Losing Hope (Hopeless #2)(79)

He raises his eyes to hers. “Before you say anything,” he says. “You need to know that I loved you and I’ve regretted what I did every second of my life.”

“I want to know why you did it,” she says.

He leans back in his seat and rubs his hands over his eyes. “I don’t know,” he says. “After your mother died, I started drinking heavily again. It wasn’t until a year later that I got so drunk one night that I woke up the next morning and knew I had done something terrible. I was hoping it was just a horrible dream, but when I went to wake you up that morning you were . . . different. You weren’t the same happy little girl you used to be. Overnight, you somehow became someone who was terrified of me. I hated myself. I’m not even sure what I did to you because I was too drunk to remember. But I knew it was something awful and I am so, so sorry. It never happened again and I did everything I could to make it up to you. I bought you presents all the time and gave you whatever you wanted. I didn’t want you to remember that night.”

She grips her knees and I can tell by the way she’s struggling for breath that she’s doing everything she can to remain calm.

“It was night . . . after night . . . after night,” she says. I immediately rush to the couch and kneel next to her. I wrap my arm around her back and grip her arm so that she stays put. “I was scared to go to bed and scared to wake up and scared to take a bath and scared to speak to you. I wasn’t a little girl afraid of monsters in her closet or under her bed. I was terrified of the monster that was supposed to love me! You were supposed to be protecting me from the people like you!”

The pain in her voice is heart-wrenching. I want her out of here. I don’t want her to have to hear him speak.

“Do you have any other children?” she asks.

He drops his head and presses a palm to his forehead, but fails to answer her. “Do you?” she screams.

He shakes his head. “No. I never remarried after your mother.”

“Am I the only one you did this to?”

He keeps his eyes trained to the floor, avoiding her question.

“You owe me the truth,” she says, her voice quiet now. “Did you do this to anyone else before you did it to me?”

There’s a long silence. He’s staring at the floor, unable to admit the truth. She’s staring at him, waiting for him to give her what she came here for.

After a long silence, she begins to stand up. I grasp her arm but she looks me in the eyes and shakes her head. “It’s okay,” she says. I don’t want to let her go, but I have to allow her to handle this the way she wants to handle it.

She walks to him and kneels in front of him. “I was sick,” she says. “My mother and I . . . we were in my bed and you came home from work. She had been up with me all night and she was tired, so you told her to go get some rest.”

He’s looking her in the eyes like a regretful father. I don’t know how.

“You held me that night like a father is supposed to hold his daughter. And you sang to me. I remember you used to sing a song to me about your ray of hope. Before my mother died . . . before you had to deal with that heartache . . . you didn’t always do those things to me, did you?”

He shakes his head and touches her face.

I have the urge to rip his hand off, just like all the urges I’ve had to rip Grayson’s hand off. Only this time I don’t want to stop at his hand. I want to rip his head off and his balls off and . . .

“No, Hope,” he says to her. “I loved you so much. I still do. I loved you and your mother more than life itself, but when she died . . . the best parts of me died right along with her.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” she says with little emotion. “I know you loved her. I remember. But knowing that doesn’t make it any easier to find it in my heart to forgive you for what you did. I don’t know why whatever is inside of you is so different from what’s inside other people . . . to the point that you would allow yourself to do what you did to me. But despite the things you did to me, I know you love me. And as hard as it is to admit . . . I once loved you, too. I loved all the good parts of you.”

She stands up and steps back. “I know you aren’t all bad. I know that. But if you love me like you say you do . . . if you loved my mother at all . . . then you’ll do whatever you can to help me heal. You owe me that much. All I want is for you to be honest so I can leave here with some semblance of peace. That’s all I’m here for, okay? I just want peace.”

Her father is crying now. She walks back to me and I can honestly say I’m amazed by her right now. I’m amazed by her resolve. Her strength. Her courage. I slide my hand down her arm until I find her pinky, and I hold it. She wraps her pinky tightly around mine in return.

Her father sighs heavily, then looks back up at her. “When I first started drinking . . . it was only once. I did something to my little sister . . . but it was only one time. It was years before I met your mother.”

She exhales a breath. “What about after me? Have you done it to anyone else since I was taken?” It’s obvious he has by the guilt that consumes his features. “Who?” she asks. “How many?”

He shakes his head slightly. “There was just one more. I stopped drinking a few years ago and haven’t touched anyone since. I swear. There were only three and they were at the lowest points of my life. When I’m sober, I’m able to control my urges. That’s why I don’t drink anymore.”