Come Back for Me (Arrowood Brothers #1)(36)

“The night we met . . .” He trails off.

I reach out, placing my hand on his, and his other hand covers mine. The shiver I experience this time has nothing to do with the cold. “The night we met?” I struggle to keep my voice even.

Connor’s face shows no emotion, but the air around us feels heavy. It’s strange, and yet, I remember this same exact feeling the night we met. It was as though I felt his touch so deeply that I would never be the same. Our hearts became tangled as we bared ourselves in ways that I didn’t know were possible.

“It was so much more . . .”

“I know what you mean.”

He shakes his head, breaking us both from the odd connection. “My father was an abusive drunk who beat the shit out of me and my brothers.”

A piece of me shatters from that one sentence. “Connor . . .”

“No, I don’t talk about this well, so let me try to get it out.”

I press my lips together tightly, giving him the silence he asks for.

“When my mother died, he became a completely different person. He drank constantly, and when the alcohol stopped numbing the pain, he decided to spread it around. My brothers took what they could to protect me since I was the youngest and by far the smallest.”

My chest aches, but I hold in any sound as he keeps talking.

“When they left, it became a lot harder to avoid him. I learned that running made it worse. When I came back, I paid for it.”

I wrap my fingers around his, giving him whatever support I can lend. I can’t fathom the betrayal he must’ve felt when the one person he needed the most was the person breaking him. He’s been so steadfast in his support for me, giving me what I needed without asking, and I have no idea if it’s hurt him at all.

Did he relive what he endured?

Does he look at me and see a weak woman, even though he’s the one telling me how strong I am?

“I’m so sorry. You never deserved that from anyone, least of all your father.”

“No one deserves to be hit, Ellie. No one. It doesn’t matter whose hand it comes from—it’s wrong and unforgivable. I vowed that I would never be like him, and I want you to understand how much I mean it. I would never hit someone in anger unless I’m trying to protect what’s important to me.”

I lift my other hand and gently touch his cheek. “You don’t have to try very hard to convince me. I see who you are. There isn’t a trace of that man inside you.”

His fingers wrap around my wrist, pulling my hand down. “I’ve worked really fucking hard to make sure of that. My brothers as well. The night we met was probably the lowest I’ve ever felt. My father was in a state for months before my graduation. He was drinking more, finding ways to catch me off guard. I knew I had to get out of here, and I wasn’t smart like Declan or Jacob so there wouldn’t be any scholarships. I didn’t play baseball like Sean, so sports were out. I knew it was jail or the military, so I enlisted while I was a senior and never told him. That night, I let him know that I was leaving, and he lost it. He came at me hard, yelling and saying things I will never forget. He punched me, and I swung back. We fought, man to man, and it was the first time and only time I had let my emotions get the better of me.”

“You can’t for one minute think that any of it was your fault. You were defending yourself.”

He runs his hand over his face. “I fought my father when he was out of his skull. I don’t fault myself, but make no mistake that it wasn’t because I was pissed. I had ten years of rage from the beatings he inflicted and the hell he put us through built up inside me.”

It’s different. I know he probably won’t see it that way, but this isn’t the same at all. He didn’t go looking for a fight, he responded to what was in front of him.

“And if I had gotten a bat and took it to Kevin’s head, what would you say to me?”

“Good.”

“But you fighting off your own attacker is different how?”

Connor’s hands clench and then he rubs his leg, seeming uncomfortable. I understand him in a way that maybe no one else can. I’ve lived it, fought with the guilt, and spent years thinking that maybe in some way I did deserve it because that was what I’d been told. I’ve fought every day with the decision to stay one minute past the first time.

Being a victim doesn’t just happen in the moment, it follows me every second. I recognize it, and I hate that it’s a bond we share. I’m also grateful I’m not alone.

“Regardless,” Connor begins again, “a few hours after I woke up without you there, I was on a bus to basic training and haven’t come back until he died a few weeks ago.”

So many questions float around in my mind. If Connor had come back, even once, would it have been different? If I’d run into him, I would’ve felt something or maybe he would have fought for me. There are a million what-ifs but only one truth, and it’s this moment in time.

“I’ve often wondered if I was being punished for that night . . .”

He gets to his feet so fast that I gasp, but then his hands are on the back of the swing, steadying the movement. “Don’t ever say that. What we shared isn’t something that anyone would punish someone for. How could it be?”

“Because it was wrong of me! I was getting married the next day. I didn’t regret what we did, I still don’t regret it, but I should have never ever gone back to that room with you.”