Page 40 of Blindsided
“Yeah,” he admits. “About my sister. About why Tomas kept all this a secret. About who I really am.”
“You know who you are,” I say softly. “You’re still the same person you were yesterday.”
He turns to face me, his expression half-hidden in the dancing shadows from the fire.
“Four days ago, I was just the black sheep. Now I’ve got a whole new family tree.”
“The packaging might be different,” I say, pulling my knees to my chest, “but what’s inside is the stuff that matters—that hasn’t changed.”
“What if the core of who I am is shit?” he asks bluntly.
The question hangs between us, raw and honest in a way that catches me off guard. I think about my own identity crisis—how finding that photo shattered not just my marriage but my sense of self.
“I don’t think it is,” I say finally. “I think you just believe that because it’s what you’ve been told.”
“By a man who wasn’t even my father,” Kane says with a bitter laugh.
“Exactly.” I meet his gaze steadily. “So maybe it’s time to decide for yourself who you are.”
He stares into the fire, considering my words. “Maybe,” he concedes. Then, abruptly changing the subject: “What about you? What happens when you go back to Toronto?”
The question hits me like a punch to the gut. I haven’t allowed myself to think that far ahead.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Divorce, obviously. Finding a new place to live. Getting a job again.”
“What did you do? Before becoming Mark’s wife?”
“Marketing executive,” I say, surprised by thepride that still lingers in those words. “I was good at it, too. Had my own team, clients who specifically requested to work with me.”
“Why’d you quit?”
I look away, suddenly ashamed. “Mark said he made enough for both of us that I was working too hard, too stressed. That we could start a family if I weren’t so focused on my career.” I laugh humorlessly. “Turns out he just wanted me dependent on him while he screwed my sister.”
Kane’s expression darkens. “Your husband sounds like a real piece of work.”
“Ex-husband,” I correct. “Or he will be, anyway.”
“Good,” Kane says firmly. “You deserve better.”
“So do you,” I counter, not wanting to dwell on Mark anymore. “Most people cut toxic relatives out of their lives.”
He laughs, the sound warm in the firelit room. “Fair point.”
We fall silent again, but it’s comfortable, like we’ve known each other for years instead of days. The fire crackles, sending shadows dancing across the walls. Outside, the sea continues its endless conversation with the shore.
“I should probably go,” Kane says eventually, though he makes no move to stand. “Let you get some sleep.”
“It’s late,” I say, surprising myself. “And your family doesn’t know where you are. You could...” I hesitate, suddenly unsure. “You could stay. On the sofa, I mean.”
He looks at me, a question in his eyes. “You sure about that? Offering your sofa to me might be asking for trouble.”
“I think I can handle it,” I say with more confidence than I feel. “Besides, it’s pouring out there now.”
As if to confirm my words, thunder rumbles in the distance. Kane glances toward the window where rain lashes against the glass.
“If you’re sure,” he says finally. “But just for tonight. Tomorrow, I face the music—and whatever family secrets are waiting at the Hill of Tara.”
I nod, relieved he’s staying and not entirely sure why. “Deal. I’ll get you some blankets.”
