And I amnotmy father.
With forced calmness, I meet my mother’s eyes. “Call the police.”
She freezes. I hate that this is even a decision for her. After everything Dad has put her through, it shouldn’t be.
“Mom,” I bite out. “Call the police and tell them that your husband, Philip Prescott, has violated the restraining order against him.”
She nods and explodes into action.
My command renews Dad’s energy. He screams and blusters, struggling like a trapped animal. But he’s drunk. His movements are sloppy and no match for my strength. As much as I want to forget that Daisy is here, I’m acutely aware of her presence. I don’t think I’ve ever been more humiliated in my life.
I can’t bring myself to look at her.
I’m about to order her back to the car, when I catch a movement from the corner of my eye. I turn my head and watch as Daisy lays a hand on Mom’s arm, gently pulling her in for a hug.
My heart cracks wide open as my mom clings to Daisy.
The words perched on my lips die as I watch the two women who mean everything to me embrace.
32
DAISY
The drive back to campus is a quiet one. The air is heavy with unspoken words and emotion. Even though I want to discuss what I just witnessed, I’m not sure how to broach the subject. And Carter hasn’t said a word. His eyes are pinned to the road in front of him. Everything about his demeanor is closed off and shutdown. My brain whirls anxiously trying to come up with something that will smooth this over, but I keep coming up empty.
Nothing I say will make it better.
From the corner of my eye, I glance at his hand resting on his thigh. Every so often, he flexes his fingers. There is so much pent up agitation in that movement. My heart feels like it’s going to burst with unspoken emotion. I want him to know that he isn’t alone. That he has me, but there’s a yawning distance between us. One that feels insurmountable.
Even though it feels like a risk, I reach out and thread my fingers through his. Carter’s gaze cuts to mine. So much is conveyed without either of us speaking a word. He squeezes my fingers and some of the distance falls away.
As our eyes lock, I’m slammed with a realization that knocks the breath from my lungs. All the times I’ve seen Carter sporting a blackenedeye, a bruise on his cheek, or a split lip come crashing back to me. He wasn’t involved in some underground fight club or messing around with another guy’s girlfriend.
His own father was laying hands on him.
I blink away the wetness that has gathered in my eyes as my mind flips through all the times I’d looked at him, saw the damage, and shook my head in disgust thinking that he was nothing more than a hotheaded jerk.
How could I have been so blind?
Why didn’t I ask more questions?
This is the reason why Carter is so guarded with his privacy and keeps everyone at a distance. He has one of the most recognizable faces at BU. College football has thrusted him into the limelight. Everywhere he goes, people want to talk with him, they want to have a brush with greatness. Carter is going places, places that most of us can’t dream of, and everyone wants a piece of that.
Of him.
They want to know Carter Prescott the football player, the guy destined for the NFL, but they don’t. They only see what Carter allows them to. A handsome athlete with prowess both on and off the field. A guy who will graduate at the top of his class and comes from a wealthy, privileged family.
He doesn’t allow them to glimpse behind the carefully crafted façade.
I’ve known Carter for years, he’s Noah’s best friend, and still, I was oblivious. I never suspected a thing. I fell into the same trap as everyone else. It’s a disturbing thought that pricks at my conscious. Not once did I attempt to scratch beneath the surface. I was content to believe the paper-thin version he presented me with, and I promptly dismissed him as not being worthy of my time or energy.
Carter squeezes my fingers drawing me back to the present. “Hey, are you all right?” The sound of his voice is like a gunshot in the silence.
Laughter bubbles up in my throat and aches for release.
The question seems absurd. I’m the one who should be asking if he’s okay. Not the other way around.
“I’m fine.” Our gazes collide. So much emotion swirls in his gray eyes. So much more than what I’m used to seeing from him. “What about you?”
