Page 111 of Governor

“I’m not going to say this is none of my business,” Carter says as I cry on his shoulder, “because Owen’s my best friend. This isabsolutelymy business. But that woman is damned toxic.”

“I know.” Dad glances at Katie before looking at me again. “I cheated on your mother. I’m not proud of that, and it’s a story Katie’s already heard. What I thought was drive and determination on Elandra’s part was way more darker and disturbing than I ever bargained. She pushed me away and punished me every chance she got for me so much as having an opinion that differed from hers.”

I would normally call that a cop-out, except I was raised by the woman and I knowexactlywhat he’s talking about.

“After a while,” he continues, “no matter how I tried to approach her to go to counseling, or to work with me…I gave up. Yes, I handled it wrong. If I could take it all back, I would. I would have taken you and left her and not given her ammunition to use against me. Unfortunately, our prenup had an infidelity clause in it, and I was stupid.”

“She would have been vicious even if you hadn’t cheated,” Carter says.

“Yeah, but she couldn’t have wielded the prenup against me the way she did. I didn’t have the money to fight her. I could barely afford the child support every month.”

That gets my attention. “Wait…what?”

“What?” Dad asks.

“Child support?”

“Yeah. Over double what the state mandates. That’s another reason I had to move for work. I was making nearly double out here. It was the only way I could afford the payments. I knew if I was so much as a minute late with one, she would have dragged me into court with a contempt motion.”

Rage burns within me. “She told me you never paid any support. That you made a couple of payments, told her you couldn’t afford it, so she ‘let you off the hook’ because she could afford to take care of me.”

He’s better at hiding his emotions than I am, but he slowly shakes his head. “Every month until you turned eighteen. Did you ever receive any of the cards I sent you for your birthday, or holidays? Or any of the phone messages I left when I’d call to talk to you?”

I’m…I’mtrembling, I’m so enraged. I’ve never felt like this in my entire life, and it scares me.

If Mom was standing in front of me right now, I’m not sure I could stop myself from wrapping my hands around her throat and strangling her.

That fucking terrifies me.

“Why don’t the three of us step outside,” Carter quietly says, standing and gently tugging on my arm to get me to stand, too.

I want to call her and scream at her right now, which might be why Carter reaches down and fishes my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans and tosses it to Susa before we follow Dad outside.

It’s still hot, but since it’s after dark I can feel cooler air trying to work its way in. It’s not muggy like Florida, but as I stare up at the sky, at an unfamiliar vista of stars not usually visible with Tampa’s light pollution, I struggle against the urge to throw my head back and scream until my throat is raw.

Carter’s never left my side, keeping a hand on my shoulder, or along the small of my back, or even holding my arm.

Dad steps over and I realize he’s crying now. He’s left his glasses inside and stares at me with a weight and weariness I recognize all too well. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I left you behind. I thought maybe she would treat you kinder if I wasn’t around.”

“She didn’t,” Carter says, but he’s totally focused on me.

“She lied to me about everything,” I flatly say. “Everything. She said you couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to me, and I was lucky she took such good care of me. Once she heard about you getting remarried, she said that was proof you had shiny-object syndrome, and that you’d likely be cheating on her before long.”

“That’s what abusers do,” Carter says. I’m not so out of it that I miss he’s using what I think of as his “Sir” voice, but his tone is soft, gentle. “They isolate their victims, groom them, make them dependent upon them, and turn everything around so the victim blames themselves without question.”

“I don’t even know my cousins,” I finally choke out. “My aunts and uncles.”

“They want to get to know you,” Dad says. “I told them you were coming out to visit. A couple will be here tomorrow, but there are still a bunch in Florida who want you to contact them. My older brother, Dan, still lives in Tampa, with his wife, Judy.”

That’s right, I’d forgotten about Uncle Dan. That’s likely why Dad named his son after him. They don’t have kids, not for lack of trying on their part, based on what I gleaned from our dinner conversation.

“He’d like it if you give him a call,” Dad says. “If you want to,” he quickly ads.

Carter pats my shoulder. “He will, when we get back to Tampa. We’ll arrange to have them come to Susa’s.”

I’m still struggling through my rage, through a turbulent rush of emotions smacking me all at once.

The truth that my mother was far more cruel to me than I’d ever dreamed possible.