Page 87 of Faded Gray Lines

“I’m a Harcourt,” I hissed, jerking my arm out of her hold.

“Regardless, you’re not to see him anymore. He’s a low-class thug, Leighton. Think of our reputation.”

Stunned, I gaped at her, the air in the hallway thinning. The fact that she knew about my secret was bad enough but acting like a concerned mother took it over the edge. “You have a lot of nerve talking about reputations and character after turning your back on me. You think you don’t associate with low-class thugs? Take a good look in your own backyard, Mother.”

“I told you to stop making things up.”

“There you go again!” I jabbed a finger in her chest. “You just can’t stop sticking your head in the sand, can you? You want to know why I leave every night? It’s because I know he’ll be here, and the minute I hear that door open I feel like I’m choking.”

“Stop!” Covering her ears with both hands, she shook her head. “I don’t want to hear this again.”

Of course she didn’t. The truth was ugly and shit all over her perfect snow globe world. However, I didn’t care anymore, and after three weeks, I knew no one else cared either.

Wrapping a hand around each of her wrists, I jerked them away from her ears. “You don’t want to hear what? The truth? I told you what he did to me. I begged you for help, and what did you do? You called me a liar. You believed a monster over your own daughter.”

“He’s a good man!”

“He raped me!” I screamed.

The slap didn’t come as a shock. The strike of her hand stung, but not as much as the realization that my whole life had been a lie.

Lowering her hand, she fisted it by her side. “I’ll not have you ruin everything I’ve worked for.”

“I’m your daughter!”

“And he’s my husband.” She lifted her chin, finality washing over her face. “If you’re going to spread vicious rumors and ruin my campaign, you aren’t welcome in my home.”

Her ultimatum didn’t matter. After leaving the train tracks tonight, I’d already made my decision. Leaving Houston was the only way for me to survive.

“This isn’t my home,” I said, turning down the hallway for the final time.

* * *

Present Day

Leighton finished her confession, and I didn’t respond. Fuck, I had to concentrate just to breathe. My hands ached from clenching my fists so I didn’t put them through the wall. I wanted to explode—destroy everything in the room and break anything in my path.

“I left you so many messages, Matty.”

A moment of clarity broke through the blind rage. “When I got arrested, Emilio took my phone. When a member gets pinched, it’s standard policy to destroy their burner phones. When I got out a year later, I just got a new one. I never heard them.”

She seemed to contemplate my confession for a minute, her forehead wrinkling in confusion. Then it was as if a wave of understanding passed over her, and she closed her eyes. “Things could’ve been so different for all of us.”

“What do you mean,all of us?”

“I called you so many times,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “Even after I’d lost hope for me, I still called because—”

Both of us tensed, on edge and grasping at unraveling threads when, right on cue, my phone rang.

Leighton opened her eyes and glared at the coffee table. “I’m really beginning to hate that thing.”

“Forget it.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Answer it. You know they’ll just keep calling back until you do.”

As much as I hated to admit it, she was right.

Grabbing my phone from the table, I stared at the incoming number and growled into the mouthpiece, “Not now, Bright.”