Breathless (39 page)

***

Acceptance settled over me, wrapping around me like a warm blanket as I drove aimlessly around Dallas, not noticing or caring where my headlights led me. Tonight I’d stood up for myself; I’d confronted her with the truth. And in doing so, I’d released some of the darkness I’d carried around for so long. Oh, I wasn’t suddenly magically happy. I wasn’t going to bust out singing “Kumbaya.”

But something had altered within my sprit tonight.

I didn’t need a list. I didn’t need to be bad.

I needed to find myself, find the good parts of me and hang on tight.

I turned my car into Club Vita’s parking lot and sat there, looking up at the window that I knew was Leo’s room. He’d crushed the deepest part of me tonight by choosing Tiffani. How long would they be together? Would he dump her soon or eventually fall in love and commit to her? Whatever happened, I didn’t want to be the sad girl who waited in the wings for Leo’s relationships to combust.

I wanted my own happy moments.

I glanced up when I saw the first rays of the sunrise peeking over the horizon.

It was a new beginning, the dawn of a new day, and I wanted to live it.

***

By seven that morning, Aunt Portia had pulled up at the bakery, so I moved my car over to her side of the street. When I walked in, she saw my face and wrapped me in her apron and hugged me hard. I let her hold me, inhaling the comforting scent of baked goods that lingered in the shop. She made me sit while she grabbed cinnamon rolls and two cups of hot chocolate piled high with whipped cream. We settled in at a table near the window. I told her about my fight with Mother; I told her about Finn.

She cried and told me she loved me.

Since her apartment was an hour from BA, we’d made a tentative plan for me to sleep in the attic space above the shop. She had an extra twin bed I could use, and the employee’s bathroom would be my bathroom. There wasn’t a shower, but when Mila dropped by for lunch that day, she said I could come to her house after school for showers.

And so the weekend passed slowly. I spent most of Sunday in my bed in the attic and on Monday, I went to school as if nothing had changed.

After school, Sebastian came in the shop with my shoes and my dress, which was covered in a local dry-cleaner’s plastic. He said Leo had had it dry-cleaned.

I got us coffees and two bear claws, watching in amusement as he devoured his and then the rest of mine. I told him about having a fight with my mom and leaving home to live at the shop. I didn’t say a word about Finn.

“Will it be hard not living in the lap of luxury anymore?” he asked.

“Luxury means nothing when you aren’t safe.”

“Whenever you want to talk about it, I’m here,” he said, eyeing me thoughtfully.

“Don’t get all serious on me. It’s like you’re Leo when you do it. I need my flirty Sebastian back.”

“Okay, how about this: you can shower at the gym anytime, sweet thing,” he said with a comical leer.

“And there he is!”

He laughed and gave my hand a squeeze.

Since it was after lunch, I was surprised to hear the door bell go off, signaling someone had come into the shop, so I looked over to see who it was.

It was my dad. He was talking on his phone, dressed for the courthouse in an expensive, well-cut gray suit. He was tall and handsome in an older, successful way with brown hair that still didn’t have any gray. He ended his call, checked the time on his Rolex and strode toward us, his green eyes checking me over.

My mouth had come open, and Sebastian turned to look at where I was staring. “Who’s that?”

“My dad,” I said weakly, closing my mouth. “I’m just surprised to see him. The last time was at the
incident
.”

Dad stopped at our table and put his hand out for Sebastian, “Hello, young man. I’m Robert Blakely, Nora’s dad,” he said, showing his flawless manners and breeding.

Sebastian stood tall, put his hand out, and they shook. “Sebastian Tate,” he said and then warned him with, “I’m a good friend to Nora.”

If my dad detected the grimness of Sebastian’s tone, it didn’t register on his face. Cool and implacable. He nudged his head at Sebastian and turned to me, “Nora, may we speak alone, please?”

I nodded, and Sebastian reluctantly got up and moved a few tables away.

I offered him a coffee but he refused. He sat down across from me. “How many meetings did you have to cancel to come here?”

He sighed. “Never mind that. I’m here because your mother told me about your disagreement.”

I snorted at the word
disagreement
. “Did she tell you she hit me?”

“She did not,” he said emphatically.

“It’s not the first time, you know.” I picked at my fingernails, feeling the rise of anger. Had he come to berate me? To cart me back home? “She called me a whore. I bet she left that part out, too.”

He tilted his head in confusion.

“What exactly did she tell you?” I asked.

“She said you came in late, high on cocaine and dressed inappropriately. She said you refused to give up your keys and walked out.” He fiddled with his cuff links nervously, and I wondered if he really believed Mother’s version.

“And it’s taken you three days to come find me? I could be dead on some street corner from a coke overdose for all you knew.”

He blew out an exasperated breath. “I called Portia, and she told me you were here, Nora. We thought you might need some time to cool down before you came back home, that’s all. I wouldn’t abandon you.”

I laughed out loud. “No, you did that a long time ago.” He opened his mouth to say something, but I cut him off, “She didn’t tell you everything.”

His mouth thinned in disapproval, and I faltered, remembering how much I’ve always wanted to please him. “Then tell me what happened, Nora,” he said curtly, leaning back in his seat.

My small bit of anger vanished in the face of remembered fear. Dark spots swam in my eyes, making me dizzy. I sat on my shaking hands and leaned my head down until my hair covered my face. I wanted to vomit, but I fought it. He needed to know what had really happened, because I suspected now he never had. “When I was fourteen, Finn raped me. I don’t know how many nights he came into my room when no one was home. The last time . . . the last time he got me high on cocaine and let his friend . . .” I stopped and swallowed, fighting the hated tears, but they came anyway.

“They took pictures. And it didn’t look like rape in the pictures. It looked gross and terrible, like I wanted it,” I choked out, wiping my face with my hands.

“Maybe he posed me, maybe he didn’t. I don’t remember,” I whispered. “I loved him, but never like that. He said it was my fault because it’s always the girl’s fault. He said no one would believe me,” I croaked. “I finally got the courage to tell Mother and she said that . . .” I paused and bit my lip.

“What? What did she say?” he asked, holding his breath. My gut told me he knew what was coming. He’d lived with her for years; he knew the strict rules she lived by. Even he lived by them.

“She told me I was making it up, that Finn only loved me as a brother should. She called me a liar.”

My dad shook his head in disbelief. “Jesus.”

“I thought she’d told you.”

“No, never.”

“I was only a kid, and I didn’t know what to do. I should have told you myself, but I wasn’t old enough to make the right choices.”

“How did you stop him?” he asked, his voice strangled with emotion.

“I told him I would kill him, and I meant it,” I said savagely. “After I saw the pictures, something snapped in me. I stole all the knives from the kitchen and placed them around the room, in the corners, in my nightstand, under my pillow. I stabbed him on his arm when he tried again. Blood was everywhere . . . he had to go to the emergency room. He told you it was a bar fight.”

Darkness, black and crushing, rose to the surface. I rubbed my temples, trying to erase the thick memories in my head. “He messed up though when he gave the pictures to me because I could see his face on some of them. I told him I’d show them to the police,” I said, dying a little inside at the thought of actually showing them to someone.

Dad’s entire face had whitened at my words, and tears ran down his face. I looked until I found the crescent-shaped scar on his cheek. One birthday, my parents had gotten me a huge dollhouse, and he’d gotten that scar when he’d been putting it together for me. I’d watched him work on it, because I was eager to play with it, so I’d seen the drill when it bounced off the dollhouse and flew back to nick him in the face. Most dads would have lost their cool or cursed, or at least stopped for a minute to take a break, but not Robert Blakely. He’d wiped the blood off his face with a tissue, and without a word had gone right back to putting that dollhouse together. My whole life, he’s been emotionless and reserved like that. But right now he looked destroyed, like he’d aged ten years while sitting here.

I thought about the invisible scars I had, the ones that would never really heal, and I continued, “In the beginning, I fought him as hard as I could, but he was always bigger and stronger, and after I while I felt
paralyzed
, like it wasn’t really happening to me. I just let him,” I cried, bowing my head in shame, remembering how weak I’d been and how easily I’d given in.

Disgust filled me. Why hadn’t I fought back more?

Maybe it had all been my fault. Maybe I was a whore like Mother said.

He scooted his chair over to my side of the table and took my hand. “Nora, I’m sorry.”

I sensed the guilt he was feeling, but it didn’t stop me from saying, “Nothing will change what happened to me. You should have been around more,” I said bitterly. “I’ve never been first with you or Mother.”

“Your mother,” he began and stopped, looking around the room, seeming to search for the right words. “I’m
not
excusing her for her part, but when I first met her, she’d dropped out of college to have Finn, and she was all alone. Her family was very religious and wanted no part of an illegitimate child. They’d disowned her. We fell in love, got married, and told everyone Finn was mine. But she had control problems, and getting her high-profile job as anchor, it’s made her worse.” He stared at our hands. “I haven’t been the father you needed.”

“This is the most we’ve talked in months,” I reminded him.

He reached over and awkwardly hugged me, and I patted his back, feeling like I was comforting him.

“Why do you stay with her?” I asked, pulling back.

He sighed. “What would people think if I left? There’s never been a divorce in my family, and together we’re a strong force. People respect the Blakely name.” He shrugged. “She’s on her way to the top in television, and I do whatever I want. Why would I change it?”

Indeed.

I nodded, acknowledging in my head that we were a screwed-up family. I wondered if he would confront either of them. He was as fixated on society and reputation as Mother. My gut told me he was genuinely angry for me, but that still didn’t mean he’d go to the police and drag our family name through the mud. In the end, our prestige meant more than I did.

Later, as I watched him get into his Mercedes and drive away, money was on my mind. He’d left me several hundred in cash, but he didn’t say if he would again. I didn’t want
their
money anyway, but I did need to help out Aunt Portia. She’d been the one feeding me, buying me clothes, and paying my cell bill. Thankfully, the Volvo had been a gift from my now dead grandparents on my sixteenth birthday, so it was mine. I didn’t want my parents’ money, but I did want my thirty thousand in prize money and ten thousand in scholarship money I’d collected when I’d won the spelling bee. I needed every single cent to get through college. Yeah, I had a scholarship to UT, but I’d still have living expenses. He’d said he’d consider making me the primary on the account that holds all my money, but he’d have to run it by Mother.

It appeared my lifestyle might be changing. Poor girls didn’t shop at Neiman Marcus, even on sale day. Poor girls didn’t live in big chateauesque houses. Poor girls don’t go to college where you have to write an essay to get in. And, poor girls don’t wait for someone to save them. They save themselves.

Today…I was okay with that.

I’d forgotten Sebastian was still in the shop. I found him at a booth, suspiciously close to the one where my dad and I had been sitting.

My heart sank. “Oh, no,” I said, closing my eyes in realization.

He strode over and hugged me, and I shuddered in relief.

He said, “Please don’t be mad at me, but when he walked in, you looked so lost. I wanted to be close in case you needed me.”

I sighed. I didn’t deserve a friend like him. “You always seem to be picking up my pieces.”

He smiled and shrugged. “Dude, you’re my best friend.”

“When did I become so special?”

He tightened his arms around me. “As soon as I realized how much Leo cared for you,” he said.

I shook my head. “Don’t talk about him.”

He nodded, his eyes scanning my face, probably feeling sorry for me. Or worse.

“Do you hate me?” I asked in a halting voice, not meeting his eyes. “After all you heard?”

“Never in a million years,” he said in a soft tone, one that I didn’t hear from him often.

“I want you to forget about this. Don’t think of me as a victim because I’m not. I’ve finally confronted Mother, and I have hope that someday I’ll be better,” I said.

He nodded. “How old was he when it happened?”

“Eighteen.”

“Have you considered reporting it to the police for real? I’m not sure what the statute of limitations is in Texas for rape, but Leo knows some cops who signed up for gym memberships. He could ask around.”

“I know you want to fix this, but please, please, don’t tell Leo,” I begged in a rush. “I don’t want him to know I’m ruined. If he ever found out . . .”

“You are not ruined,” Sebastian said, interrupting me gently.

“I’m ashamed. Maybe I caused it all.”

“God, Nora, no. You were a kid, and Finn deserves to rot in prison.”

“You
can’t
tell Leo,” I pleaded.