When We Collide (9 page)

It seemed in the light too many things became clear.
Every mistake I’d ever made. The fact that as much as I might like
to, I could never take them back.

And unmistakable fear.

Above everything else, it was the most glaring. I
had no idea what would happen now. Would William pack his things
and go, disappearing into the night like he had before? Would he
stay and seek me out, and if he did, what questions would he ask?
And how would I ever answer when I didn’t know myself? Or would the
anger that had clenched his hands into fists prevail, would he
whisper accusations into the minds of his family and of this town.
Would he try to take from me the only thing that mattered?

No
. I shook my head. Not the William I
knew.

Fear throbbed inside me when I was struck with the
memory of his face from earlier. I had to admit, I really didn’t
know that William I’d left standing in the middle of the road two
hours before. He’d changed, I could tell. Those brown eyes no
longer swam with the warmth I remembered. They were hard. Hurt.

The best thing for us all would be for him to go,
and I prayed he would. I just wished the thought of him leaving
didn’t hurt so much.

~

“Hey, Jonnie Boy.” Troy bent down to rumple
Jonathan’s hair where the child played with his cars on the kitchen
floor. Jonathan looked up at him with an uneasy smile. I bit back a
cringe. I hated that Troy called him that, hated more that my son
didn’t know how to act around his
dad
.

Troy dropped his lunch box on the counter as he
kicked his work boots from his feet. “Smells good in here. What’s
for dinner?”

“Pork chops.” I stirred milk into the pot of
potatoes I’d boiled for mashing.

“Mmm...” Troy leaned in, pecked me on the cheek, and
ran a hand through the hair hanging down my back. It always amazed
me that he could waltz in here and act as if we were the
all-American family, he the perfect husband and I the perfect
wife.

Inclining his head, he studied the side of my face,
his brow drawing up as if he were concerned for my well-being. “You
been cryin’?” he asked.

I had the urge to laugh, though there was nothing
funny about the absurdity of his question. Apparently he found it
in himself to care if I was crying if he wasn’t the one who’d
caused it.

I held it in, buried it with everything else.

It wasn’t hard to fake the sad smile and sniffle.
“Yeah…today was Lara Collins’ funeral. I stopped by to drop off
something Mom made for the family.” I shrugged as if it really
didn’t matter all that much. “I don’t know…guess it just made me
sad to see all those people grieving.”

Frowning, Troy uttered a tight, “Hmm,” before he
turned away and left the room without another word. It was no
secret he didn’t think much of the Marsches. William had been the
only person I had ever seen stand up to Troy, the only person who’d
ever stood up for me.

I felt the place I kept hidden away for William
expand.

Troy had never forgotten it—and neither had I.

I looked down at my son playing on the floor, and
smiled at the sweet child when he looked up. I extended my hand.
“Come on, baby. It’s time for dinner.”

He scrambled to his feet. “‘Kay, Mommy.”

With his clothes changed and his face and hands
washed, Troy walked back into the kitchen. His light blond hair
looked almost brown from running dampened hands through it. He
plunked down into his chair with an exaggerated sigh.

“I’m starving.”

I set a plate him front of him, another in front of
Jonathan, and sat down with my own. These were the hardest times
for me. It was so difficult to pretend that I wanted to be here.
Even more difficult to hide from my son how much I hated the man he
knew as
daddy
.

Troy rambled on about his day at the shop, talking
about the classic car that’d been brought in for restoration, and
he asked Jonathan about school. Jonathan offered few words. He only
answered Troy when he was asked a direct question. His voice was
always hesitant and insecure when he did. He’d barely make eye
contact when he glanced up to meet Troy’s face.

I wondered if Troy ever noticed his
pride and
joy
was terrified of him.

No.

Troy had never once touched Jonathan. If he did, he
wouldn’t live to see the next day. I’d die before I allowed anyone
to harm my son.

The guilt that excuse caused was piercing, and I had
to turn away from Jonathan and stare down at my plate. As if being
exposed to this life didn’t affect him? Harm him?

But I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?

The scars hidden beneath my long-sleeved sweater
stung in memory. Troy had left me with a permanent reminder that he
would never let us go.

With a sense of hopelessness, I looked back up at my
son. He sat on his knees so he could reach the table. His face was
downcast, and he pushed food around with his fork.

“Eat, Jonathan.” Troy pointed at Jonathan’s plate
with his fork.

Jonathan grimaced and whined, “But my tummy
hurts.”

Every night, it was the same. My heart fell.

“I said to eat your dinner, Jonnie.” Troy’s voice
hardened. “I don’t work all damned day so you can waste your food
every night.”

I watched Jonathan spear a piece of meat with his
fork and force it into his mouth. He chewed then swallowed hard as
if it caused him pain.

My eyes dropped closed. I knew the source of that
pain. I felt it all the time.

“He said his stomach hurts.” I mumbled the words
toward my plate in a mix of disgust and apprehension. I only ever
spoke out if it was for my son. I did whatever I had to for the
attention to remain on me.

I didn’t look up, but I felt Troy sit back and glare
at me. “I didn’t ask you.”

An oppressive silence fell over the room. Jonathan
took the opportunity to slither from his chair and disappear into
the living room. His footsteps were light as they echoed down the
short hall, and then his bedroom door clicked closed.

It was as if there was a certain tenor in Troy’s
tone that was Jonathan’s cue. He’d learned it long ago, when Troy
would instruct him to go to his room when his voice was vise-grip
tight, and now Jonathan would go before he’d ever been told. Troy
never let Jonathan see him hit me. I didn’t know why, but I was
thankful for it.

I remained still as I waited, my insides steeled.
Troy didn’t even bother to stand when he struck the right side of
my face with the back of his hand. It wasn’t very hard, just enough
to rattle me, body and soul, enough to stoke the hatred that grew
every day.

I refused to look his way, refused to acknowledge
the monster who shoved his chair back from the table and braced his
hands on the top as he leaned across and snarled close to the side
of my face. “Don’t you dare talk to me that way in front of my
son.” Grabbing a handful of my hair, he tugged me back and forced
me to look at him. “Do you understand me?”

Still I remained silent. It was for the best. He
pushed me away by the wad of hair he had curled in his hand. With a
painful snap, my neck twisted to the side and a thick lock of hair
ripped free when Troy jerked his hand back.

I wanted to cry out, but I bit it back. I wouldn’t
give him the satisfaction. Instead, I cradled my head in my hands
and waited. His footsteps were heavy as he tore across the floor
and slammed the back door shut behind him. The engine of his truck
rumbled as he turned it over, and the wheels dug into the dirt when
the truck was thrown in reverse. Gravel spit up and pinged against
its sides as he backed out of the drive. My body stayed rigid until
the sound of the engine faded when he turned left at the end of the
street.

When it did, I crumbled, spilled from the chair and
onto the floor.

To think there had been a day when I’d sought escape
from my father through this man. Thought him the lesser of two
evils. Maybe this was my punishment for being so selfish and
seeking refuge in a person I’d known I would never love. But I
could
have, had he really loved me—would have even if he’d
just treated me right.

Memories of William sprang into my mind, the tender
way he used to look at me, the tender touch. I was lying to myself.
I could never have loved Troy, or anyone else for that matter, the
way I loved him.

I lay on my side with my knees hugged to my chest,
the cold, hard floor biting into my hip, hating my life, hating
myself.

I’d tried. For Jonathan, I’d tried. But in the end,
I’d stayed with Troy to save us both.

I’d never understand how I’d gotten from my father’s
house to Troy’s, when I’d promised myself so many times as a girl
that I’d never end up like my mother. Like second-nature, I’d made
an almost seamless transition from one vicious hand to another
without even realizing it. The only blip of happiness in a life
full of pain had been William.

With the little will I had left, I pushed myself up
to my knees, picked myself up and dusted myself off the way I
always managed to do. My life was lived for my son, and right now,
I knew he’d be scared and worried about me.

Stumbling my way back to the bathroom nestled inside
my bedroom, I wet a washcloth beneath warm water, wiped my eyes and
the small amount of blood that had dried at the corner of my mouth,
then tiptoed out into the hall, pausing outside Jonathan’s
door.

Muffled whimpers echoed from inside. They broke me
just a little bit more.

Quietly, I pushed his door open and walked to where
my son lay huddled in a ball on his floor. He was so much like
me—exactly how I didn’t want him to be. I pried him apart and took
him into my arms. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” I whispered against
his head when he wrapped himself around me.

I walked out to the living room and settled us in
the worn rocker recliner. He snuggled against me, his thumb in his
mouth as he exhaled a ragged breath against my neck. At times like
these, he regressed into a child so much younger than he was.

God…somebody save us
.

I had to get him away from here before he was
ruined. Before he had no chance. All I wanted was for my son to
grow up to be strong and good and kind. I ran my fingers through
the locks of his dark blond hair, the love I felt for him
overwhelming.

William had been my light in a lifetime of darkness,
a glimpse at hope. I’d thought I’d lost it forever when I let him
go. That darkness had been suffocating when I’d found out I was
pregnant. Never would I have chosen to give another person a life
like this.

Yeah, I knew what people thought, the rumor I’d done
it on purpose, but I’d never felt less of a person than when Troy
had taken me against my will. Every vile thing my daddy’d ever done
to me didn’t compare to that moment—the malicious grin that had
marked Troy’s face as I’d fought him and he’d held me down and
dripped his body into mine.

But as scared as I’d been for the child growing
inside me, it hadn’t stopped me from loving him. It didn’t matter
who his father was.

When Jonathan was born, though, I’d been blinded by
that same light, and for a fleeting second, I’d
known
. I’d
pushed it aside and told myself no. I was sure I knew the moment
he’d been conceived—the moment one of the worst of my short,
miserable life.

But Jonathan had grown and many times had taken my
breath away when he’d look at me just a certain way. The faint
dimple to the right of his mouth above his lip that was barely
visible with his small, sweet smile. The depth of his eyes that
seemed to see more than they should. The hair that was neither
blond nor brown, but a color all its own.

He’d easily pass as Troy’s son, and most of the
time, I believed he was.

But then there were the times when I saw more—when I
saw what I was sure William had believed he’d seen earlier
today—his blood dancing through Jonathan’s veins.

I drew my son closer and whispered into the softness
of his hair. “I love you, Jonathan.”

“Love you, Mommy,” he said, his fist locked in my
shirt. His heart thrummed against mine. His sadness blanketed
across my chest, soaking into my skin. I’d bear it all if I
could.

Maggie ~ May, Six Years Earlier

I was crying, couldn’t stop. “Troy, please.”

His hand constricted tighter around my wrist as he
hauled me behind him. My feet dragged through the dirt as I tried
to keep up. Over my shoulder, I dared to look back toward him.

William.

I remembered him, Blake’s younger brother.

All I wanted to do was break free from Troy’s grasp
and run to him. What I would do when I got there, I wasn’t sure.
Apologize? Thank him?

He’d watched me all night. I’d had this sense of
awareness as his eyes traced my face. I was ashamed it’d felt so
good. But the way he’d looked at me, it was different than anyone
ever had. It had caused butterflies to tumble in my stomach and my
heart to pound. No one had ever made me feel that way before. Even
if it’d just been for a couple of hours, I felt…special. I’d
reveled in it, basked in this feeling I’d never experienced before.
Pretended I actually was.

It was foolish, because I was anything but
special.

My mind and heart reeled as I struggled to keep up
with Troy.

Troy had a reputation for his temper, but this was
the first I’d seen of it in the two months we’d been dating. My mom
had warned me to stay away from him. She’d said he was too old and
too fast, but my mom was the last person I was going to take
relationship advice from. Five times he’d asked me out before I
said yes. Each time I refused, mostly because he really was
too
old, even if I wouldn’t admit it to my mom. Six years
older seemed like a lot to me, especially when I’d just turned
eighteen. I’d been so upset that afternoon when I finally agreed.
Crying—always crying.