Page 345 of Mad Girl

“My dad told me the summer I broke your nose during volleyball.”

“So for years.”

“Elliot—”

“And when you say you know me better than anyone, it’s because you actually do,” I said, ripping my hand from his. “You know me better than I know myself.”

“Hey,” Michael said, reaching for me again.

But I swatted him away. “Every time you bit me or gave me the pain I wanted, it was only because you knew why I needed those things. It was never because you accepted me the way I am.”

“Elliot, you’ve been hurting yourself as long as I can remember—and I’ve always accepted that about you. Always. When my dad told me this stuff, your behavior suddenly made a lot more sense to me. That’s all.”

“So John just decided to tell you this giant secret about me one day?”

“No. It was after I’d accidentally broken your nose. Nic called to tell my parents you’d need surgery. I still had your blood all over my swim shorts, and I was pissed. You did that shit to yourself every year on your birthday, and I’d had enough, so I vented to my dad about it. I got so worked up I started crying, so he sat me down and explained everything. He said I shouldn’t be mad at you—I should try to be more understanding.”

“Who else have you told?”

“No one.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“I swear, Elliot—not even Bree. And, for the record, Nic was wrong to keep it from you all this time. To let you pine for someone who did something so horrible to you.”

But in that conversation I’d overheard between our parents, Nic had said, “I’m responsible for all of it…because I walked away. I left. I fucked up. And because of that, she’s fucked up. My daughter’s broken—and that’s on me.”

“Did she do something to me?” I asked. “Or is that a lie, too? Maybe everyone kept this a secret because my dad was complicit in some way. Because he’s the one who abandoned me first.”

“Nic isn’t my favorite person at the moment,” Michael said, “but I can’t imagine him ever abandoning you. Not intentionally.”

“He did once.” I told Michael about the day I stabbed him. How Nic had locked me in his office, and John had let me out.

Michael winced. “My dad told me about that, too. He said the stabbing brought back all those scary emotions from when you were abandoned by your mom, and Nic just…froze. He couldn’t deal.”

Fresh tears pricked my eyes. “He couldn’t deal? Do you have any idea how that felt for me? At eight years old?”

“I know. Apparently, Nic regrets doing that to you, and he’s never forgiven himself for it.”

I already knew this, didn’t I? Nic had admitted as much when I’d brought up the office incident during that whole sex toy fiasco: “It’s one of my greatest failings as a parent.”

Michael sighed. “My dad thinks Nic has a lot of unresolved trauma after being with your mom and seeing what she did to you.”

I let out a shaky breath.

Michael ducked to meet my gaze. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” My entire world had just shifted. But one thing had become crystal clear: Nic had been lying to me my whole life.

A couple hours later, worn out from crying, I laid my head on Michael’s shoulder, letting the warmth of his body seep into mine. It wasn’t the comfort I craved—he wasn’t you—but it was something, and that felt like enough. I’d just begun to drift off to the low hum of ESPN when my eyes snapped open and my heart jolted. Because of you, Casey.

You were standing in the doorway. Perfectly still. Watching us.

I caught the tightening of your jaw—the briefest glimmer of hurt in your eyes—before you backed up and headed for the stairs.

My stomach churned.

“It’s late,” Michael said, flipping off the TV. “I should head home.” He squeezed my hand. “Promise me you won’t hurt yourself?”