“Nothing,” he reiterated.
She swallowed deeply, then nodded. Just once.
“It was dark when I woke up. The middle of the night. I smelled the bourbon Dad and Uncle John had been drinking. Then my bed shifted, and I realized someone was lying next to me. I startled, and that was when Uncle John moved, coming over top of me, pinning me to the bed. He put his hand over my mouth, whispered, ‘Shhh.’”
Grayson held still, even as rage built in his chest. He didn’t know where her uncle John was these days, but he was damn well going to find out.
Wren wasn’t looking at him. While her gaze was fixed on a spot on the wall, Grayson knew she was seeing something else entirely in her mind. She’d gone back to her childhood bedroom, to that night.
“I tried to move, but he was a lot bigger and heavier. I was struggling to breathe with his hand covering my nose and mouth. I panicked, afraid of suffocating, but I was helpless, completely pinned. He pulled up my nightgown. Pulled down my panties.”
It was Grayson’s turn to swallow, bile rising.
“He touched me.” She didn’t say where. She didn’t need to. “I whimpered, terrified. Lark heard.”
“What?” Grayson hadn’t considered that. Hadn’t even remembered that Lark was in the same room.
“A bomb could go off next to Lark’s head while she was sleeping and she wouldn’t hear it. When she’s awake, she lives life in fast-forward, but at night, it’s a different story. She’s the soundest sleeper on the planet. That night, she heard me cry out, even though it was quiet and my cries were muted by Uncle John’s hand.”
“What did she do?”
This time when Wren smiled, it wasn’t sad or forced. It was real. “She screamed the fucking house down.”
Grayson couldn’t help but smile with her, because it was clear that part of the memory wasn’t painful at all. “She what?”
“The room was dark, but when she heard me and woke up to see a shadowy figure in my bed, she screamed nonstop.”
“What happened?”
“Uncle John panicked. He leapt off the bed, stumbling away. He tripped over Lark’s drum set and landed on his ass. Her toys were always strewn all over the room.”
“Good for Lark.”
“For being messy?” Wren asked, amused.
“Messy and loud.” Grayson decided right then and there, his days of giving Lark a hard time were over. She had a champion for life.
“My uncle was still on the floor, struggling to get up, when the bedroom door flew open and the lights turned on. Mom and Dad ran in, because Lark was still screaming like we were both being murdered. Dad had the baseball bat he kept under his bed raised in his hands.”
Wren went quiet, and Grayson got the sense she was playing that moment over again.
“What did your dad do?”
“He looked confused for a minute. Uncle John said he’d come running when he heard the screaming and tripped, but Lark shook her head. Pointed at me, said he’d been in my bed, hurting me.” Wren was wringing her hands, so he covered them with one of his own.
“Everything happened fast after that,” Wren said, replaying the scene for him. “Mom started crying and ran over to my bed, running her hands over me, checking me to see if I was hurt. Dad dropped the bat, but…” Again, her smile grew. “My dad is the most mild-mannered man on the planet. He’s the guy who catches bugs to put them back outside. And I mean all bugs, including ants.”
Grayson wasn’t sure why that information was relevant, until she continued.
“But that night, he crossed the room and punched the shit out of my great-uncle. Hit him so hard, Uncle John tripped over the drum again. He took one look at my dad and didn’t even try to stand again. He started apologizing, saying he was sick. I didn’t understand what that meant at the time.”
“There was no excuse for what he did to you, Wren.”
She nodded. “I know that. Dad bent down and picked up the bat, then he told Mom to get her phone and call the police. Uncle John looked like he wanted to run, but my dad raised the bat again, basically daring him to try. Lark and I don’t talk about what happened, but one night, right after I moved back to Gracemont after graduating from college, we both got a little tipsy and it came up. Lark said it was like our dad was channeling Liam Neeson that night. We laughed until we cried because…well, you’ve seen my dad.”
Grayson grinned. Mr. McCoy was definitely on the smaller side, the type of guy who wore socks with his sandals and a thick belt that he hung his key chain on, so he always jingled when he walked. Grayson would bet his last dollar that Mr. McCoy never left the house without a Swiss Army knife in his pocket, so that he was ready at a moment’s notice to screw, tweeze, or clip something.
“That man tried to hurt his little girl. I suspect your dad could have flipped a car at that moment.”
