Page 77 of Stroked Hard
I look into his eyes, denim-blue eyes that are staring down at me as he talks. There is no waver in them, no uncertainty. They are clear, genuine, loving . . .
I’m studying his handsome face and the way his scruff defines his jaw when I hear my mom say, “It’s my fault she doesn’t want to give herself over.”
What did she just say?
“Mom . . .”
She holds up her hand and looks at Hollis. “Her father left me—”
“Mom,” I say a little louder, giving her a warning look that apparently she doesn’t pick up on.
“It’s only fair that he knows.”
“It’s none of his business,” I snap.
Apparently my mom has no ability to shut her mouth because she continues. “He left when she was six and started a new family.”
“Mom!” I shout this time, standing up from my seat.
“Melony, you can’t keep living your life like this because of someone else.”
Not hungry anymore and completely humiliated, I push my chair in and take off toward my room. “Call me later, Mom, when you’re not airing our dirty laundry to everyone.”
I don’t wait for her response, I can’t. I make my way to my bedroom, shut the door, and lie on my bed.
How could she tell Hollis that? As if it was just casual conversation. My dad leaving us is the most humiliating, gut-wrenching thing I’ve ever gone through. Why would she just tell him? Tears prick my eyes as images of that horrendous day run through my mind.
His suitcases at the door.
My mom begging him not to leave.
Watching from the sofa, holding my stuffed bunny as he pushes her off him.
The fleeting glance he gives me as he picks up his baggage.
The slam of the door.
The cry of my mother and the sound of her hitting the floor in pure agony.
The empty feeling burned deep inside me from the loss of my father. From the loss of the man who would pick me up and pretend I was a rocket and then launch me into my canopy bed every night. The loss of the man who smelled my feet and then told me how stinky they were. The loss of a man who would secretly take me to the ice cream store to buy my favorite treat of strawberry ice cream with rainbow sprinkles.
He was gone.
He didn’t even hug me goodbye.
I’m crying into my pillow, sorrow wracking through my bones. The feeling of total loss engulfs me.
I’m lost in heartache when my bed dips and a large, firm hand presses against my back, rubbing it in soothing motions.
“Hey, baby.” The deep rumble of Hollis’s voice rings out. “Scoot over for me.”
I don’t even bother putting up a fight. There’s no use when it comes to Hollis. When he has his mind set on something, he doesn’t let up.
Once I scoot over on the bed, he slides in right next to me and wraps his strong arm around me. His head goes right to mine where he kisses my neck gently, in a comforting way.
“Your mom went home,” he says softly. “She told me to tell you to call her when you’re ready.”
I nod, not able to vocalize anything.
