Page 61 of Waiting for a Prince
Sam made a choking sound, then leaned forward, his forehead resting on Mark’s shoulder. Mark held him, stroking his arms, keeping the motion soothing. He kissed Sam’s brow.
“So… did I miss anything?”
Sam sat upright, his cheeks pink. “How? How do you know all this? Because you nailed it.”
Mark took Sam’s hands in his. “Unfortunately, I learned from experience.”
Sam widened his eyes. “You were a victim too?”
He shook his head.
“Not me—my dad.”
Chapter Twenty-One
If Mark had beenin his own flat, he would have sat on the couch, drawn his knees to his chest, and wound his arms around them.
God, this is hard.
Sam didn’t remove his hands from Mark’s grasp. He swung his leg over the bench so they faced each other, his gaze locked on Mark’s. “Can you talk about it?”
Mark had thought so, but his throat was tight, and the urge to curl in on himself was overwhelming.
Then Sam lurched up and off the bench, hurrying over to the ice cream van stationed in the car park. A moment later, he was back, carrying two bottles of water. He thrust one at Mark, then retook his seat.
Mark glanced at the bottle. “Is this really vodka? Because I could do with a drink right about now,” he quipped.
Sam arched his eyebrows. “Fine. You wanted to take me to a pub near here, didn’t you? The Wight Mouse Inn? We’ll go there later—as long as I’m driving.”
He sighed. “On second thoughts, I don’t think alcohol is such a good idea.”
The crease between Sam’s eyes appeared. “You don’t have to tell me anything, you know that, right?”
Mark smiled. “Yeah, I do.” He swallowed. “When I was growing up, there was stuff going on at home that I never told a soul about. I couldn’t, because I felt too ashamed.”
Sam said nothing but tightened his grip on Mark’s hand.
“My mum… My mum has a temper.” He drew in a deep breath and raised his chin. “And she took it out on my dad.”
“Oh Mark.” Sam brought Mark’s hand to his lips and kissed his fingers. “Was… was it bad?”
Mark snorted. “Bad? How about bad enough that it sent him to an early grave?”
Sam’s mouth fell open. “Oh no.”
Mark closed his eyes, but it was no use. He could still see his father’s haunted expression as he lay in the hospital bed. He opened them, staring at their joined hands.
The last of the bikers roared out of the car park, until all that remained was the ice cream van, and the two of them.
“He never stood up to her, not once. He just took it all. I used to get so angry, wondering why he didn’t just walk out of there.” He swallowed several times. “I know now. He told me when he was in the hospital. He didn’t want to leave me alone with her. And there was no way he would ever have challenged her for custody. The shame was too great.” He kissed Sam’s hand. “You were right. What man ever wants to own up to being hit by a woman?” Hot tears pricked his eyelids, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand.
Sam leaned forward to wrap his arms around Mark, pulling him close. Mark buried his head against Sam’s neck, fighting valiantly to hold back the tears which threatened to spill. Sam kissed his head, forehead, and cheeks, little murmurs escaping his lips as he comforted Mark.
“It’s okay, baby, he’s free of it now.”
And then the dam burst.
Mark sobbed, his tears falling freely onto Sam’s shirt. Sam held him close as he cried for his father. All the pain of those years poured out of him, the feelings of impotence as he stood by and watched his mother hurt his father, first with a vicious tongue, and later with her fists and anything else that was at hand. Mark had never forgiven her. Even though she had never laid a hand on him, he had drawn away from her, from the day of his father’s death, right up to the present. He barely said a word when she phoned him once each week, confining his replies to short, clipped sentences or monosyllabic answers.
