September 1985
CHAPTER 55
THE LIBRARY’S ARCTIC AIR HIT THE FRONT OF HANNAH’S body as she stepped through its double glass doors. It was the Sunday before Labor Day—school was starting that week— and the placed was deserted.
She hadn’t been back since last December. It held too many memories of when she and Deacon were dating and would meet there to throw off her parents. Back then, they’d always ended up somewhere else, usually at his house. She swore to herself that today she wasn’t going anywhere with him.
She spotted him at the back table in the corner nearest the windows and smiled.
His serious face tugged at her chest. He was probably leaving town again.
“Thanks for meeting me,” he said.
“Sure.” She lowered herself in the chair across from him and slung her LeSportsac on the seat next to her.
“You look back to normal. I kind of liked the Billy Idol hair,” she joked, feeling a little nervous. They hadn’t spoken in a couple of weeks.
“It was pretty awful. How are you?” His hand reached for hers, then stopped inches away.
“Getting ready for school—you know, the usual stuff. Junior year, wahoo.”
“That’s good,” he said quietly. “Um . . . I’ve had a lot of time to think about things—especially what happened between us before the night in the park—and I wanted you to know that I’m sorry.”
“Which part?” she asked, folding her arms on the table. “Good point. I guess I deserve that.”
“I’m not mad, Deacon. I’ve realized that I’m pretty okay being on my own.”
He pushed up his brow with his fingertips and leaned his elbow on the table. “This is harder than I thought . . . um . . . I’m not used to admitting stuff . . .wait . . . okay, here goes.” He scanned the surrounding tables and the columns of book stacks that fenced them. They were alone. He took a breath. “You know that cocky bullshit act of mine . . . it’s not real.”
“I know.”
“Babette took me away from home when I was six because she discovered Kingsley had fathered another child, months before me . . .”
“Toby.”
“My parents were pretty shitty to one another as far back as I can remember. My father let her drive off with me, and then she dumped me at my grandfather’s, and he . . .” Deacon looked like he was choking on his words. “He m-molested . . . me.”
“Oh my God.” She reached for his hand.
His expression clouded. He gently plucked her hand from his and slowly rotated his palm.
“What is that . . . oh my God . . . he burned you!” Her eyes stung at seeing the circular scar in the center of his hand. “I never noticed it before.”
“I never let you see it. My hand was not his only target.”
“There are more?”
Deacon lowered his head, his eyelashes glistening.
Hannah collapsed over her arms, terrible images of his childhood storming her head. “I—”
“Shhh,” he said softly, lifting her face and wiping the corner of her eye. “Let me get this out.”
She nodded, blinking back tears.
“Because of my own demons, I know that there were moments where I made you feel unsafe.”
Hannah’s jaw sprung open, unsure of where he was going with this.
“It’s okay, you can tell me.”
“Um . . . the pictures I found in your room . . . oh . . . the time you held me down in your father’s study, I felt this anger come over you, like you were possessed . . . it scared me.” She gasped. “Wait—what did they do to you? Did something happen in that house?”
“My parents were indifferent toward me and it basically screwed with my head . . . I never felt like they wanted me. I’ve been angry with them for a long time . . . for not protecting me from that monster and his dirty games. He’d molested my mother, too, and she still left me to live with him.”
“I’m so sorry . . .” she whispered.
Deacon took a breath. “Hannah, I’m not proud of the asshole I was back then. I want to be a better man, not like the monsters my family creates.”
His hands found hers and squeezed them into his.
“I was on my way to becoming that . . . a monster . . . before I met you. You were the only good in my life and I couldn’t let what I’d done destroy that. Miami kicked me in the ass. I saw how low I’d become and the amount of pain I’d caused in this town with dealing and creating addicts. I messed up people’s lives, broke up families. I was no better than some kid in a gang.” He winced. His chocolate eyes lifted to hers. “I especially wish I could reverse the pain I brought into the life of the only person who ever showed me . . . that I was worthy . . . of love.”
Hannah swallowed hard. She had not seen any of this coming. Her head kept bobbing, but no words would come out. It was all too much.
The minutes crept by. His eyes never left her face. She realized he was waiting for an answer.
“I didn’t come here to get back with you,” she said slowly.
“I know.”
“For once, I’m finally figuring things out.”
“Me too.”
“I don’t want to be that girl again . . . like I was last fall.”
“I know.”
“I’m afraid I’ll lose myself if I let you sweep me off my feet again.” She smiled weakly, her eyes damp.
“Then don’t,” he said softly, dropping his eyes away. He released her hands.
“I’ll try not to.”
EPILOGUE
darien, Connecticut
DEACON LOWERED HIS WINDOWS TO THE CHIME OF the final bell. Driving over to his former high school, everything seemed different and yet the same, as if he was seeing his hometown with new eyes.
He’d never noticed before how vibrant the New England landscape and its fall colors were, the way the apricot- and cherry-colored leaves sugared the tree branches and lawns and linked its storybook houses and sidewalks together like one endless park.
It was a far cry from his life in the cartel.
He never wanted to see another palm tree again.
He pulled up to the front of the school. The warm sun rested on his forearm. He lifted his face to the sky and inhaled deeply, vowing to never take any of it—or anyone—for granted again.
He turned to look at the students streaming from the building and caught the redheaded terror gaping at him amidst a cluster of girls. They were dressed alike in their Forenza V-neck shaker sweaters and acid washed ankle-zipper jeans, their hair short and spiky like their queen’s. Her minions turned in unison and stared.
Deacon couldn’t resist a sarcastic wave and a little taunting, though she couldn’t hear him. “Hey there, Gilly girl, bet you can’t believe I’m alive. Uh-huh, that’s right.”
Hannah’s face lit up as she made her way to the other side of the Camaro. She acknowledged Gillian with a tilt of her chin before opening her door. “Aww, leave her alone,” she said as she slid into the car. “She seems happy. Found her new coven for the year. All is right in girl world.”
“She mess with you anymore?”
“I don’t notice. How’s work?”
“Giroux Brothers Construction is a go. We signed today.”
“Hey, that’s great!”
He kissed her hand and pulled away from the curb without letting go.
“Yeah, instead of breaking families apart, maybe I can start building some good.”
“Proud of you. And Toby. Look how far you two have come.”
“I know, it’s crazy. We've become a real family. Guess we both got what we wanted.”
“You’re in a good mood. What’s up?” She nudged him, smiling.
“I’ve got two pieces of news.”
“Surprise me.”
“Did you know we met this week a year ago?” he said, squeezing her hand.
“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. You never finished your story last night before Toby needed the phone.”<
br />
“Damn call waiting. That butthead, ever since he started seeing that bubble-headed waitress at Bennigan’s . . .”
Hannah snickered. “You mean pom-pom Tammy?”
“We’ve got to get two phone lines. How’s your mom’s new job?”
“She likes it. The other day she asked me to help her pick out an outfit.”
“That’s good. She could use some help in that department,” he teased.
She swatted his arm. “And here she thinks you’re so polite!”
“I’ve got her snowed. See? I still got it.”
“Where are we going today?” she said, still laughing.
“Not yet. That’s your second surprise.”
Minutes later, he pulled up next to the lake near his apartment.
“There’s something I want to show you . . . a pretty spot on the other side of the water. I think you’ll like it.”
He walked around the car and opened her door. He reached out his hand and she took it. Together, they headed toward the open space.
“I like this, getting to know one another again,” he said. “A lot happened to you when I was gone.”
“Yes and no. Dating sucks, by the way. Some guys can be jerks. But I did learn a few things about myself. I used to think that I needed a guy’s attention to feel, I don’t know, worthy or something. Those weeks on my own, I realized that I like who I am. I have a lot to offer.”
“That you do.” Deacon smiled.
“My dad was going off last night about something that broke in the house. He was getting mean and I just ignored him . . . I’m not afraid of him or my mom anymore. Whatever they do or say, or their hang-ups about how I should look and dress, I realized that their words can no longer crush me.”
Deacon squeezed her hand nodding.
She glanced over at him, watching his face as she spoke. “Parents are human, I guess. They’re flawed and imperfect with issues that have nothing to do with us, you know? I think they come with baggage that is not meant to be ours. We can’t change them. But we can control how we let them affect us.”
“You taught me that, Hannah. I was on a bad path . . . blaming my parents for everything. I knew what I was doing to people when I was dealing and I still did it. You saved me from myself and from continuing to hurt others.”
“I’d do it again,” she smiled, wrinkling up her nose.
“So more about these jerky guys . . .”
“My lips are sealed.”
“Have I not been a gentleman . . . not rushing our courtship?”
“Our courtship? You’re kidding, right?” Hannah side-eyed him.
“I’m serious. I told myself if I ever got the chance to be in your life again, I would do things the right way. I’m not messing this one up again.”
“Oh really.” She grinned, a glint in her eye. They walked a bit more—then she suddenly dropped his hand, spun around behind him, and climbed onto his back. “Now, mush!” she commanded, cracking an air whip with one hand like he was a sled dog.
“This is not helping the no-contact rule, having your legs wrapped around me.”
“I didn’t make that rule,” she said, snuggling up to his ear.
He came to an abrupt halt, tilting his head to one side. He swiveled her body around like she weighed nothing. His hands clasped under her backside.
His eyes widened as he scanned her face. It was like he was seeing her features for the first time. He slowly touched his lips to hers, once, and then again, without leaving much room for words. He pulled away, catching his breath. “If I start . . . I may not . . .”
Hannah smiled. “I’ve created an addict, I see.”
“Quite,” he said huskily.
She lowered her feet to the ground, lightly resting her palms on his waist. He ran his hands through her hair. She closed her eyes at his touch, kissing him more and inching herself closer until no light shined between their bodies.
She pulled back and caressed the side of his face. “I like you like this.”
His forehead touched hers. He sighed at her imitation of him, the first time he saw her without makeup. He’d meant those words then, and he knew he felt them now too.
“You like me . . . like what?” he asked, his eyes searching hers as he joined his hands at the small of her back.
“All. Mine.” She beamed. Her kaleidoscope eyes reflected a love he’d thought he’d never see again.
The warm fall breeze blew between them like running scarves. He hugged her tighter.
Hannah stepped back. He waited for her to say something. Instead, gently, she unbuttoned the top of his shirt, moving it off his bare shoulder. She ran her fingertips lightly over his chest. Little bumps rose across his skin. He shivered at her touch.
She raised herself up on her toes, holding on to his shoulders, and kissed the area where the bullet had entered. Then she reached for his hand and touched her lips to the inside of his palm.
Deacon closed his eyes, feeling himself fall deeper. She knew his secrets, and he hers. His eyes filled and her beautiful face sharpened.
“I love you like that, Hannah. You’re the one person who knows everything . . . and still kisses my scars.”
He cocked his head to one side, smiling at her. I’m one lucky son-of-a-bitch.
“First time . . .” she said, her face aglow. “Say it again. I don’t believe I heard you. You love me like how?”
She wiped the lone tear rolling down his face before it dropped.
“Like . . . this.” His mouth found hers, sending currents through them both, all the way down to their toes. His shaking hands gently cupped her face like it was a precious chalice, summoning her soul with the promise of a brilliantly colored road ahead.
He spoke softly, gazing into her sparkling blue-green eyes. “We’re going to make it. I can feel it.”
“Let’s go.”
acknowledgments
There are so many friends, family members, book bloggers, and kind readers who reached out and supported me throughout this journey. Your encouragement to complete Hannah and Deacon’s story kept me going on numerous occasions. For that, I’m utterly grateful.
I’d like to personally thank my early readers—Caitlin McCarthy, Kristen McManus, Morgan Rath, and Alane Adams—for your invaluable insight. A special thanks to Pilar Corcuera Botana and Alisa M. Delgado for your guidance editing the Spanish.
Many thanks to Beth Pulaski Photography for the wonderful author photo, and to Samantha and Sydney de Lannoy for being my go-to team for all things Connecticut, and for not minding that I often veered from the facts.
One of the many themes in this duology is about finding people in your life who celebrate you, just as you are. I’m blessed to say that I have that in my dear friends, near and far. You weirdos mean the world to me. And you know who you are.
Much gratitude to my amazing publisher, Brooke Warner at She Writes Press; my patient project manager, Cait Levin; and to Julie Metz and her creative team for the striking cover. A warm shout-out to all my She Writes Press and Spark-Press sisters, who remind me every day that we’re in this together.
I’m forever indebted to my fearless editor, Krissa Lagos, who helped shape the story of Hannah and Deacon into an even better one.
This duology would not have found its wings if it weren’t for Crystal Patriarche, Madison Ostrander, and the rest of my rock star publicity team at BookSparks. Thanks also to Maggie Ruf at SparkPoint Studio for continuing to make HeatherCumiskey.com beautiful and fun.
I’m blessed to be a part of the Cumiskey-Pulaski-Al-Ferranto clan. You guys had me at hello.
Forever love to my mom, dad, brothers, and all the de Lannoys. You will always be my home.
Lastly, to the men in my life—Mac, Finn, and Fletcher, and my rock and soul mate, Mark: this two-part love letter is for you.
About the Author
Photo credit: Beth Pulaski Photography
Heather Cumiskey was born and raised in Garden City, New Y
ork. Her essays have appeared in Kids’ BookBuzz and Germ Magazine. She lives in Maryland with her husband and three sons. Catch up with her at HeatherCumiskey.com.
SELECTED TITLES FROM SHE WRITES PRESS
She Writes Press is an independent publishing company founded to serve women writers everywhere.
Visit us at www.shewritespress.com.
I Like You Like This by Heather Cumiskey. $16.95,
978-1631522925. When social outcast Hannah captures the attention of a handsome and mysterious boy who also happens to be her school’s resident drug dealer, her life takes an unexpected detour into a dangerous and seductive world—and she is forced to reexamine what she believes about herself and the people she trusts the most.
How to Grow an Addict by J.A. Wright. $16.95,
978-1-63152-991-7. Raised by an abusive father, a detached mother, and a loving aunt and uncle, Randall Grange is built for addiction. By twenty-three, she knows that together, pills and booze have the power to cure just about any problem she could possibly have . . . right
Beautiful Garbage by Jill DiDonato. $16.95,
978-1-938314-01-8. Talented but troubled young artist Jodi Plum leaves suburbia for the excitement of the city—and is soon swept up in the sexual politics and downtown art scene of 1980s New York.
Cleans Up Nicely by Linda Dahl. $16.95,
978-1-938314-38-4. The story of one gifted young woman’s path from self-destruction to self-knowledge, set in mid-1970s Manhattan.
Keep Her by Leora Krygier. $16.95,
978-1-63152-143-0. When a water main bursts in rain-starved Los Angeles, seventeen-year-old artist Maddie and filmmaker Aiden’s worlds collide in a whirlpool of love and loss. Is it meant to be?
The Rooms Are Filled by Jessica Null Vealitzek. $16.95,
978-1-938314-58-2. The coming-of-age story of two outcasts—a nine-year-old boy who just lost his father, and a closeted young woman—brought together by circumstance.
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