Read Online A Perfect Love by Hot Tree Editing, Becca Lee, Lm Creations - Free Book Online
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were.
I stood up and headed toward a photo frame on one of the shelves. Lifting it to take a closer look, I smiled at the memory. It was taken when I was barely twenty. Jo sitting on my lap, head thrown back laughing at something no doubt ridiculous Mace was saying. He was sitting to my side, Abi standing behind him, arms draped over his shoulders.
We were so young, so delusional to the shitstorm heading our way just a few years after. Seeing Abi reminded me that it wasn’t just Jo and me who were hurting. Mace was hurting, too. I replaced the frame without saying a word and sat back down.
“You told her then?” I nodded in response. “What did she say?”
“Nothing.” I swept my hands through my hair. “Nothing at all. She’s not ready. El’s with her now.”
Mace pursed his lips, clearly wanting to say more as he leaned his elbows on his knees.
“Out with it,” I prompted.
“It’s screwed. We know it. There’s shit-all we can do. I’ve tried to find an in, but it’s impossible. Frank, you know, from the Goldie, is in there at the moment, but shit’s too tight there.” He looked at me pointedly. “We can sort this shit out when he’s released.”
I knew what he was saying, what he was suggesting. I also knew there was no way I could even consider travelling down that path. Mace was a lot of things, and he’d been in more scrapes than most people I knew. Yet to suggest what I knew he was suggesting, what he was implying, despite the fact that I wanted nothing more than to destroy the man who’d changed Jo’s life irrevocably, was not me. I also knew Mace, like me, was not a murderer. Hell, he’d been a cop in a former life. The thought drew my attention back to the photograph of Abi, the final nail which dragged him out of the force and into the life he since led.
I shook my head. “No.” My voice was firm, resolute. “We will deal with this. He will continue to pay, but not that way. Never that way. The last seven years have been hard enough. The guilt has been enough; my guilt has been enough. I won’t be taking any more shit, not anymore.”
Mace did not look pleased, but I also knew he would never recover if we took the next step. There had been enough guilt over the past seven years, enough for a lifetime. “So, what do you want to do, Liam?”
“We wait.” It wasn’t what I’d set out to do. To be honest, I had no idea what my intentions were when I came to see Mace, but this wasn’t it. For the time being, until I could do more, until I could stand in front of the man who raped Jo—my father—this would have to do. I’d wait.
Some things constantly play on. They play in slow motion. No matter what you do to avoid, to forget, they remains. We survived the trauma, the pain, and somehow came out on the other side. We were stronger for it. Jo had maintained her crazy-arsed self, finished university, and we’d managed a decent crack at our lives. We’d reached the point when everything seemed to make sense. Until that damn letter.
Three weeks had passed since I’d shown Jo the letter. We’d talked and she’d cried, yet once again, she still managed to wear a smile. What was even more miraculous was that her smile was real. I knew when her smile was painted on, which was very rare, and for the most part, it was genuine. It was the baby. It kept her grounded, kept me grounded.
In less than three weeks, David Mason would be released from prison. I’d still yet to see my mum, and I had no desire to. What I did find the need to do, though, was figure out why the hell David had written Jo a letter.
After emptying my pockets, I was patted down. The guards moved down the line of visitors, carrying out the same search. Finally reaching the last person in line, a buzzer went off, signalling the release of the metal door, and they ushered us through.
I was directed to a seat waiting to confront the man who I hadn’t seen in almost seven years, one who I would have been
I stood up and headed toward a photo frame on one of the shelves. Lifting it to take a closer look, I smiled at the memory. It was taken when I was barely twenty. Jo sitting on my lap, head thrown back laughing at something no doubt ridiculous Mace was saying. He was sitting to my side, Abi standing behind him, arms draped over his shoulders.
We were so young, so delusional to the shitstorm heading our way just a few years after. Seeing Abi reminded me that it wasn’t just Jo and me who were hurting. Mace was hurting, too. I replaced the frame without saying a word and sat back down.
“You told her then?” I nodded in response. “What did she say?”
“Nothing.” I swept my hands through my hair. “Nothing at all. She’s not ready. El’s with her now.”
Mace pursed his lips, clearly wanting to say more as he leaned his elbows on his knees.
“Out with it,” I prompted.
“It’s screwed. We know it. There’s shit-all we can do. I’ve tried to find an in, but it’s impossible. Frank, you know, from the Goldie, is in there at the moment, but shit’s too tight there.” He looked at me pointedly. “We can sort this shit out when he’s released.”
I knew what he was saying, what he was suggesting. I also knew there was no way I could even consider travelling down that path. Mace was a lot of things, and he’d been in more scrapes than most people I knew. Yet to suggest what I knew he was suggesting, what he was implying, despite the fact that I wanted nothing more than to destroy the man who’d changed Jo’s life irrevocably, was not me. I also knew Mace, like me, was not a murderer. Hell, he’d been a cop in a former life. The thought drew my attention back to the photograph of Abi, the final nail which dragged him out of the force and into the life he since led.
I shook my head. “No.” My voice was firm, resolute. “We will deal with this. He will continue to pay, but not that way. Never that way. The last seven years have been hard enough. The guilt has been enough; my guilt has been enough. I won’t be taking any more shit, not anymore.”
Mace did not look pleased, but I also knew he would never recover if we took the next step. There had been enough guilt over the past seven years, enough for a lifetime. “So, what do you want to do, Liam?”
“We wait.” It wasn’t what I’d set out to do. To be honest, I had no idea what my intentions were when I came to see Mace, but this wasn’t it. For the time being, until I could do more, until I could stand in front of the man who raped Jo—my father—this would have to do. I’d wait.
Some things constantly play on. They play in slow motion. No matter what you do to avoid, to forget, they remains. We survived the trauma, the pain, and somehow came out on the other side. We were stronger for it. Jo had maintained her crazy-arsed self, finished university, and we’d managed a decent crack at our lives. We’d reached the point when everything seemed to make sense. Until that damn letter.
Three weeks had passed since I’d shown Jo the letter. We’d talked and she’d cried, yet once again, she still managed to wear a smile. What was even more miraculous was that her smile was real. I knew when her smile was painted on, which was very rare, and for the most part, it was genuine. It was the baby. It kept her grounded, kept me grounded.
In less than three weeks, David Mason would be released from prison. I’d still yet to see my mum, and I had no desire to. What I did find the need to do, though, was figure out why the hell David had written Jo a letter.
After emptying my pockets, I was patted down. The guards moved down the line of visitors, carrying out the same search. Finally reaching the last person in line, a buzzer went off, signalling the release of the metal door, and they ushered us through.
I was directed to a seat waiting to confront the man who I hadn’t seen in almost seven years, one who I would have been
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