“Nope.” I tug her in the opposite direction. “Let’s sit on this one instead.”
She frowns. “What did that couch ever do to you?”
“The better question is what haven’t my brother and Juliette done on that couch?” I widen my eyes to get my point across.
Her eyes dart from me to the couch and back again, and her face twists with disgust. “How do you know that?”
“Juliette hosted a girls’ night a while back, and after a few too many glasses of wine, they were all confessing places they had sex. Harrison and I were in the next room, watching the Yankee game, and heard everything.”
“Okay, so add ‘deep clean couch’ to my to-do list tomorrow.” She chuckles, but the sound is flat.
We get as comfortable as possible on the other couch, and for a while, we’re silent, enjoying the warm fall night, but one can’t deny the tension in the air, buzzing with unsaid things.
New York City with Mads. After all these years, it feels surreal.
I only wish the circumstances were different.
When neither of us speaks, I break the silence. “My “parents” never wanted children, especially not me. I’ve told you that before. One child was expected, but a second was unthinkable for the Davenports. I was a mistake, and they never let me live it down.” I lean my head back and stare up into the night’s sky, hating that I have to replay this story again. This is the last time I do it, I vow. “Caroline realized she was pregnant with me too far along. It was too late to abort me once she found out. She loved to tell me that last part repeatedly. How I ruined their life, and I wouldn’t have even been alive if she had known earlier.”
Maddie sucks in a shocked breath. “God, I hate them. But I hate her so much more.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
I stare up into the sky for a while, regretting how I handled everything in the past.
“When was the last time you spoke to her or your dad?”
“Anderson,” I correct.
“Huh?”
“Anderson is the man you’re referring to. I have not spoken to Caroline since I moved out after camp. I don’t attend events I know they’ll be at, and if I do, I stay far away. I’ve run into Anderson at Abbott, our grandfather’s asset management company that Harrison runs, maybe once a year, but we don’t speak.”
“Harrison is still in contact with them?” I don’t miss the hint of accusation in her voice.
“He’s not. However, since Anderson was CEO before Harrison, he still feels like he runs the place and shows up unannounced. And…”
“And?”
I hesitate. “Harrison is not aware of my past.”
She maneuvers herself, curling onto her side to face me, head resting against the cushion, mimicking mine.
Her long, dark hair spills over her shoulders, and I shouldn’t, but fuck it, I reach forward and run my fingers through the ends. I twirl a strand around my finger, tug gently, and smile when it pulls a grin from her lips, causing her dimples to pop.
God, what I’d give to lean forward and kiss them.
“The bangs suit you,” I murmur, brushing her hair from her face.
She grins but doesn’t let me divert the conversation. “What about your past? What wasn’t Harrison aware of?”
“Most of it,” I admit. “Remember, Seb and Harrison are seven years older than Leo and me. By the time things got bad, I was six. Harrison was a moody teenager, always out with his friends. When I was ten, he was about to graduate from high school and completely distracted. That’s when it got worse. When they’d leave me alone for hours and hours, locking me in one part of the house. Or how’d they leave, forgetting they’d fired the nanny only one week ago, so I’d be left with nothing. Or when they thought I was at my grandparents’, but I was in my room and left to go to parties all night long. It was fucking scary as a kid.”
“Oh my god. No…” Maddie’s voice hitches, and I can’t look at her to see her crying.
I keep going before I lose my nerve.
“They’d tell me it was no big deal, that I had eaten, I had a bed, bathroom, and water from the sink. That kids around the world didn’t even have that, and I should be lucky. Sometimes they’d try to tell me they were only gone for an hour, and I must have fallen asleep and gotten it wrong. But it would be four, five, six hours. I would sit there, watching the clock. I never fell asleep; I’d always be waiting for them to come home, jiggling the door handle, wishing it’d open. The worst nights were when they’d come home, and I could hear their music and laughter with friends they were enjoying a nightcap with. They couldn’t hear me over the music, and they’d forget to unlock the door until morning.”
