Page 45 of Iron Will
“You know what I mean. Just a normal, free, happy person. Not Laney the hospital social worker. Not Delaney the senator’s daughter.”
“Whoa,” Rourke says, frowning. “Your dad’s a senator?”
Crap, I forgot I never actually told him that. “Oh. Yeah. Senator Rodney Hart, from the great state of Kentucky.”
Rourke lets out a high whistle. “You told me your family was a big deal. You didn’t tell me they were that big.”
I snort. “Yeah. Big freaking deal. Big enough to believe they’re better than other people.” Blowing out a breath, I hear myself continue, like I’m not even in control of my tongue anymore. “That world has always felt so uncomfortable to me, you know? It’s sort of a relief to have moved away from Louisville. Here in Ironwood, nobody knows I’m a senator’s daughter. Well, no one but you, that is.”
Rourke pretends to lock his lips and throw away the key. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“My parents think I’m crazy, living all the way out here. But if I was back in Louisville, I’d probably have been railroaded into getting married to some rich, prominent guy. Like my little sister.” I stare at Rourke. “She’s marrying a carbon copy of my dad. I’m really afraid she’s going to end up like my mom. Basically a prisoner in her marriage. Unable to stand up for herself. No identity except as the wife of someone important.”
Rourke’s eyes don’t leave mine. “Is it really that bad?”
I nod. “Pretty bad. Sometimes I think the only difference between my parents, and Bethany and Mickey, is money. Well, and that Bethany at least had the courage to kick Mickey out once.”
“Everybody needs some help sometimes,” Rourke responds. “Maybe your mom just needs some help.”
“She won’t get any,” I say gloomily. “She’s got too much at stake. Her money. Her life. Her reputation. Mom tries as hard as she can to believe everything is normal. Fine, even.” My voice quavers a little. “She’d rather live like this than risk the fear of the unknown.”
Shit. I just went from having the time of my life to dragging the whole mood down. “I’m sorry,” I laugh, shaking my head against the tears that threaten to come. “I didn’t mean to be such a downer.”
“It’s okay.” Rourke’s words come out low, even gentle. He’s silent for a moment, and then starts talking.
“I have a little sister, too. Regan,” he tells me. “Like I told you before. We grew up with an abusive dad. My mom got pregnant with me when they were still in high school. She dropped out before graduation, and got married to him because her family wouldn’t help her. Once I was born, she didn’t have any money to leave. My sister was born four years later.”
I sit silently, trying to digest that Rourke Powers is actually opening up to me about his childhood. He raises his glass and takes a long drink, then continues.
“My mom died from complications from pneumonia when I was nine and Regan was five. By that time, my dad was a full-on drunk.” Rourke’s expression turns sour. “He didn’t much like us kids when Mom was alive, and after she died, he was pissed as hell about having to be a single father. He went back and forth between basically ignoring us and beating the hell out of us.”
Rourke trails off, lost in his thoughts for a moment. I’m afraid he’ll stop talking if I ask any questions, so I just sit and wait.
“When I was old enough and strong enough, one day I guess I’d just had enough. That weekend, he got drunker than usual and came after me. I kicked his ass and moved out.” He raises his glass to his lips, draining it. “I was sixteen. My sister was only twelve, but I couldn’t leave her there. I got a job at a garage, after school and on weekends. The place was owned by the dad of a buddy of mine, who knew who and what my father was. I convinced him to let me live in an old RV parked in the back lot of the place.
“I went and got my sister out of the house, and she lived with me in the trailer until I could get us an apartment. I knew my dad would never come looking for us, so I figured we were safe. As long as Child Protective Services never found out.”
Rourke’s last words are spoken with a sharp, angry edge. Something clicks in my mind.
“But they did,” I say softly.
He nods, and shoves his glass away, motioning to the bartender for another.
“Someone at Regan’s school figured it out. The social workers came to get us both.” Rourke’s jaw works as he stares straight ahead. “They couldn’t place us both in the same foster home, so they separated us. I spent the next couple years barely seeing her. Hardly even knowing where she was. I figured, once I was eighteen, I’d be able to get her out.” His lip curls. “But they said I wasn’t an appropriate guardian, or some shit like that.”
“God. I’m so sorry, Rourke.” I’m starting to understand why he was so hostile to me at first. How could he possibly have a good opinion of social workers, given his own experience?
Rourke blows out a breath. “I’ve been pissed about it for a long time. But hell, CPS probably thought they were doin’ the right thing. Tryin’ to find the best solution to a shitty situation.”
“Where’s your sister now?” I ask, almost afraid of the answer. But to my surprise, Rourke’s expression softens.
“She’s in college. Senior year. Wants to go to law school, if you can believe that shit.” He smiles. “It’s takin’ her a while, because we’re payin’ it together, as she goes along.”
My chest grows tight. The pride he feels in his sister is obvious. “She’s lucky to have a brother like you,” I say.
“She deserves all the help I can give her.” He turns to me. “She’s smart. Like you. You’d like her.”
I’m suddenly speechless. A compliment from Rourke seems like rare currency. I don’t know how to respond, without showing how moved I am that he thinks anything good of me at all.