Redemptive (Combative, #2)(58)

Put simply, I was curious, and Tiny would be able to give me whatever information I wanted without the emotional attachment, without the need to protect my feelings.

The alarm at the front door sounded, and I paused mid laundry-fold, listening to the footsteps above me. I heard Tiny’s voice, followed by Nate’s, and I wondered if it was going to be another one of those nights where Nate would send Tiny down with my dinner and an excuse as to why he wasn’t there.

It wasn’t, though, because they both came down the stairs, bottle of whiskey in Nate’s hand and a large yellow envelope in Tiny’s. I looked from the envelope to Nate, and the look on his face was enough to tell me that it was time for the truth.

*

We sat at the table in the corner of the room like we’d done many nights before, only it wasn’t Tuesday, and there wasn’t a takeout box in sight. I held the gold leaf in my hand, ignoring the pain as the edges dug into my skin. “You found her?” I asked Tiny, even though I was looking at Nate. His eyes were hooded as he tried to focus on the bottle in his hand. He’d obviously been drinking, so I had to assume that the contents of the envelope were the cause of his current state.

Tiny cleared his throat, and I forced myself to look away from Nate and over at him. “I’m pretty sure it’s her.” He pulled out a photograph from the envelope and placed it on the table in front of me.

I didn’t have to look at it for long before I spoke around the lump in my throat, “That’s her.”

Years of separation hadn’t changed her. In the picture, she was smiling, one hand holding a door open, the other holding the hand of a little girl no older than five. I smiled. I couldn’t help it. “Do you know who the girl is?” I asked Tiny.

Nate sat up, the bottle clutched to his chest, but still, he remained silent.

Tiny exhaled loudly, before answering, “That’s her daughter, Bailey.”

Nate dropped his gaze to the table while my mind whirled with questions. Then, suddenly, I gasped, as if reality had kicked me in the gut, punched me in my face, and I tried to hold on to the memories; summers by the lake, purple brushes through my hair, fall leaves, and declarations of love… I was her sunshine, her only sunshine.

Fuck that.

Tears streamed from my eyes, my sob escaping my chest, loud and unforgiving. I stood quickly, my chair tipping behind me. “I have a sister?”

Nate looked up, caught my gaze, then looked back down and pretended he hadn’t seen me, hadn’t seen my hurt. My pain. My goddamn suffering. “Why won’t you look at me?” I yelled, my voice breaking. “Answer me, goddamn it!”

His body jerked like a fire had been lit, blazing from the inside out as he stood up. Two steps were all it all took for him to get to me, his whiskey breath kissing my lips as he towered over me. “Now?” he said. “Now you want me to give you answers?” His voice mocked as he wobbled on his feet and pointed to Tiny. “What’s wrong with him now?”

“Nate,” Tiny warned, standing and making his way over to us.

I pushed on Nate’s chest. “Tell me the truth!”

He squared his shoulders, his jaw clenched. “Don’t f*ckin’ push it, Bailey.”

I shoved him again, glad that I was finally getting a reaction. It was so much better than being invisible. He’d cast me aside, but I was in his face now, and he couldn’t f*cking ignore me anymore.

He gripped the bottle tighter, his eyes filled with rage. “I mean it.”

I don’t really know what happened next, and I have no idea why we were so intent on hurting each other, why we used the only people we loved, the only people we had, to keep the fires of hurt and despair burning, but we did.

Over and over.

Words flew from our mouths, their sole purpose to destroy until pain overpowered our voices and anger overpowered our pain. “If you wanted an out, you should have told me!” he yelled, pointing to himself. “Me! Not Tiny. He’s not the one who put a roof over your head, who feeds you and gives you all of this.” He threw his arms in the air, whiskey spilling on the floor, mixing with my tears and the footprints of my existence. His voice was rough, unrestrained, penetrating my eardrums with the unexpected volume. “He’s not the one who f*ckin’ loves you, Bailey. I do.”

“You have to love me!” I shouted.

Silence pierced the air, and my hands dropped to my sides, my chest rising and falling, aching from the power of my admission.

Nate kept his eyes on mine as he took a step back, shaking his head as he did. “Fuck you, Bailey.”

“Nate!” Another warning from Tiny.

Nate’s eyes snapped to him. “And f*ck you, too.” He looked between us. “Fuck you both!” The bottle of whiskey spun in the air when Nate threw it across the room, smashing against the wall, shattered pieces of glass, just like my heart, left discarded on the floor. He stepped toward me, but Tiny held him back, his arms pinned to his sides.

I shrunk into myself, my hands going around my stomach.

“Look at me, Bailey,” Nate said, his tone clipped.

I did.

I owed him that much.

“You want the truth? I didn’t want to love you. I still don’t want to love you. But I don’t have a goddamn choice, Bailey. It would be so much easier if I’d never f*ckin’ met you. If I’d never heard the gunshot and run toward the sound. I wouldn’t have to be looking over my shoulder every f*ckin’ second of every day, hoping they don’t f*ckin’ find you. I wouldn’t have to worry about you, wondering if you’re okay physically, mentally, all of it. But it’s been months. Months. You don’t think I see that you’ve checked out? That you don’t want to be here? That you don’t want me? I’m f*ckin’ here because I love you. And it’s so pathetic—you standing there begging me for the truth when you can’t even look me in the eye and tell me one yourself. You want my truths? There it is. Now you owe me yours.” He paused a beat; his shoulders slumped as Tiny held on to him. His eyes were bloodshot, his breaths shallow, his words a prayer when he said, “Tell me you don’t love me.”