“Yeah. We’re only a year or so apart. He’s the reason I’m out here. He helped convince my mom that I should do this and give teaching a try.”
“Can’t you say no to whoever she wants you to marry?”
I shook my head. “It’s more complicated than that. I have no other viable option for her. It’s not like I can suddenly find someone to fall in love with and get married to before she has the chance to set me up with one of her friends.”
“You’d need like a shotgun wedding.”
I paused, considering it. “Yeah, I guess if I went to my mother and told her I’d eloped, showed up married, then maybe—just maybe—she’d back off. It’s like she only cares about the appearance of it, like having me settled is more important than who it’s with.” I let out a sigh. “That’s not exactly something you can make happen.”
His fingers stopped moving on my arm for a moment before they started up again.
“I feel silly telling you my entire life story, not knowing anything about you.” I turned so I looked up at him. His blue eyes were piercing as he gazed down at me, his curls falling in front of his face.
“What do you want to know?”
I’d learned he was married before all this, so I guess he had confessed something. His divorce didn’t affect the way I thought about him. I was surprised he was divorced because of how young he was, but knowing he was an addict—I knew some things about addictions. But there was also so much more deep down inside of what made Austin Hart himself.
“I want to know something you’ve never told anyone before.”
I stared up at him, counting the freckles that dotted his nose. They were so faint, barely noticeable, but they must’ve come alive under the summer sun. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting his hand on my arm keep me steady.
In the distance, frogs croaked, and I could hear the faint whirr of a fishing reel being pulled. The crickets joined in, their chorus growing louder as the air cooled around us.
His hand moved up slowly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His thumb lingered, circling my lips in teasing strokes. “Growing up, I never knew my dad. He raped my mom when she was a teenager.”
“Austin . . .”
He pressed his finger to my lips.
“I’ve been a failure to her and her husband for years. I was an alcoholic. I got married and then divorced, but the worst part about all of it is that I’m like my father.”
His voice cracked on the last word, and he looked away, pulling his hands from me. The loss of contact felt like a physical ache, and I couldn’t let him retreat into that pain alone. I shifted closer, blocking his view, making sure he had to look at me, had to see that I was still there. My hand found his, fingers curling around his wrist as I gently traced circles along his forearm, trying to anchor him in the same way he did for me.
He swallowed, the tension visible in every line of his face. “I met my ex-wife, and... we had this scandal break. I-I was highin a bathroom... Fuck.” He squeezed his eyes shut, struggling to hold himself together. “I was high. She wanted to know how I dealt with stress, so I showed her h-how to take a bump.” He paused, his breath hitching. “We were high as fuck, and... one thing led to another, and we started having sex in the bathroom stall. She never said no. I would’ve stopped if she did. But she was—” His voice broke completely as tears welled up, spilling over his lashes. His shoulders trembled, and the pain etched into his face was so raw that it felt like a knife twisting in my chest.
“It’s okay. I’m here. You don’t have to carry this alone.”
“She was a virgin.”
My heart sank for him but it ached for her too.
“Was this the reason you got divorced?” I pressed, unsure of how much he wanted to divulge.
“No.” He shook his head and laughed softly. “She married me after that, but there was such a haunting pain that I carry with me to this day.”
Tears streamed down his cheeks, but I didn’t wipe them away. I let them fall because I didn’t want to erase his pain; I wanted him to know it was okay to feel it.
“I’m like my father, Charlie. I’ve carried this for so long—this fear, this belief—that I’m just like him.”
“Did she ever say you hurt her?”
He shook his head, his eyes distant and filled with regret. “No, but we never really talked about it. I’ve been waiting for closure, for some kind of clarity, but I’ll never get it. In therapy, I learned about trying to be okay with the idea that I’m not like him. That I didn’t do what he did.” A sob fought its way out. “I didn’t rape her, but I was so ashamed. I took a girl’s virginity while high in a filthy bar bathroom, Charlie. I’m not a good man. You can’t date me, and you sure as hell shouldn’t spend time with me.”
He pulled away from me, getting up from the picnic table and clenching his hands into fists at his sides. “I’m a bad fucking person, working on myself to become a good one. But my natural instinct... it’s to be just like my biological father. I have to fight against it every damn day.”
I jumped off the bench, reached out, and grabbed his hand. “You’re not your father, Austin. You’re not. You’re standing here, fighting to be better. That’s not the instinct of a bad person.”
“You don’t know me, Charlie.”
