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“So your mother was the sole recipient of your mind-fuckery?”

“No. My father was invited to the party when the occasion demanded it. And later, my wife. I’d say she bore the harshest brunt of it.” I hear the dull roar in my head as the pressure increases, but I ignore it. I haven’t loosened the chains of my past for so long, it’s almost a relief to be having this conversation.

She slowly rises to her feet, but grips the edge of the counter, much like she did when I was fucking her ass. The reminder sends blood surging into my cock, but I concentrate on what she’s saying with an intensity that almost scares me.

“And being cruel to them made you feel better about yourself?”

A bark of laughter rips from my throat. “Rarely.”

Her face creases. “Then why? And why the hell did they stand for it?”

“Because I was the genius son who was the answer to all their problems. The proverbial golden goose who laid basketfuls of golden eggs. As long as they were bathed in gold, they didn’t much care how I treated them. I held the power. They reaped the rewards of my power. A win-win situation.”

“But you’re divorced now, so I guess your wife decided she had enough?”

“No, enough was never enough for her. She relished being a pathological victim. She didn’t leave me. I left her.”

“Why?”

Why? I wonder for a second what she’ll do if I tell her about Toby. That look of bewildered confusion on her face would change to horror. And then she would leave. I’m still not decided how I feel about her leaving, so I amend my answer.

“I decided to trynotbeing a masochist for a change.”

“So you didn’t leave her for another woman?”

“That’s the definition of ultimate cruelty in your book?”

Her eyelids sweep down and I straighten, not at all pleased that I can’t read her expression.

“No, I’m very familiar with how cruel people can be.”

The heavy ache behind the words jerks through me. I start to walk toward her, but she picks up her plate and approaches. I take it from her and toss it into the sink.

The sound of glass breaking makes her jump, but my hands capturing her wrists divert her attention to me.

“What does that mean?” I demand. I’ve just confessed my own cruelty, but the thought of anyone being cruel to her sends a spike of naked rage through my body. The strength of the feeling doesn’t sit well with me. I don’t know what to do with it, so I leave it sitting there, a large, shiny, unmistakable testament of my insanity and ask, “Who was cruel to you?”

She stares at me for almost a minute. Her mouth purses and her chin wobbles once, before she shrugs it off and shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

My fingers curl and I feel her pulse throb beneath my hands. “After what we agreed just now, that’s how you respond?You don’t know?”

Her gaze slides from mine and her head bows. “I know what we agreed. I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know.”

I stare at the top of her head and grapple with the need to probe deeper. I remind myself of the many reasons why I don’t want to be pulled into her shit. Or anyone else’s.

But I can’t get the thought of her willingly throwing herself into the freezing ocean out of my mind. I know what she just said, and the powerfully intimate cloud of sadness building around her is the reason for her actions that night. I don’t want to think about what would’ve happened if I wasn’t there, if she succeeded. My chest starts to burn, and I heed the warning to get the fuck off the subject of her not being alive.

But I still want to know what she means.

“Keely, tell me.”

“I can’t,” she says, and there’s no apology or hesitation in her voice. “I won’t.”

I let it go. “Fine. Are you staying?”

She raises her head. “Do you want me to?”

I shove hard at the 95 percent. “Yes. Very much.”