The Deal(116)

After a long beat, the blonde’s head jerks in a quick nod. “That’s fine. I can do the rest.”

Hannah shuts off the faucet and approaches me slowly. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head. “Can you go wait in the car? I need to talk to Cindy for a moment.”

Rather than leave the kitchen, Hannah walks back to Cindy, hesitates, then gives the woman a warm hug. “Thank you so much for dinner. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Cindy murmurs with a strained smile.

I reach into the inner pocket of my jacket and extract my keys. “Here. Get it started for us,” I tell Hannah.

She exits the room without another word.

Taking a breath, I cross the tiled floor and stand directly in front of Cindy. To my horror, she reacts with that tiny, fearful flinch I’ve been witnessing all night. As if this is a like father, like son situation. As if I’m going to…

“I’m not going to hurt you.” My voice cracks like a f*cking egg. I feel sick that I even have to assure her of that.

Panic floods her eyes. “What? Oh, honey, no. I didn’t think…”

“Yes, you did,” I say quietly. “It’s okay. I’m not taking it personally. I know what it’s like to…” I swallow. “Look, I don’t have a lot of time here, because I need to get the hell out of this house before I do something I might regret, but I just need you to know something.”

She uneasily lets go of the dishwasher door. “What is it?”

“I…” Another deep gulp and then I get right to the point, because really, neither one of us wants to be having this conversation. “He did it to me and my mom, too, okay? He abused us, physically and verbally, for years.”

Her lips part, but she doesn’t say a word.

My heart squeezes as I force myself to keep going. “He’s not a good man. He’s dangerous, and violent, and…sick. He’s sick. You don’t have to tell me what he’s doing to you. Or hell, maybe I’m wrong and he’s not doing anything—but I think he is, because I see it in the way you act around him. I acted that way too. Every move I made, every word I said…everything I did was rooted in fear, because I was desperate for him not to beat the shit out of me again.”

Her stricken look is all the confirmation I need.

“Anyway.” I inhale deeply. “I’m not going to drag you out of here over my shoulder, or call the cops and tell them there’s domestic abuse going on in this house. It’s not my place, and I won’t interfere. But I need you to know a couple things. One—it’s not your fault. Don’t you ever blame yourself, because it’s all on him. You did nothing to invite his criticism and his verbal attacks, and you didn’t fail to meet his expectations because his expectations are f*cking impossible to meet.” My chest seizes so hard my ribs ache. “And two, if you ever need anything, anything at all, I want you to call me, okay? If you need to talk, or if you want to leave him and need someone to help you pack or move or whatever, call me. Or if he…does something and you need help, for f*ck’s sake, call me. Can you promise to do that?”

Cindy looks stunned. Completely and utterly stunned. Her blue eyes are glassy, and she starts blinking fast, as if she’s trying to ward off tears.

The kitchen becomes as silent as a funeral home. She just stares at me, blinking wildly, the fingers of one hand toying with her sleeve.

After what feels like an eternity, she gives a shaky nod and whispers, “Thank you.”


Heat blasts from the air vents when I slide into the driver’s seat. Hannah has started the engine and she’s already buckled up, as if she’s as desperate to get away from here as I am.

I put the car in drive and speed away from the curb, needing to put distance between me and that brownstone. If I’m lucky enough to play for Boston one day, I plan on living as far away from Beacon Hill as possible.

“So…that was kind of brutal,” Hannah remarks.

I can’t stop the laugh that shudders out. “Kind of?”

She sighs. “I was trying to be diplomatic.”

“Don’t bother. That was a nightmare from start to finish.” My fingers curl around the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white. “He hits her.”

There’s a beat of silence, but when Hannah answers, it’s with regret and not surprise. “I thought that might be the case. Her sleeves rode up in the kitchen and I thought I saw some bruises on her wrists.”