“Oh, please,” I scoff. “This isn’t the 1900s, and Daryl Winters is more interested in books than stealing my rock-solid virtue.”
“Your attitude is especially immature and unbridled today, Cadence,” he says in a warning tone. “I’m not the enemy.”
“Then why do I feel attacked? You’re treating my library like it’s a house of sin, because Daryl Winters took more time to scour the shelves for his reading material today. It’s madness, and I’m certainly not encouraging any sort of salacious rumors to develop from it, so I’d appreciate it if my own father wouldn’t insinuate such a thing. The man’s as old as you are, and if he ever asked to sodomize me — which he hasn’t, just to becrystalclear — do you really think I’m the kind of girl who’d be agreeable to doing that sort of nastiness, in the middle of the public library, during open hours?”
He searches my face and a curious, subtle smirk tugs at the side of his mouth. “I know your mother and I didn’t raise that kind of girl, Cadence. But not all men ask for permission.”
My jaw drops. “If you’re suggesting what I think you are, those are the kind of false allegations that ruin lives. Daryl isnotthat kind of man.”
Dad gives me apoor, naive, little Cadencelook. “That’s probably what every girl thinks before it happens, sweetheart. You wouldn’t believe how many girls have been in my office in tears over the years because of such things. That man has a reputation for a reason. He’s exactly the sort to overstep the line, and you’d do well to remember it. He’s got a criminal record, you know. Time in prison and everything.”
I gulp. I always dismissed that as rumor, but if Dad’s mentioning it, there’s proof it’s true. No doubt he’s heard it straight from Sheriff Lou on canasta night. “A record for what?” I ask, my voice not nearly as strong as it had been.
“Does it matter?” He targets me with an assessing eye, clearly observing my response to gauge my position in the wholeDaryl Winters is the enemyargument.
I shake my head. “A conviction is a conviction. I’ll be more mindful, I guess.”
Dad’s smile is a satisfied one. “Exactly. You have a good afternoon, sweetheart. And, oh,” he says as if he’s just remembered something. “I promised the Thompson’s I’d help clear out their barn for the upcoming fundraiser dance. I won’t be home in time for dinner, but it won’t go to waste. Keep it aside, and I’ll have it when I get in. I should be home in time to put Mom to bed.” He gives me a smile and a wave, and then heads out the door, leaving me standing in a storm of emotions I don’t know what to do with.
I can’t sort my frustration from my rage. If anger is a spectrum, I’m all over it. Daryl left before I could have my first kiss, and now Dad’s got me wondering if I’m in regret or relief about that. Apparently, I will have to wait two whole weeks before I can interrogate Daryl about his past, and it seems only fair that I warn him of the potential threat my dad could pose to his future. And soon, I have to go home, to take care of my dependent mother — alone — while my father gallivants about the community looking like a hero. And I’ll be expected to be grateful when he turns up late for her bedtime, to carry her upstairs in his arms like he’s the hero at the end of some romantic movie.
The rage hits me before I can clamp a lid on in. I let my head fall back, and I roar at the ceiling, as my eyes fill with hot tears, and then rage flows through my body, and I let it go.
6
DARYL
It’s not my goal to be charged with breaking and entering the library, but I can’t help chuckling at how fitting it would look on my record, if I was caught sneaking in the backdoor. If the local paper doesn’t have a field day with that journalistic gold, I’ll lose my last drop of respect for this town.
The old handle finally gives, and I quietly slip inside — just in time to hear Cady cry out before there’s a monumental crash.
I rush toward the library’s main room, to make sure she’s okay, and stop just shy of the doorway, when I see her sink to her knees, next to her upturned desk and all its contents. Her loose hair falls around her bowed head, and her shoulders begin to shake.
I approach slowly and quietly sit next to her. “Did you justShe-Hulkyour desk, Miss Malone?”
Her head whips up, and her eyes fly wide as she notices me for the first time since I came in.
“How unbecoming of a lady,” I say with a grin.
Her lips twitch into an almost smile, but then her cheeks flush and she hurriedly wipes her face as she looks around. She clears her throat, pushes to her feet, avoids looking at me, andsmooths her clothes as if trying to deny there’s anything wrong. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Should. Shouldn’t.” I shrug and get to my feet too. “What does that matter, if you need me?”
She meets my steady gaze with a glare. “I don’tneedanyone.”
I nod. “I know it. You’re strong as fuck and could absolutely go through life completely alone. It’s tough without help, but you’re used to doing everything yourself. You’re no stranger to struggle. Heck, you were raised by it —trainedby it. You’re a fucking warrior, who’s more than capable of doing anything she sets her mind to. Anyone who cares to look can see that. No matter what you’ve come up against, you’ve found a way to survive it, and you’ve won every battle all by yourself.” I right her desk, set it back where it belongs, and look her straight in the eyes. “But do you want to keep fighting alone? Or do you want to know there’s someone standing behind you, who’s ready to step in front any time you need to rest?”
She blinks and a tear cascades down her cheek. She wipes it away with a harsh sweep of her hand, as if she’s disgusted by its existence. It’s evidence of the emotion she’s trying to suppress.
“It’s okay to cry, Cady,” I say quietly as I crouch to collect some of the books that have fallen to the floor. “It’s okay to feel angry or sad or stuck. You don’t have to pretend everything is fine when it’s not. I know you’re tired. I know it all feels too hard. And I know you don’t need anyone.” I set a pile of books onto the desk and straighten it while I look her over. “If anything, you probably think everything would be a million times easier if you went to live in a cabin in the woods, so everyone would just leave you the fuck alone, and you wouldn’t be wrong.”
She keeps her expression blank, like a practiced stoic, but her eyebrows give the slightest hitch, and her red-rimmed eyes bore into my soul, indignant. My words have struck something she’s been trying to smother and hide, and she’s undoubtedlywondering how I could know those secret thoughts she tries so hard to keep buried. If they came to the surface, life as she knows it would start to change, and change is scary — especially when you’ve been made to feel like choosing yourself would mean you’re a bad person.
“I mean, you’d be lonely out there in the woods, but at least you’d be rid of all the leeches sucking on your energy, right?” I give her a sad, knowing smile, put the last of her papers back on the desk, and set her stamp on top. “You want me to leave?”
Saying nothing, she wipes her cheek, and then her nose, and shakes her head.
“You want a hug?”
