“It sounds like it really messed with your head,” Gabe says quietly. “But you always knew it wasn’t your fault, right?”

I step over a piece of driftwood and then stare out at the water, thinking about the one time that I didn’t. “Usually,” I answer. “Except for once. The one time he hit me.”

“Let’s sit,” Gabe suggests, guiding me by the elbow to a big piece of driftwood. “I’d like to hear this. What made a grown man hit a kid?”

My eyes start to burn as I think about it and I swallow hard. Blurry memories start coming back to me, memories that I’ve purposely not thought about in years.

“I wasn’t a kid,” I correct him. “I was seventeen. My dad came home from the Hill pissed off about something from work and my mom wasn’t home. I had no idea where she was but my dad thought I was lying for her. When he got mad like that, there was no reasoning with him.

“He asked me over and over where she was and I told him over and over that I didn’t know. And then he just backhanded me. Hard. I went flying backward onto the couch. It felt like my entire face had exploded, it hurt that much. But that really wasn’t the worst of it.”

I pause, and wipe away a tear that has broken rank and fallen down my cheek.

Gabe’s hand has clenched tightly around my own, tightly enough that his knuckles are white.

“What was the worst of it?” he asks.

His voice is grave and I can’t bring myself to look him in the eyes. I’m afraid the expression I find there will send me over the edge and I’ll break down again.

“He stood over me, screaming that I was a worthless whore like my mom. That I was lying for her because I was just like her. That I’d never be anything but a whore.”

Gabe sucks in his breath and holds it. “And you thought that was your fault?”

I finally bring myself to look up at him. “Not exactly. But it’s why I left for New York at the first opportunity. To get away. And that’s my fault. I’ve felt guilty about that ever since. I left Mila and I left my mom… I left both of them here to deal with his shit.”

“Mila was at college, though, right?” Gabe asks quietly. “And your mom chose to stay. That was her decision, not yours. You had to look out for yourself.”

“Mila went to a college just an hour away. She drove back and forth. She still lived at home.”

I’m silent now, staring at my feet, staring at the water, staring at the sky. Finally Gabe takes his finger and turns my face toward him.

“There’s nothing to feel guilty about, Maddy. You didn’t do anything wrong. He did.”

“I feel guilty for everything,” I blurt out. “I feel guilty for hating him, I feel guilty for loving him. I feel guilty for hating my mom for staying. I feel guilty for leaving her. I feel like nothing I will ever do will make up for any of it.”

I take a deep shaky breath and Gabe stares at me.

“That’s why you’re here now,” he says quietly, his thumb stroking mine. “You gave up your life in New York to make up for it, didn’t you?”

It’s something that I’ve never consciously admitted, but I know he’s right. It’s a thought that pisses me off. Everything about it pisses me off. And it pisses me off that he pointed it out.

“What does everyone want from me?” I demand suddenly, anger clouding my vision. “You, Ethan, Mila, Jacey… everyone is always telling me how unhappy I should be. How I act old, how I act boring, how I’m not myself. Of course I’m not myself. I had to give up everything to come back here and live my parents’ life! Do you think I wanted this?”

I can feel my pulse beating in my temples as furious waves pass through me over and over.

Gabe stares at me, but not in surprise. It’s like he’s been expecting me to get pissed.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask again, my voice shrill. “What do you want from me?”

Gabriel shakes his head, still calm. “I don’t want anything from you. I just realized that you gave everything up. And I can relate to that. That’s all. I know how you feel.”

I suck in a breath, thinking about that. He did give everything up, but his situation was different.

“You don’t know how I feel,” I tell him. “You don’t.”

He stares at me silently, taking that in. “Maybe I don’t know exactly how you feel. But I know what it’s like to live a life you don’t want. Do you trust me?”

I look at him, startled. Where did that come from?

“Yes,” I answer uncertainly.

He smiles, a gentle, beautiful smile. “Good. Because I want you to hear me out without getting pissed and defensive.”

The way he says that puts me on edge, because I’m sure I’m not going to like it. I can just tell from his tone of voice.

But before I can say that, he continues.

“We did some scary shit in the Rangers, and because of that, I know what fear looks like. You’re afraid, Maddy. You’re afraid to tackle your demons. And until you do, you’re always going to be hung up in the past.

“The good news is that fear is a choice. You can stand in front of it, punch it in the face and get on with life.”

I stare at him sharply. “You mean like you have? No offense, Gabe. But you shouldn’t really be preaching at me about dealing with my shit. Not when you haven’t dealt with your own.”

He stares at me, his eyes hardening, then softening. As if he caught himself getting pissed and stopped it.

“You and I are two different people with two different issues. And we’re talking about you right now. I’m trying to help you. Do you want my help or not?”

I don’t know.

I stare at him uncertainly, my thoughts wavering. He stares back, unafraid of speaking his mind, unafraid of pissing me off, unafraid of everything.

“I don’t know,” I finally answer honestly. “I just don’t know.”

Gabe smiles patiently as he slides off the driftwood and pulls me to my feet.

“Trust me, you do.”

As I stare at him, at his strong hands, his chiseled jaw, his wide shoulders, I know that he knows what he’s talking about. He knows what it’s like to be terrified of something, but to do it anyway. Just because he’s got one thing that he can’t deal with doesn’t mean that he didn’t face fear a million other times in the Rangers. And I do trust him.

“OK,” I murmur. “What do you have in mind?”

We walk back to the house and down the hallway to the bedrooms, Gabriel’s hand on my arm, both to guide me and to hold me in place when we stand staring at my parents’ closed door.

“I’ve changed my mind,” I announce as the wood door yawns in front of me. I try to turn around. “I don’t want to do this.”

Gabe holds me in place.

“Yes, you do. And you can do it. Fear is a choice, Maddy. Choose not to be afraid. You can start today. You don’t like your life now? Change it. Start by facing this room.”

I take a ragged breath back in and turn around.

In my head I picture my father when he was angry, face red, veins popping out in his temples, as he stormed through this door to find my mother. Then I picture him when he wasn’t angry. Calm, loving, patient.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I’ve always had to carefully screen what I remember so that I don’t get upset. And I’m really tired of being held an emotional prisoner to memories.

I turn the doorknob and open the door.

It is still and silent in here, almost like a mausoleum. I sniff at the stale air, glancing at the walls covered in pale-pink flowered wallpaper. The room is clearly a female’s domain, as well it should be, as often as my mother secluded herself in here.

Mila has been in here a couple of times since they died, but other than that, this room is untouched. I take a step inside, looking at my dad’s boots by the door, their dirty clothes in their basket, my mom’s makeup scattered across her vanity. I take another step, then another, until I find myself sitting cross-legged on their bed. My fingers shake as I try not to think about where I am.

Instead I stare into space, thinking back to the day they died.

“I was in Times Square when they died,” I tell Gabe softly. “I lived in New York. I hadn’t been there very long. But anyway, I was with a group of girls from the modeling agency when Mila called me. She was so hysterical that I couldn’t tell what she was saying for a minute. But I’ll never forget the feeling of standing in the middle of such a crowded place and suddenly feeling so very alone.”

They’re gone, Mad, Mila had sobbed. They’re just gone.

“And for a second, just a second, all I felt was relief. I would never have to deal with their twisted drama again. But I pushed that horrible feeling aside and did what needed to be done. I was on a plane within hours and I never went back to New York. My roommate boxed up my stuff and sent it to me and I never looked back.”

Until now.

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel whispers, rubbing my back with one hand and pulling me to him with the other. “But in your situation, it was normal to feel all kinds of things, not just grief.”

I nod. “My head knows that. But my heart thinks there’s something wrong with me.”

I slide from the bed and start sifting through my mom’s trinket drawer. A large drawer in the top of her dresser houses anything she was sentimental about. Old pictures, random pieces of jewelry, love notes from my dad.

I pick one up, the handwriting bold and scrawled even as it is faded and old.

My love,

I hate being away from you. Every minute seems like an hour, every hour seems like a day. In only three days, we’ll be married and our lives can truly begin.

I hope you like the flowers.

All my love,

Kent

My eyes well up at the thought that they were once so happy, without issues or drama, without abuse or fights. I can hardly remember a time when my father’s temper wasn’t hanging over our heads.

“My mom used to tiptoe around my dad’s temper. She tried so hard to make sure he never got angry because she didn’t want to deal with the repercussions. We learned to do the same thing.”

I hand the letter to Gabe and pick up another one.

Nan,

I’m so sorry about last night. I’m sorry I lost my temper. It’s just that the thought of you leaving me makes me crazy.

If you leave, I’ll be nothing.

Please forgive me.

All my love,

Forever,

Kent

A tear streaks hotly down my cheek and I furiously wipe it away before I throw the entire drawer across the room, as hard as I can. It slams into the wall and everything in it explodes in a cloud of junk on the floor.

“Fuck you, Dad,” I tell him as though he were standing right next to me. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.”

Gabe picks up the letter and looks at it, then stares at me. “Your mom almost left him?”

I nod, not even caring that the tears are flowing freely now.

“A hundred times. But she never did. She would tell us to pack a suitcase and to go get in the car, so we would. But we’d wait out there for hours because they’d scream and fight and then make up. And all the while, she’d forget that we were out in the car waiting. Waiting for her to be strong and change our lives. But she never did. And I hated her for that.”