybody can protect themselves.”

She’s quiet. I stroke her hair, wiping the tears from her temples.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to cry,” she whispers.

“Cry all you want, sweetheart,” I say. “I’ll just sit here if that’s what you need.”

Her hand darts up to wipe her eyes. “Did you get in that one good hit that shut it down?”

“I did.”

“Can I know what happened?”

I shake my head. “Not tonight.”

She doesn’t protest. Instead, she shuts her eyes, chest heaving as she takes a deep breath. There’s a long silence. I let her take all the time she wants, because I don’t have anywhere to be but here with her.

“I just… I lived on eggshells my entire life. I don’t know how to get off them,” she whispers. “Even when I’m with you, it takes so much for me to forget and feel comfortable.”

“Look at me,” I say gently.

She drags her eyes to mine. There’s so much hurt in there. Deep down, there’s no doubt in me that I’ll make Aiden pay for what he’s done to her. She won’t have to know about it. All she has to know is that, if she stays with me, she never has to be afraid again.

“Stay here, with me,” I say.

“I want to, but it’s more complicated,” she whispers.

“Why?”

Her lips tremble. “Bittern got hurt in the coal mines. He’s not ever been the same since. He coughs and he can’t do much. Sometimes, he feels like a little baby animal. I can’t just leave him.”

I should shut the hell up, but I can’t bite my words back.

“Bittern is a thirty year old man,” I say. “He doesn’t need his little sister looking after him.”

She blinks, tears welling up again. “Bittern looked after me when nobody else did. As well as he could…considering how bad off the accident left him.”

The last thing I want to do is make her cry. I wipe her cheek with my thumb.

“I get it, sweetheart,” I say. “I get it.”

Her lip trembles. “Part of me can’t blame Aiden for some of it. What’s the point of even trying to be anything when there’s nothing to try for?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, there was nowhere for men to work but the factory. No step up, nothing to look forward to. It hurt everybody. Aiden’s father prepared him for it by being the first person to hurt him—before life could, I guess. So he did the same to his sons. He was never into wearing rose colored glasses. He told me he didn’t want a daughter because I could get pregnant and he’d be stuck with another mouth to feed. I think Aiden was sick of feeding people. But he did keep food on the table no matter what. Aiden’s awful, but he’s never been a deadbeat.”

She sounds so guilty and desperate. I release her, pushing my body up to sit against the headboard, and lift her to sit under my arm. She lets her cheek rest on my shoulder.

“I want more,” she says brokenly. “Maybe that’s selfish, but I want more than just food on my table.”

I curl my arm around her, pressing my lips to the top of her head.

“I know,” I say. “And it isn’t selfish.”

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