Page 114 of Donovan's Men

He looked over at me. “You first.”

Tyson snagged my other hand so we formed a triangle. The other men couldn’t have been comfortable—stretching across the table—but I knew better than to say something. Tyson would bear any discomfort. And if I suggested retiring to the couch or bed, we’d lose this connection. And might not get it back.

“Lisa and I were close growing up. Like, even though we had four years between the two of us, we were tight. After our mom died, she kind of took over raising me. Our dad worked hard. And like, we were poor. Really poor. Two-bedroom apartment in a run-down walk-up in Strathcona. We relied on food lunches to make sure we had enough to eat.”

Both Tyson and Hamish winced.

“But like, we were good. Or I thought we were. Lisa and I shared a bedroom, and that was okay. Sometimes I’d get scared, and I’d sleep in her bed.” I eyed Hamish. “She was also a restless sleeper.”

“Yeah…we’ll need to talk about that—”

“We’ll get a bigger bed.” Tyson winked. Then pivoted his attention back to me, silently encouraging me to continue.

“Like, until she turned thirteen. Then my dad said I needed my own room.”

Hamish sucked in a breath.

Tyson tilted his head. After a moment, he uttered, “Fuck,” quietly.

“Yeah, pretty much. I was nine. I didn’t understand.” I blinked. “And Lisa never let on that anything wrong was happening. She kept taking care of me. I wanted to run the streets, but she never let me. I was one of the best kids in my class because she ran roughshod over me to make sure I excelledat everything. She said I was going to get out of that place once and for all. We made a plan.” I winced. “In retrospect, she was preparing me for life without her. I couldn’t see that then—but I see it plainly now.

“Then I came home one day and found a note on the kitchen table. That simple—just a goodbye letter. With a list of things for me to strive for. And how if I dropped out of school or wasn’t the best at everything, she’d be disappointed in me.” I bit the inside of my cheek. “I still didn’t get it until I went into my father’s room and found her lying on the bed.”

“Jesus.” Tyson gripped my hand. “What happened?”

“I called 911. I screamed over and over. Eventually, everyone showed up—firefighters, cops, paramedics…yeah. All way too late.” I fought the nausea roiling inside me. “My father came home, and…well, I saw something in him that I’d never seen before. Relief.”

“Relief?”

“She was pregnant.”

“Oh shit.” Hamish squeezed my other hand.

“Yeah. I got the police report about three years ago. They gave the medical examiner’s findings—that Lisa was pregnant. They didn’t do DNA regularly twenty years ago, and what would’ve been the point? They assumed some local boy’d knocked her up. Plenty of girls her age in that predicament. At twelve, I didn’t have words to explain what I’d come to understand. By the time I did, my father’d died. Hit by a train, of all things, while illegally crossing the tracks. How he didn’t hear the thing, I don’t know.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to.”

Tyson and I both shot our gazes to Hamish.

Hamish shrugged. “He must’ve known what he was doing was wrong. And why some people have that compulsion, I’ll never understand. But it exists. Some people—mostly men, butalso some women—feel that drive to take what isn’t theirs. And for sure, some recognize the urge as wrong and fight it while others give in. Over and over again.” He blinked. “I’m sorry you went through that.”

“You think he killed himself.”

“Perhaps…” He held my gaze. “Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part. But I’m relieved he’s no longer part of your life.” He winced. “That’s not a nice thing to say.”

“But it’s the right thing to say—to me.” I flexed my fingers. “I stayed until the day I turned eighteen. Then I lit out of there. I’d been studying at a dojo, and I was ready to take it up a notch. My instructor suggested theater school.” I laughed—with a bit of humor. “He knew I didn’t have what it took to compete and be a champion but that I wanted to be the best at whatever I did. He also saw a mischievous streak in me and thought he could direct me toward something that might use all my talents. I auditioned and got in. Cole started at the same time, although he was two years older. He’d had to work three jobs to keep a roof over their heads—his, Michael’s, and Caressa’s—while the other two studied. Eventually, he fit in theater school. I thought I was nuts with a job and school. I swear, the man never slept.”

“And then…” Hamish prompted.

“My dad died a couple of years later. He didn’t leave anything behind if that’s what you’re asking. No note. No savings. Nothing of value. I donated everything in the apartment and pretty much went on my way. The city cremated him because I wasn’t doing that. I don’t even know what they did with his ashes. I didn’t give a flying fuck.”

Or so you tell yourself.

I eyed my cold eggs. “Why don’t we get cleaned up?” I pivoted my gaze to Hamish. “And then you can tell us your story.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Tyson