I stand my ground, fully aware he can shove me out of the way. “He needs a minute.”
“What the hell do you know about what he needs?” Jake growls behind me.
“I don’t, but—”
“Something triggered him.” Conor approaches, her face pallid as she stares into the darkness that swallowed her brother. “He never loses his shit like that. It exploded out of nowhere. You guys were just talking. There had to be a trigger, but I don’t know what—”
“Jarret grabbed him.” Maybe moves to stand beside her fiancé, lacing her fingers through his. “Does he not like to be touched?”
“No, that’s…” Jarret rubs a hand down his face, his mouth slack. “He doesn’t have issues with personal space. I hugged him the day he was released.”
“But tonight he was on edge, and you crowded him in.” I rest my hands on my hips, replaying the confrontation in my head. “He turned to leave, to escape the discomfort, and a hand landed on his back.” I scan the distraught expressions around me. “He’s trained himself to be in survival mode at all times. He had to. That’s not something he can unlearn overnight.”
“What makes you an expert on the prison psychology?” Jake crosses his arms.
“I’m not an expert. But I spent a lot time around men dealing with post-prison adjustment.”
“Why is that?” Jake scowls at me.
I stare at the black field with longing, wishing I could escape like Lorne did rather than rehash my life for the second time tonight.
Stepping toward the railing, I lean a hip against it and turn back to Jake and Jarret.
“Before I met your dad, I had sex with ex-cons.” I straighten my spine. “For money.”
Four pairs of eyes widen at my announcement. Lips part. Heads tip to the side. Their stunned silence sweeps a tingle up my nape. I turn away and grip the porch railing.
Stillness creeps in until all I hear is the occasional chirp from the shadows in the field. John’s family might be wordlessly judging me, but I won’t give them excuses. Living in poverty, sharing DNA with a drug addict, selling my body—none of those things define the worth of my soul. They’re circumstances, trials, the ugly parts of my journey.
The last two years, however, shaped the person I am today. John Holsten, my sister’s death, and my thirst for revenge are the reasons I’m here.
“I don’t need to defend myself. So I won’t.” I twist back to face John’s sons. “But I’ll answer questions.”
Jake picks up his hat and sets it on his head, his expression blank. “I want to hear your story.”
He lowers onto the couch and pulls Conor down beside him.
Maybe joins Jarret on the seat across from them, curling up on his lap.
I sit in the remaining chair, draw a deep breath, and tell them everything. As I talk, their features morph through every emotion, from shock and outrage to sympathy and pity.
After crying in Lorne’s truck, I thought I might break down again. But the narration’s easier this time, my voice steady and remote. Perhaps it’s because my mind is elsewhere, on the man who’s fighting his own demons out there in the dark.
I finish with the explanation about my phone call to Maybe, why I hung up on her, and my pathetic attempt to shoot John.
“You know the rest.” I meet Maybe’s damp blue gaze. “Thank you for coming for me.”
“I’m so sorry about your sister.” She squeezes her fingers around Jarret’s hand.
I nod, grateful for her kindness.
Conor stares at her lap, eyes watering. “When Lorne told us John killed our mothers, I didn’t believe him. But after everything he did to you and Tiana…”
My chest tightens. “And what he did to you…”
“I’m still trying to process that.” She rests her head on Jake’s shoulder. “He wasn’t like that when we were kids. He was hard, but not so…vicious.”
“You’re remembering him through the innocent eyes of a child.” Jake touches his lips to her hair. “He’s always been cruel.”
They talk among themselves, recounting events from their childhood and examining their perceptions of the man who raised them.
Jarret doesn’t say much, but the transparency in his mannerisms and expressions speaks for him. Jake, on the other hand, has no problem voicing his thoughts. Meanwhile, his eyes give off a brooding kind of elusiveness that makes me shiver.
As they continue to share memories, my mind wanders to Lorne. I should check on him. But what can I do to help him? Sex is the only way I know how to distract a man from his troubles, and he doesn’t want that from me.
Jake props a boot on the coffee table and rests his dark brown gaze on me. “So you’re a hooker.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
Conor elbows him in the ribs. “Mind your manners.”
“Don’t need them.” He absently rubs the wide leather cuff on his wrist.