When We Collide Read online

  No. I shook my head. Not the William I knew.

  Fear throbbed inside me when I was struck with the memory of his face from earlier. I had to admit, I really didn’t know that William I’d left standing in the middle of the road two hours before. He’d changed, I could tell. Those brown eyes no longer swam with the warmth I remembered. They were hard. Hurt.

  The best thing for us all would be for him to go, and I prayed he would. I just wished the thought of him leaving didn’t hurt so much.

  ~

  “Hey, Jonnie Boy.” Troy bent down to rumple Jonathan’s hair where the child played with his cars on the kitchen floor. Jonathan looked up at him with an uneasy smile. I bit back a cringe. I hated that Troy called him that, hated more that my son didn’t know how to act around his dad.

  Troy dropped his lunch box on the counter as he kicked his work boots from his feet. “Smells good in here. What’s for dinner?”

  “Pork chops.” I stirred milk into the pot of potatoes I’d boiled for mashing.

  “Mmm...” Troy leaned in, pecked me on the cheek, and ran a hand through the hair hanging down my back. It always amazed me that he could waltz in here and act as if we were the all-American family, he the perfect husband and I the perfect wife.

  Inclining his head, he studied the side of my face, his brow drawing up as if he were concerned for my well-being. “You been cryin’?” he asked.

  I had the urge to laugh, though there was nothing funny about the absurdity of his question. Apparently he found it in himself to care if I was crying if he wasn’t the one who’d caused it.

  I held it in, buried it with everything else.

  It wasn’t hard to fake the sad smile and sniffle. “Yeah…today was Lara Collins’ funeral. I stopped by to drop off something Mom made for the family.” I shrugged as if it really didn’t matter all that much. “I don’t know…guess it just made me sad to see all those people grieving.”

  Frowning, Troy uttered a tight, “Hmm,” before he turned away and left the room without another word. It was no secret he didn’t think much of the Marsches. William had been the only person I had ever seen stand up to Troy, the only person who’d ever stood up for me.

  I felt the place I kept hidden away for William expand.

  Troy had never forgotten it—and neither had I.

  I looked down at my son playing on the floor, and smiled at the sweet child when he looked up. I extended my hand. “Come on, baby. It’s time for dinner.”

  He scrambled to his feet. “‘Kay, Mommy.”

  With his clothes changed and his face and hands washed, Troy walked back into the kitchen. His light blond hair looked almost brown from running dampened hands through it. He plunked down into his chair with an exaggerated sigh.

  “I’m starving.”

  I set a plate him front of him, another in front of Jonathan, and sat down with my own. These were the hardest times for me. It was so difficult to pretend that I wanted to be here. Even more difficult to hide from my son how much I hated the man he knew as daddy.

  Troy rambled on about his day at the shop, talking about the classic car that’d been brought in for restoration, and he asked Jonathan about school. Jonathan offered few words. He only answered Troy when he was asked a direct question. His voice was always hesitant and insecure when he did. He’d barely make eye contact when he glanced up to meet Troy’s face.

  I wondered if Troy ever noticed his pride and joy was terrified of him.

  No.

  Troy had never once touched Jonathan. If he did, he wouldn’t live to see the next day. I’d die before I allowed anyone to harm my son.

  The guilt that excuse caused was piercing, and I had to turn away from Jonathan and stare down at my plate. As if being exposed to this life didn’t affect him? Harm him?

  But I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?

  The scars hidden beneath my long-sleeved sweater stung in memory. Troy had left me with a permanent reminder that he would never let us go.

  With a sense of hopelessness, I looked back up at my son. He sat on his knees so he could reach the table. His face was downcast, and he pushed food around with his fork.

  “Eat, Jonathan.” Troy pointed at Jonathan’s plate with his fork.

  Jonathan grimaced and whined, “But my tummy hurts.”

  Every night, it was the same. My heart fell.

  “I said to eat your dinner, Jonnie.” Troy’s voice hardened. “I don’t work all damned day so you can waste your food every night.”

  I watched Jonathan spear a piece of meat with his fork and force it into his mouth. He chewed then swallowed hard as if it caused him pain.

  My eyes dropped closed. I knew the source of that pain. I felt it all the time.

  “He said his stomach hurts.” I mumbled the words toward my plate in a mix of disgust and apprehension. I only ever spoke out if it was for my son. I did whatever I had to for the attention to remain on me.

  I didn’t look up, but I felt Troy sit back and glare at me. “I didn’t ask you.”

  An oppressive silence fell over the room. Jonathan took the opportunity to slither from his chair and disappear into the living room. His footsteps were light as they echoed down the short hall, and then his bedroom door clicked closed.

  It was as if there was a certain tenor in Troy’s tone that was Jonathan’s cue. He’d learned it long ago, when Troy would instruct him to go to his room when his voice was vise-grip tight, and now Jonathan would go before he’d ever been told. Troy never let Jonathan see him hit me. I didn’t know why, but I was thankful for it.

  I remained still as I waited, my insides steeled. Troy didn’t even bother to stand when he struck the right side of my face with the back of his hand. It wasn’t very hard, just enough to rattle me, body and soul, enough to stoke the hatred that grew every day.

  I refused to look his way, refused to acknowledge the monster who shoved his chair back from the table and braced his hands on the top as he leaned across and snarled close to the side of my face. “Don’t you dare talk to me that way in front of my son.” Grabbing a handful of my hair, he tugged me back and forced me to look at him. “Do you understand me?”

  Still I remained silent. It was for the best. He pushed me away by the wad of hair he had curled in his hand. With a painful snap, my neck twisted to the side and a thick lock of hair ripped free when Troy jerked his hand back.

  I wanted to cry out, but I bit it back. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, I cradled my head in my hands and waited. His footsteps were heavy as he tore across the floor and slammed the back door shut behind him. The engine of his truck rumbled as he turned it over, and the wheels dug into the dirt when the truck was thrown in reverse. Gravel spit up and pinged against its sides as he backed out of the drive. My body stayed rigid until the sound of the engine faded when he turned left at the end of the street.

  When it did, I crumbled, spilled from the chair and onto the floor.

  To think there had been a day when I’d sought escape from my father through this man. Thought him the lesser of two evils. Maybe this was my punishment for being so selfish and seeking refuge in a person I’d known I would never love. But I could have, had he really loved me—would have even if he’d just treated me right.

  Memories of William sprang into my mind, the tender way he used to look at me, the tender touch. I was lying to myself. I could never have loved Troy, or anyone else for that matter, the way I loved him.

  I lay on my side with my knees hugged to my chest, the cold, hard floor biting into my hip, hating my life, hating myself.

  I’d tried. For Jonathan, I’d tried. But in the end, I’d stayed with Troy to save us both.

  I’d never understand how I’d gotten from my father’s house to Troy’s, when I’d promised myself so many times as a girl that I’d never end up like my mother. Like second-nature, I’d made an almost seamless transition from one vicious hand to another without even realizing it. The only blip of ha
ppiness in a life full of pain had been William.

  With the little will I had left, I pushed myself up to my knees, picked myself up and dusted myself off the way I always managed to do. My life was lived for my son, and right now, I knew he’d be scared and worried about me.

  Stumbling my way back to the bathroom nestled inside my bedroom, I wet a washcloth beneath warm water, wiped my eyes and the small amount of blood that had dried at the corner of my mouth, then tiptoed out into the hall, pausing outside Jonathan’s door.

  Muffled whimpers echoed from inside. They broke me just a little bit more.

  Quietly, I pushed his door open and walked to where my son lay huddled in a ball on his floor. He was so much like me—exactly how I didn’t want him to be. I pried him apart and took him into my arms. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” I whispered against his head when he wrapped himself around me.

  I walked out to the living room and settled us in the worn rocker recliner. He snuggled against me, his thumb in his mouth as he exhaled a ragged breath against my neck. At times like these, he regressed into a child so much younger than he was.

  God…somebody save us.

  I had to get him away from here before he was ruined. Before he had no chance. All I wanted was for my son to grow up to be strong and good and kind. I ran my fingers through the locks of his dark blond hair, the love I felt for him overwhelming.

  William had been my light in a lifetime of darkness, a glimpse at hope. I’d thought I’d lost it forever when I let him go. That darkness had been suffocating when I’d found out I was pregnant. Never would I have chosen to give another person a life like this.

  Yeah, I knew what people thought, the rumor I’d done it on purpose, but I’d never felt less of a person than when Troy had taken me against my will. Every vile thing my daddy’d ever done to me didn’t compare to that moment—the malicious grin that had marked Troy’s face as I’d fought him and he’d held me down and dripped his body into mine.

  But as scared as I’d been for the child growing inside me, it hadn’t stopped me from loving him. It didn’t matter who his father was.

  When Jonathan was born, though, I’d been blinded by that same light, and for a fleeting second, I’d known. I’d pushed it aside and told myself no. I was sure I knew the moment he’d been conceived—the moment one of the worst of my short, miserable life.

  But Jonathan had grown and many times had taken my breath away when he’d look at me just a certain way. The faint dimple to the right of his mouth above his lip that was barely visible with his small, sweet smile. The depth of his eyes that seemed to see more than they should. The hair that was neither blond nor brown, but a color all its own.

  He’d easily pass as Troy’s son, and most of the time, I believed he was.

  But then there were the times when I saw more—when I saw what I was sure William had believed he’d seen earlier today—his blood dancing through Jonathan’s veins.

  I drew my son closer and whispered into the softness of his hair. “I love you, Jonathan.”

  “Love you, Mommy,” he said, his fist locked in my shirt. His heart thrummed against mine. His sadness blanketed across my chest, soaking into my skin. I’d bear it all if I could.

  Maggie ~ May, Six Years Earlier

  I was crying, couldn’t stop. “Troy, please.”

  His hand constricted tighter around my wrist as he hauled me behind him. My feet dragged through the dirt as I tried to keep up. Over my shoulder, I dared to look back toward him.

  William.

  I remembered him, Blake’s younger brother.

  All I wanted to do was break free from Troy’s grasp and run to him. What I would do when I got there, I wasn’t sure. Apologize? Thank him?

  He’d watched me all night. I’d had this sense of awareness as his eyes traced my face. I was ashamed it’d felt so good. But the way he’d looked at me, it was different than anyone ever had. It had caused butterflies to tumble in my stomach and my heart to pound. No one had ever made me feel that way before. Even if it’d just been for a couple of hours, I felt…special. I’d reveled in it, basked in this feeling I’d never experienced before. Pretended I actually was.

  It was foolish, because I was anything but special.

  My mind and heart reeled as I struggled to keep up with Troy.

  Troy had a reputation for his temper, but this was the first I’d seen of it in the two months we’d been dating. My mom had warned me to stay away from him. She’d said he was too old and too fast, but my mom was the last person I was going to take relationship advice from. Five times he’d asked me out before I said yes. Each time I refused, mostly because he really was too old, even if I wouldn’t admit it to my mom. Six years older seemed like a lot to me, especially when I’d just turned eighteen. I’d been so upset that afternoon when I finally agreed. Crying—always crying.

  Troy had pulled up alongside where I was walking down the sidewalk, coaxed me into his truck with an understanding smile on his face, and had just driven. He’d laughed and joked, doing his best to make me feel better. He’d grinned and nudged me with his elbow until he finally got me to return his smile.

  In the couple of months I’d been seeing him since then, he had become an easy escape, getting me away from my house when it was the last place I wanted to be. I couldn’t say I liked him, but he’d been nothing but nice. And nice was always better than Hell.

  Something had shifted in him, though, over the last few weeks. A frustration simmered somewhere below his forced smile. I’d felt it, but had done my best to ignore it.

  Tonight, it’d finally broken through.

  But he’d promised he was different, so I begged again and tugged against his hold. “Troy...just...wait.”

  “Get in the fucking truck.” Troy shoved me toward the passenger door. My foot caught on a branch, and I lurched forward. Shooting my hands out, I caught myself just before my face slammed into the side window.

  Holding myself up, I suppressed the terror building in my gut—churning fear and anger—a feeling I was so familiar with, but this was the first time I’d associated the feeling with Troy.

  From behind, he pressed my body flat into the metal with his, breathing into my ear. “I’d better not catch you looking at Marsch again.” He dug his fingers into my sides. The pain made me gasp and then hold my breath. “Do you hear me?” he said as he tugged me back against him.

  I nodded as I squeezed my eyes closed. Another round of tears raced down my face.

  He jerked me back to open the door. It was excruciating not to look in William’s direction as I climbed into the cab and Troy forced me onto his lap, locking his arm around my waist—impossible when Kurt gunned the accelerator and flipped a U-turn and the headlights illuminated Blake’s truck. The driver’s door was open and the cab was lit. William’s eyes were closed, and his head was tilted up where it laid on the headrest, though I could see the torment raging in his posture and the anger twisting his face. Anger for me.

  I was rocked by a torrent of intense longing. If only once I could have that—someone who really cared about the way I was treated.

  I lowered my gaze, feeling sick as I listened to Kurt and Troy mock the one person who’d ever been concerned enough to defend me.

  As we entered town and Kurt slowed, Troy loosened his hold. He hugged me and nuzzled my neck with his nose and mouth. He gathered my hair to the side and kissed me behind my ear. “Don’t be mad, baby,” he whispered, “I just love you so much…I can’t stand somebody else looking at you.”

  I swallowed hard. It was the first time Troy said he loved me. But it didn’t feel anything like love.

  He walked me to the door. It had been a very a long time since I could remember being thankful I was home.

  Shaking, I slid my key into the lock and snuck inside. The house was quiet, and I tiptoed upstairs to the room I shared with my little sister, Amber. Changing into my pajamas, I crawled under the covers of my twin bed. I prayed for sil
ence, for peace, and for the room to be defended from intrusion, because I was sure there was no way I would survive my father sneaking into my room tonight.

  Tears filled my eyes, and I bit my lip to keep from crying.

  I was so stupid to think Troy was any different than my dad. Men were all the same. Mom had taught me that from the time I was a little girl.

  Maggie ~ Present Day

  I swatted at the tears running down my face.

  My mom had been wrong.

  William was different. His hands had been gentle and his words had been kind. I’d taken what he’d given me, something pure and good, and allowed my fear to destroy it.

  Shifting my dozing child, I gathered him up and carried him to his room where I pulled back his covers and laid him in his bed. A burdened breath escaped his lungs, and he rolled to his side.

  So precious and already so damaged.

  I sighed as I tucked him in and made sure he’d be warm before I wandered back out into the living room, parted the drapes, and stared out into the night.

  It’d be hours before Troy would return. I’d be long asleep, and he would slide into bed next to me and act as if the night had never happened.

  And I’d hate him a little bit more.

  Before he came, though, while I lay there alone, I’d dream of William. I’d pretend I was a different person from a different place, pretend I’d been strong enough for him.

  Those dreams were usually an escape, but tonight I knew they were going to hurt. He was so near. I felt as if I could reach out and touch him.

  I imagined him waiting for me at our spot, tucked behind the trunk of the fallen oak at the back of the playground where we’d always met, although I no longer saw the William I had pictured for the last six years. Instead he stood with his hands deep in the pockets of a dark suit, his face haunted by the choices I’d made. That face was striking, matured and strong, his brown eyes a raging storm.