Yeah, he’d figured. The man thought he was a lunatic with bloodlust coursing in his veins. That there was a nonstop circus of violence in his head. That he fed his soul by stealing the life from others. Baring his past wasn’t going to help.
But he had to do this for Brea.
“Your daughter knows I was fifteen when I killed my father. She doesn’t know the circumstances.”
Brea, bless her big heart, gripped his hand tighter. “I want to hear it all. I’ll be here for you, no matter what you say.”
One-Mile wasn’t so sure about that. She wasn’t equipped to understand his father’s brand of filthy depravity. Nor was the preacher. But she deserved to know who and what she was getting in a husband. To keep her, he would gladly rip open every old wound and gouge out his fucking soul.
And he prayed this wasn’t the last time she looked at him with love in her eyes.
He squeezed her dainty hand one last time, then let go. They would either succeed or fail based on the next five minutes. “My mom died when I was a baby.”
Brea nodded. “We’ve talked about having that in common.”
The information had been more for Jasper’s edification than hers. But he went on. “Growing up, it was just me and my dad, except the summers I spent in Wyoming with my grandpa. If not for him, I probably would have ended up a sociopath. Because from the time I was about four, I knew something was wrong. Not just because I didn’t have a mom like the other kids. But because I spent a lot of my time alone.”
Brea frowned. “You mean without him or…”
“Alone. He eked out a living by fixing cars in the freestanding garage he built in our yard. Hell of a mechanic. I got maybe a tenth of his aptitude there. He could fix anything. He modified guns on the side, too.”
“Is that where you learned to shoot?”
“The basics.”
One-Mile blew out another breath. He was nervous as fuck. Already he could tell this story would be a jumbled-ass mess. He’d never told it. Hell, he avoided thinking about it.
“The rest”—he shrugged—“I picked up here and there. It’s not important. But my dad was always violent.”
Brea held her breath. “Abusive?”
He shook his head. “Not like that. Not when I was a little kid. He had a crappy temper. I knew when to run and hide. We had a lot of walls with holes in them.”
Brea flinched. Her father shifted in his seat uncomfortably.
Shit. He was just getting warmed up. “But he didn’t hit me. Mostly Dad was antisocial. He worked alone. He didn’t have friends. We didn’t know anyone in town. People who tried to be neighborly or lend a helping hand, he rebuffed.”
Jasper raised a brow. “Cutter said you do the same at work.”
He pulled at the back of his neck. “Yeah. Old habit. I should probably break it. Anyway, he’d work all day…and often go out all night. It wasn’t uncommon for me to wake up at three a.m. and be alone.”
“He just left you?” Brea looked horrified. “A young child? By yourself?”
“He told me I was a little soldier and to man up. So I did. He was gruff, but it wasn’t awful…until one of two things happened. He got drunk or he got laid. One inevitably led to the other. But whenever he got a girlfriend and she moved in, that’s when he became a real prick. If there was one thing my father was, it was a misogynist. God, he hated women. He wanted them, too. And he hated himself for wanting them. He never had the money for hookers. Everyone would have been happier if he had.”
“That’s horrible! Why would you say that?” Brea sounded shocked. “It’s so dirty and impersonal and—”
“Yeah, but it would have been less destructive. When he had a girlfriend, he had a pattern… He’d be alone for a few weeks, maybe a few months. Then he’d get the itch. He’d go out, get drunk, and come home with some woman. If he liked her opening-night ‘audition,’ he’d ask her to move in a week or two later. Most of them were all right. A few got freaked out by the idea of being a replacement mommy or something, so they didn’t stay long. Dad resented the hell out of me then. He never held back on all the things that were my fault. I’d made my mom fat and I’d made her sad. And I’d definitely been the reason she left us. That’s what he told me. Eventually, I found out he lied.”
“Oh, Pierce…” Brea took his hand again, her big heart opening to spill compassion for him. She was willing to give him everything inside her, and he motherfucking hated to take from her, but right now he needed her fortitude.
So he held her tight and squeezed…then let her go. He had miles to go before he could earn her touch again. “The women who didn’t seem to mind that Dad had a kid wore out their welcome eventually. Then they’d run into Dad’s temper. And his fists would come out. It was never pretty.”
Brea looked horrified. “You saw him beat his girlfriends?”
“More than once. I knew it was wrong, but I was just a kid, so I couldn’t stop it. But Dad was like a powder keg. I always knew when the explosion was coming, and I tried to tell them every damn time. Most didn’t listen.”
“How did he not get arrested?”
“He did a few times. But most of the women just left battered and never came back. Maybe they were ashamed. I don’t know.” He let out a breath. This was so fucking hard. “After they’d gone, I was usually sad. They were often the women who really tried. They read me bedtime stories and cooked. They were almost like a mom. It was nice while
