Page 89 of The Deception You Weave

As I climb from my car, I look out at the trailer opposite, Kane's gran's trailer, and let out a sigh.

I want to say that I wish I could go back and do things differently where he's concerned, but the truth is, I didn't do anything to deserve the way he's treated me over the years.

Once upon a time, we were friends, sure. There was even a time when we were younger when I thought it could have been us. But then Riley asked me to a winter dance, and I said yes, and that was that. I became his.

It was then that Kane changed. But I never did anything to him. Not in all the ways he's always blamed me for.

Ripping my eyes away, I shove that part of my life aside and focus on the reason I'm here. Spinning around, I head toward the front door. But unlike the many other times I've visited since we all left, he's not there greeting me with a wide smile.

I knock, despite knowing that he's aware I'm here before giving the swollen door a good shove and stepping inside.

"Dad," I call. "It's just me."

He remains quiet as I walk through the kitchen and turn into the living area.

He's sitting in his usual seat on the couch but unlike normal, he barely even looks like my father. The bruising and swelling from his beating is even worse than I was anticipating.

"Oh my God," I cry, racing over to sit next to him.

"I'm okay," he forces out.

"No, you're really not. Have you even seen a doctor?"

"I'm fine."

"Dad, come on," I argue. "You're not fine. You need to make sure nothing is broken."

"I can't, sweetheart. Doctors call the authorities and…" He trails off because he knows I know exactly what he means.

"This is Harrow Creek, Dad. There must be at least one dodgy doctor hanging around who you can call."

"Letty, it's okay. I'll be fine. It's nothing I haven’t dealt with before."

Anger surges within me that this has been Dad's life and none of us knew about it.

"No, that's bullshit," I bark, much to his surprise. "I'm not leaving you to sit there in pain. Something might be broken."

"It's not," he says firmly.

"Right… well…"

I stand and march from the room before he even has a chance to say anything.

"Scarlett, please. I'm… I'm s-sorry." His voice cracks and my footsteps falter on my way to the bathroom.

Shaking my head at the fact he thought I was leaving because of his stubborn ass, I continue forward and root around for the first aid kit that always used to be in the cupboard under the sink.

His eyes are full of unshed tears when I return with the box in hand.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers.

"Not now."

I crawl onto the couch on my knees and pop open the box so I can grab what I need.

As gently as I can, I set to work cleaning up all the dried blood on his face. It looks like he tried to clean up since getting home but he's not been very successful.

He's silent as I work but he keeps his eyes on me. It's almost as if they're begging me not to ask the questions that he knows is coming but he's got little chance of getting away with the inevitable.