Page 160 of Hate You More

“Something awful,” I say, pulling away to reach for my mineral water. “But not to me.” He seems to relax a little at that. “I went to his office on an errand,” I continue. “And found one of his staff, Chloe, trembling like a leaf. She was in shock, I guess. She started to cry and just . . . crumbled. And between hiccuping sobs, she told me he’d come on to her pretty hard.”

“Jesus.”

“Seems he had a hard time hearing no, and he assaulted her.” I give my head a slow shake, disgusted with him, with my father, all over again. “Then he just left her there, in the office, all shaken up. He told her that no one would believe her, but I did the minute I walked in.”

“Was she okay?”

“She was terrified. I took her home and did the best that I could to make sure she would be okay. And I told my dad. I expected him to be shocked. Instead, he just gave Drum the heads-up. He tried to use his power and influence to make it all go away, which was awful for her. Eventually, she took Drum to civil court. I was called, and my father didn’t appreciate that I’d been honest during the deposition.” A fragile laugh slips out of me. It feels like disgust in its purest form.

Troy shifts, bringing his knee on to the sofa to face me. “He seriously wanted you to lie?”

“He called it loyalty. Said I owed it to him. But yes, that’s what he expected.”

“That low-down . . .” Maybe he can’t find a strong enough description as his words trail off. He balls his napkin and tosses it to the table. “Credit to you, Clara. You chose to do the right thing over your own comfort.”

“It wasn’t really a choice.” I remember how frightened she was. How she clung to me. And my father’s reaction when I went to him. How I truly didn’t expect his reaction. It was like she meant nothing, like her suffering didn’t have any value.

“It cost you to do the right thing, but you still did it.”

“I mean, I did hope he’d come around about the money.” I give a huff, not quite a laugh.

“But he didn’t.” Our eyes hold, his caramel, coffee, and sincerity. “And you stuck to your guns. Stuck to your principles.”

“I couldn’t do anything else.”

He glances down and runs his thumb over the edge of his nail as though just discovering a roughened spot. “You chose not to be like him.”

“I thought I was choosing not to let him hurt anyone else.” To think I might be even a little like my father . . . God, perish that thought. But then I gather that Troy must, on some level, think that I am. And that makes me so sad. “He’s hateful.”

Maybe it’s like that old adage, you don’t always remember the things a person says to you, but you remember how they made you feel. And I made Troy feel like nothing when I stood by my father’s side that night, letting him shoulder the blame for something he wasn’t responsible for.

“He’s definitely something,” he says, his tone full of grit and distaste.

“Do you know he once told me your dad was a murderer?” I’m about to say something like there are no depths my father won’t stoop to when I notice the change in Troy almost at once. Like the swift raising of a guard. “It wouldn’t have mattered.” My truth hits the air immediately. “Not to me.”

He says nothing and the quiet stretches out. It’s almost as though I can feel the tension gathering within him. And then? It just gives.

“That fucker,” he mutters with a slow shake of his head. He seems disgusted, embarrassed, and maybe betrayed. Lord only knows what else. I don’t know what to say and almost flinch as his gaze lands on my knee. “The only reason he knows is because my mom had to ask for time off for the court case.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” I say, covering my hand with his. “But, equally, I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

“What’s to say? You’re not the only one with an asshole for a father.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Sorrier still I didn’t know. But then, I’m guilty of the same secrets, I guess.

“It was a bar fight.” His words fall fast like a confession. “When I was small, I used to worry that the person he’d end up killing would be my mom.” My heart, I feel it fracture for him. “At least, until we got away. We just disappeared one night and moved around a whole lot after as a consequence. I remember how she was always looking over her shoulder, worried that mean son of a bitch would be one step behind.”

“Oh, Troy.”

“It was a long time ago.” He blinks as though dragging himself from the past.

“I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

“No one is supposed to know. That was the point.”

“I won’t say anything.” He gives an uncomfortable-looking shrug. “But you could’ve told me. It wouldn’t have mattered, and I would’ve kept your secret for you.” I was so crazy about you. Crazy about you still.

“Shame is an efficient silencer.” A faint, humorless smile touches his mouth.