Page 4 of Unwrapping Deviance

I did everything short of jumping off the balcony of Mom’s apartment to free him of me, but he wouldn’t let me. The harderI fought, the tighter he held on. He wore me down and now he’s sealed both our fates. He’s made it so I can’t let him go even though keeping him will ultimately kill him.

The overshadowing dread that always creeps in when I feel even a spark of happiness huffs out like a blanket smothering a flame. The warmth vanishes from my chest until I’m only clutching a stomach full of cold, dead coals and a chest full of panic.

Strong, firm fingers gather up my curled ones out of my lap and gently thread through mine. The sight of his large hand caging my tiny one calms the chaos in my belly. It soothes the ache in my chest. It shouldn’t, but his touch never fails to keep me from drifting off. Like he’s the tether to my balloon.

Neither of us say a word. The truck rumbles down the narrow path, plunging deeper into the wild, pushing back errant branches leaning too far out.

It’s been almost two hours since we left Mom’s apartment in Toronto to cross half the province to a town I had to Google to find.

I’ve always known Daniel came from a small town. The name and location has always been kept out of conversations for reasons I never understood, but I know he left when he was nineteen and never returned.

Jefferson, a pinprick of a dot pushed against the shores of Lake Huron barely holds five thousand people and is known only for its picturesque community and May Fair held every year. Reviews from tourists passing through describe the people as helpful and friendly.

It seems like a lovely place, but the way Daniel had gone rigid at the prospect of going back raised a few questions that I didn’t ask. Not because I didn’t want to know, but because I know Daniel. I know whatever happened that made him, and his brother leave their home wasn’t pretty. He rarely ever speaksabout his parents or his childhood. Any comments he makes are brief and quickly dropped.

I know he has a brother he’s very close to. I’ve never met him, but I know they’re twins. I know he travels for work for most of the year. I know Daniel loves him dearly and always gets excited when Christian calls from whichever part of the world he’s in.

I know his mom took her own life when they were younger. I know it’s a really hard thing for him to talk about. He’d let it slip by accident and immediately walked away before I could pick my jaw off the floor, but that was enough for me to let him tell me what he was ready to tell me when he was ready.

I trust Daniel and if his past is a place that hurts him, I’m willing to wait until he’s ready to talk to tell me about it.

“Are you excited to be back?” I ask softly, tipping my head to watch his side profile.

His chest lifts with his hard inhale. “No.” He breathes the word out like it was choking him.

I skim my thumb over the bumps of his knuckles. “We don’t have to go.”

But we do.

This whole mess with his father has left no other option.

“It needs to be dealt with,” he repeats what he’s been saying for almost a week since the lawyer appeared at the apartment with papers.

But the problem started before that, almost two months before when Ryan MacAllister died of a stroke. The call came through right as we were cleaning up after supper and Daniel’s phone rattled across the counter.

We exchanged glances. It was well after seven.

But he’d twisted his long fingers in a dishrag before padding over to scoop the device up.

In the five minutes it took to stand mutely and listen to the clear, female voice, everything changed. Daniel grew rigid. Hisexpression hardened even as it became drawn and a little angry. He thanked the woman calmly, hung up and tossed the phone down with a noisy clatter that made me wince.

“My dad’s dead,”he’d stated like he was declaring his car warranty was about to lapse.

Maybe because I actually loved my father, I waited a heartbeat for him to realize the gravity of the situation, but he’d returned to the sink and resumed rinsing the dishes.

We hadn’t even had a service. Daniel had his dad’s body shipped to Toronto to get cremated. Didn’t even keep the ashes. Told the funeral home to toss them.

At my horrified stare, he’d kissed my forehead and walked away to call Christian who was still in Prague and had zero interest in returning to say goodbye.

When the lawyer arrived to announce they were their father’s sole beneficiaries, Daniel had asked if that was necessary. Even when Daniel called to inform Christian, the two argued over the phone for almost three hours. Neither one wanted it, but both agreed it had to be dealt with.

A week later, we’ve packed up a duffle each and are halfway to visiting Daniel’s childhood home.

Daniel’s been quieter than usual. Even his teasing seems halfhearted. I know he’s not grieving, or maybe he is and trying not to show it. Whatever is going on up in that gorgeous head of his, he’s trying to work through it alone and I hate it.

“I’m excited to meet Christian,” I say, trying to distract him.

A lopsided grin tilts the corner of his mouth. “Me too. I know he’s been curious about you.” The pad of his thumb dips between our clasped hands and draws a circle in my palm. “He flew back from Istanbul yesterday morning. He called to say he landed, and he was headed back to his apartment for a fresh set of clothes, and he’d meet us at the house.”