Page 85 of Claimed By my Father's Enemies
"I'm okay." I notice that my voice is a little shaky.
I can hear Adrian’s voice coming from a little further away from the phone saying “Ask her where she is”.
William takes the phone off speaker. Brings it to his ear. "She's okay." A pause while he listens. "We'll be out soon." Another pause, longer. "Just—" He stops. Starts again. "Give us some time. We need to talk."
He listens to whatever Carter says. He says nothing back for a moment. Then, "Fine," and hangs up letting the phone drop to the floor.
His arm comes back around me. He exhales through his nose, long and slow. "I guess we can't stay here forever," he says.
I lift my head from his chest and say, “We can try.” Aiming for a playful smile but the truth is I’m feeling nervous about what happens next.
William gives me a quick peck on the lips and says “Don’t tempt me”.
Then he straightens and the moment shifts when he says, "We do really need to talk."
I move off his lap and sit beside him on the floor. Suddenly I am very aware that I am naked. I feel vulnerable and exposed, so I reach for his shirt where it's fallen near the jacket. I pull it on. It’s huge on me and smells like him.
William groans, "I don't know what's worse for my self-control," He sounds genuinely pained. "You naked or wearing my shirt."
He reaches over and takes my hand. His fingers thread through mine and he holds on and by the way he looks at me I know that the easy moment is gone.
"I owe you an apology," he says. "I shouldn't have aimed my hate for your father at you.”
I think I understand why he did that, but I still need to know more, so I ask, “It was worse than firing your father and making your family move out, right? How did—”
And I can’t say the words so I just make a gesture to the scars on his back.
The hand that is not holding mine closes in a fist by his side.
For a moment, I think that William is going to shut me out. But then he says, "When my mother died, it was so sudden.”
I reach for his closed hand. He opens it. Lets me in.
"My father was completely lost after that. I know now he was probably depressed. Most days he couldn't get out of bed. And that affected his work. So Conrad fired him." he delivers with a flat voice. "My family had been loyal to him for years. Worked themselves into the ground. And he had no hesitation. No contemplation. Losing the job meant losing also our house. We'd be out with nothing. Charlotte was six. My father couldn't work." He pauses. "So I went to talk to your father. Begged him not to do it."
He goes quiet. "The bastard laughed."
I grab both his hands harder.
"I got so angry I started to swear at him. Calling him names. Your father was a strong man." He looks at me when he says it and I just nod. I know exactly what Conrad Cross's strength felt like. "He punched me in the face. I went down. He kicked me in the stomach. I had so much pain I couldn't move. He took out his belt and—”
I can see that he is struggling to carry on so I intervene. "He was probably drunk," I say. "I remember that whisky gave him extra strength."
And William was just a boy then, not this formidable man in front of me.
"The belt was not the worst part." His voice carries fury with shame now. "The worst was going home. To see the resignation in my father’s eyes. And to see how scared my sister was when she saw me beaten to a pulp"
The silence that follows is heavy enough to fill the room.
"We packed our things and left," he says. "But I swore I would get back at Conrad. That I would destroy everything he ever built."
He reaches up with his hand and puts it against my face. "I just didn't expect you to keep showing up in my life." He pauses and makes a resigned laugh. "Even when I forbade my sister from seeing you. There you were. One of her best friends."
He leans down and kisses me softly.
When he pulls back his eyes find mine. "You—" Careful. Like he's picking his way across something he can't fully see. "Why did he—"
I look at the floor. The truth is that I have no reason to give him. He would beat me up for everything and anything so I just shrug my shoulders and say, “He was a mean drunk," I say. "He'd start in the morning. During the day he was a charismatic man. Larger than life. A functioning alcoholic." I pause. "And he would hit me."
