Page 48 of Corrupted Union

“Yes, there is. I didn’t mean what I said. I was angry and hurt.”

I leaned back against the basin, bringing her with me and gently scooping water over her shoulders and chest. “Did you ever see a counselor or talk to anyone about her death?” I wanted to ask more detailed questions about what had happened, but that felt like too much too soon.

“No. I think my parents were so lost in their own grief that they weren’t capable of addressing mine. They could hardly look at me without cringing or tearing up.”

Jesus, that would fuck up a kid. I listened raptly as she continued.

“Mom sort of disappeared for a while. Self-medicated. She slept a lot. Dad threw himself into work. Sometimes I didn’t mind, though, because when I was alone, I could hear her. Talk to her. I suppose that’s why I’ve never had any close friends. I only ever wanted Ivy.”

“That makes sense.”

“Maybe, but it also sounds messed up.” Despite their meaning, her words were spoken without judgment.

“Everyone has a touch of crazy in them.”

“Right,” she said defeatedly. “I’m supposed to believe that from Mr. Cool, Calm, and Collected.”

“Believe it or not, I was expelled from three different elementary schools.”

She twisted enough to look back at me. “Are you serious?”

“God’s truth.” I held up my right hand.

“Why?” she breathed, wide-eyed.

I coaxed her back against me before continuing. “I told you that getting upset made me tongue-tied. It used to be bad. I would get so frustrated that I’d throw chairs or hit other kids. The tantrums I threw didn’t help my situation. I started to get bullied. Kids called me a freak and other delightful names. That’s when the fights started. By fifth grade, I’d developed quite a reputation for myself. Enough that kids finally left me alone, and I had fewer outbursts. I figured out that the less I said, the better, and that when I did speak, I absolutely had to remain calm, no matter what, so I didn’t lose my words.”

“What about your siblings and cousins? They didn’t give you a hard time, did they?”

“Nah.” A smile teased my lips. “If anything, I was sort of a legend to them.” I opened the drain to let some water out, then started the tap with warmer water to raise the temperature.

“Yeah?” she asked with a touch of amusement that did more to warm me than the water ever could.

“Yeah. My cousin Oran and I were closer back then. That’s what makes this Wellington business so damn hard. Oran was responsible for those guns, and now I’m left wondering if they were really stolen, or if he made a deal behind our backs.”

“Do you genuinely believe he could do something like that?”

I sighed deeply. “I’d already been struggling with suspicions that he’d played a role in his father’s death.”

“Oh, Keir. That’s awful.”

“Yeah.” The single syllable was saturated with the weight of my worries.

“What are you gonna do?”

“When we get back, I’m going to talk to my pops. It’s more his place than anyone’s to decide how to proceed. I just didn’t want to say anything unless I was sure, but now that the guns have resurfaced, I know in my gut that something’s not right.”

Quiet filtered in around us until she spoke again.

“What are we going to do about the girl?”

I took Rowan’s hand and wove my fingers with hers. “We’re going to get her out of there,” I assured her softly.

“When I see her, I see my sister. I know they aren’t the same, but it feels like it. Like this is my chance to do it right. To save her.”

Fuck, how had I not made that connection?

I was learning how her sister’s death had affected her, but I hadn’t thought about how she might associate the two. That was why she’d been so hell-bent on helping the woman, even at the risk of endangering herself.

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