“I mean, we do have a treasure box at the end of every appointment.”
His smile grows before disappearing altogether as he leans into my touch.I don’t know what it is.The defeat.The somberness enveloping his room.But it’s like the mask has slipped once more, and I’m gifted with the real Ford all over again.The one I met during our little study session, then again when I dropped off a loaf of sourdough, and once more when I was sick last weekend.The one I can’t help but feel pulled to.It’s like an invisible string connects us.The problem is, I’m not sure if I’m the only one who feels it.
“Daddy Dearest,” he mutters.
“Huh?”
“That’s who I’m playing the long game with.”
My frown deepens.
“Daddy Dearest, or, more widely known as Titas Harden.My father.”
Shock courses through my system as I register his words.His father?He can’t be serious.Can he?My fingers flex into the washcloth.“Your dad did this to you?”I whisper.
“Piece of work, am I right?”
“Ford—” I start to pull my hand away, but he grabs my wrist, keeping me in place.
“It’s fine, June.”
Fine?Being hit by your dad is fine?Rage builds inside of me like a volcano.No, it’s faster than a volcano.More explosive and instantaneous.Like dynamite.I’m a stick of dynamite, and with one simple word, I’m ready to detonate.“We need to call?—”
“There’s no one to call, June.”Resignation taints his words, and he leans into my palm.The washcloth separates me from his actual skin, but the heat of him seeps through the moist terrycloth as he stares up at me.No mask.No lying.No snark or wit.He’s been stripped bare for only me to see, and I’d give anything to take away the pain in his eyes.
“How long?”I ask.“How long has he been hitting you?"
Something sparks in his gaze, though I can’t place the feeling.“Here and there since I was four.”
“Four?”My heart cracks even more.“Ford?—”
“To be fair, it’s usually my own fault.I’m not very good at keeping my sarcasm in check.But here’s the thing.”He pauses before grinning like a lunatic.“The bastard makes it so damn easy.”
“It’s not funny, Ford.”
His smirk stays in place.“Kind of funny, June.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No,” I snap.I pull the washcloth away and set it on the bedside table.“It really isn't.”I blink away the burn in my eyes, caught between desperation to fix this—to go back in time and save the little boy who was put through this—and the overwhelming desire to let him keep his head in the sand if it’ll protect him from facing what he’s been through.“This isn’t okay, Ford.”
“Never said it’s okay,” he argues.“Only said it’s kind of funny.”
“And how is it funny?”I reproach.
“Because I’m a grown-ass adult who could beat the shit out of him until he stops breathing.But what do I do?”A haze hits his eyes.“I just…”—his shoulder lifts in a shrug—“stand there.”
Another shard pierces my chest.
How do I fix this?How do I tell him he isn’t wrong for feeling the way he does, but this isn’t right, either?From the outside looking in, Harden Heights and The Drift feel so…normal.But the longer I live here, the more I see all the cracks in the facade and how deeply it’s affected the people I care about, including the man in front of me.A smart, funny, charismatic, attractive billionaire prince who, from the outside looking in, seems to have his crap together.Instead, he’s falling apart at the seams with no one the wiser.It guts me.
“You know it’s not normal, right?”I whisper.“I mean, I know between you and Violet and Lexie, it might seem normal, but it’s not.”An image of my mom and dad rises to the surface.It makes me want to cry even more.I bite my bottom lip to keep it from wobbling, determined to get through this conversation even if it kills me.“Parents are supposed to love you and cherish you and make you feel better when you fall down and scrape your knee or get a B on your spelling test or…anything, really.They’re not supposed to do…” I trail my thumb against his swollen cheek, my chest aching.“This.”
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”
“I’m serious, Ford,” I whisper, desperate to get through to him.“You don’t deserve this.”
