Page 34 of Gold Mine (The Diamond Trilogy 2)
She looks into the distance, and I know she’s seeing the past. “There are things I won’t tell you, things you shouldn’t know. But your father was in a dark place in his life. He took it out on me. He did things that were… unforgivable.” She focuses on me here, in the present. “I forgave him anyway. There are people who would call that weak, but I prefer to think of it as strength.”
“Are you saying that I should have stayed with Elijah?” My heart lifts just thinking about the possibility. It’s only been twelve hours, but already I miss him.
“Goodness no. I hardly know anything about this man. Some of that’s because we haven’t had much time, but I suspect you’re leaving a lot out on purpose. No, I don’t think you should be with him. I’m saying you should get to make your own decision now that you’re grown. And no one, not even your father or I, get to judge you for them.”
My throat feels tight. “Thank you, Mama.”
“So what happens now? Are you still in some trouble?”
“No, I’m safe now.” Even though it had felt gross to negotiate with the lieutenant colonel, there had been some relief at being able to manage the situation. Some power, too. It had felt better than sitting in some ivory tower, waiting for Elijah to rescue me. “I think… I think I’d like to go back to my old life. To feel like my old self again.”
The woman who had not needed a man in her life. A career, friends. I’d had everything I needed. There is no space in my life for a man who needs danger to feel alive. Even if it feels like leaving him left a hole in the center of my heart.
She pulls me into a hug, both of us still seated on the bed. The warmth of her arms, the weight of them, makes my chest hitch. There are moments to be a strong, independent woman. And there are moments when you can fall apart. In my mother’s arms, I release every weapon and line of defense. There’s only me, missing a boy, loving him from afar, as I sob against her shoulder. She holds me for what feels like hours, murmuring sweet nothings.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Holly
I’m washing dishes when my dad comes into the kitchen. He stands next to me, staring out at the deck through the picture window. Mom and London are drinking tea, both of them casually gorgeous. My dad built the white Adirondack chairs himself. Beyond them you can see endless rows of gravel paths and garden beds. It looks like a photograph in a glossy magazine about quaint cottage living.
No one would guess that the younger one was hurting for a line of coke.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” my father murmurs.
“It’s a long story.”
“You’ve been here three weeks.”
It’s been a restorative three weeks, being pampered by our parents, feeling protected in this place where we spent parts of our childhood. My mother has been very understanding of our secrecy. She agreed to keep the story private, knowing that my father would lose his mind.
My father wants a name and an address. He suspects some of the things that happened, and he wants to commit murder.
“It doesn’t matter what happened,” I say, my voice light. I’m home now. The thought of him facing off with Elijah makes me shiver. I love them both, and a meeting would probably end with one of them dead. Elijah is a hardened soldier, and my father is tough in his own way.
“How can you say that?” He picks up a dish and begins drying. I know it’s his attempt to appear casual when he really wants to bend a crowbar in half. But he already tried stomping around. He already tried yelling and threatening, but we’ve been silent. “Someone hurt you. That much is clear. There’s a sadness about you that wasn’t there before.”
The sadness is from leaving Elijah. The sadness is from missing him, but telling that to my father won’t help. Not if I have to explain that I met Elijah in a prison cell. “Listen. There are people out there who could hurt me. They could hurt you, so it’s better if I don’t say anything.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know they’re wrong. He looks furious. “Let them come after me. Do you know what it does to me knowing I failed my little girls? That you needed protection and I wasn’t there for you?”
“Dad, I’m all grown up. I have been for a while.”
He sets the dish down and pulls me in for a hug. “You’ll always be my little girl. And I wanted to be overprotective. Maybe I still was. Your mother stayed my hand, because of the way she was raised. With a fist so clenched she couldn’t even breathe. Did she tell you that?”
