He nods. “My mum was horrified. She put me in anger management classes, and when they didn’t work, she shipped me off to American army camps. I went every summer, until I turned eighteen.” He tucks Cami’s hair behind her tiny ears. “They worked better than the therapy. I learned to control myself.”
“Control yourself,” I echo faintly. “What does that mean?”
“To keep my emotions in check. To act rationally, and logically, so I didn’t hurt people.” A vein throbs in his temple. “They weren’t perfect, though. I still get angry. I still struggle. I guess it’ll always be a part of me.”
I think of all of Sebastian’s odd little quirks. The cleanliness. The perfectly pressed suits. His distress when the house gets messy. I remember Jack’s words.It scares him. Being out of control.
“Did you ever hurt anybody else?” I ask carefully. “Or was it just that one time?”
“Just once.”
“When you were twelve. What, sixteen years ago?”
“Eighteen.”
“And you still think that if you let loose, you’ll turn into the Hulk?” I shake my head, anger bubbling inside me. “Since you were a kid, you were told that you were some kind of violent monster. So you keep all of your emotions locked inside you, until the pressure gets so bad you get physically ill.”
His mouth flattens. “I have to. For the sake of the people around me.”
“Sebastian. You hit a man once, when you were achild. That does not make you a monster.” He doesn’t respond. I sigh. “If Cyrus went to work, and found one of the girls getting harassed by a guy in the club, what do you think he’d do?”
“I don’t know.”
“He’d probably yell at the guy, and if he didn’t stop, I’d bet my whole salary that he would punch the man in the face. It might not be the best response, but it’s a very understandable one. And it wouldn’t make him amonster.” I lean forward, taking his hand. “Sebastian, you’re not violent. You were an angry kid who wanted to protect his mum.Protect, not hurt.”
He opens his mouth, but I interrupt him. “I grew up in care. I’ve looked after tons of children. I knowplentyabout angry kids. They aren’tmonsters, they’re just hurting. Any therapist or parent worth anything should be able to see that. You’d lost yourdad.You should’ve been helped, not punished.”
“You’re wrong,” he says, staring down at Cami. “And I don’t know what to do. I don’t feel safe keeping Cami. But I don’t feel safe giving her back to her mother, either. I don’t know what todo.” He takes a deep breath, running his fingers through Cami’s fine hair. “I think maybe it’s time I gave her up.”
Fear bolts through me.
Thirty-Nine
Beth
“I don’t think I can be a good father to her,” he continues woodenly. “Last night, if you hadn’t come, I don’t know what would have happened. What if I passed out and dropped her? What if she starved because I couldn’t stand up to make her a bottle?”
My blood is rushing through my body. I fight to keep my voice level. “Do youwantto be a father to her?”
He nods slowly.
“Thenlearn. You’ve got two friends willing to help you every step of the way. Three friends.”
He wipes a hand over his mouth. “But what if she’d have a better life without me? What if she got adopted by a family who actually knows what they’re doing? Or a couple who’ve been trying to have a baby for years? They’d want herso much. They’d understand the difference between Montessori and Waldorf schools, and what kind of baby food is best for her, and whether she should be co-sleeping or in a crib.” He fists his hands in his hair. “I’ve been reading baby advice books since we first got Cami, trying to work out how to look after her. They all say that the way you raise a child will affect her personality. This is the stage where she’ll develop fears, and complexes, and anxieties. What if I hold her too much, and she grows up with separation anxiety? Or not enough, and she grows up feeling like she’s unloved? What if I’m too nice, or too harsh? I could ruin her life without ever meaning to.”
“Oh, Seb.” I put a hand tentatively on his back. “I wish you’d told me you were worried about these things. I can help you learn this stuff, easy.”
He sighs, pulling Cami closer to him. “What would happen?” He asks, his voice breaking. “If I did put her in care?”
I close my eyes. My heart is pounding. “Well,” I start slowly. “She’s small and cute and healthy. There’s a good chance she’ll get adopted quickly.”
“Weren’t you adopted? Were your parents nice? Do they vet them properly?” I raise an eyebrow. “Cyrus let it slip. Sorry, is it a secret?”
“Not a secret. But I wasn’t adopted, I was fostered.” I look down at my hands. “My mum gave me up when I was four. I was in the care system until I turned eighteen. Bounced between residential care homes and foster families.”
He watches me intently. “Was it bad?”
I hesitate. “Notreally. Nothing bad happened to me. All my foster parents were nice.” I curl my finger in Cami’s hair. “And the care home was fun. There were so many kids, it was kind of like a school camp, or something.”