Ah, shit. I hated when chicks cried. Except for Alex. Her tears affected me differently. I craved them. “It’s water under the bridge. I’m here now, so let’s deal with this. You told him his dad went to prison?”

She shook her head. “I told him you had to go away for a few years, but you’d come back when you could. He’s at that age now where vague answers aren’t cutting it anymore. He wants to meet his father, Rafe.”

This was unbelievable, and bad fucking timing. I’d just committed a felony—for real this time—and I was about to compound felony upon felony. I couldn’t stop what I’d started, especially now. If I let Alex go, she’d run straight to the cops.

What a fucking mess. I pushed back from the table and resisted the urge to grab at my collar. “I need some time.”

“I understand.”

“No, I don’t think you do. Nik…I’ve done things. Things I can’t undo. I’m not the same guy I was eight years ago.”

“I realize that.”

“No, you don’t.” Sighing, I ran a hand through my hair and pulled at the strands until my scalp burned. “You should’ve told me. You should’ve fucking told me.”

I tossed a few bills onto the table to cover the dinner I wouldn’t eat, and then I rushed from the restaurant like the coward I was. But the question remained; if she had told me, would it have changed my mind about taking Alex?

7. FIRST TIME - ALEX

I wanted to die.

I didn’t know how long he’d left me suspended, but it was messing with my head. I’d lost all sense of time and direction. My body was numb, almost weightless, except for the burn that circled my wrists. That pain didn’t go away, no matter how much I tried to block it out. At some point, I started counting…at some point I’d also given up. By the time 7,200 seconds passed, I was about to go out of my mind. The time after that was endless. My voice had gone hoarse long ago from screaming his name.

He never came, and I began to panic. Maybe the past eight years had made him snap and tormenting me this way was his only source of relief. Images popped into my mind, scenarios of him beaten in prison, or worse. The helplessness he must have experienced, just as I was now. I tried to wrap my mind around eight years, but I could hardly wrap my mind around the few hours since he’d slammed the door shut, once again leaving me in darkness. A sick feeling formed in my gut.

God, he must really hate me. My actions, born of cowardice and shame, had labeled him a rapist. In that moment, as I stood on tiptoes in a most punishing way, I hated myself more than he did. I deserved this.

The turn of a knob ricocheted, ringing through my ears, and a sliver of light beamed toward me an instant before it was extinguished. Impossibly, the blackness became even more suffocating. I heard him coming near, though he barely made a sound.