Quiet Longing (Quiet Love #2)

13.

Charli

My heart was in my throat as I hurried upstairs to my room, quickly changing out of my swimsuit before I went in search of medical supplies. My hair hung wet and tangled around my shoulders, but there was no time to dry it. Rhys was hurt, and I couldn’t focus on anything until I knew he was okay.

The sight of him battered and bruised shocked me to my core. His handsome face all bloody and swollen had my stomach knotting itself with nausea, my nose stinging from pushing back the tears that wanted to fall.

Hurrying to Derek’s room, I rummaged through Rhys’ backpack to find him some clean clothes. Then I was on the move again, this time headed for the bathroom. I found a first-aid kit in the closet next to the sink and was on my way back to Rhys when I passed by my uncle’s office. The door was ajar, and it sounded like he was on the phone to someone. I’d never heard him so frustrated.

“I just think it’s time you told her the truth, Lou. She’s old enough now. She deserves to know.”

Lou? Was he talking to my mom? Her name was Louise, but lots of people shortened it to Lou. And what did he mean, she deserves to know? Who were they talking about?

“Listen, Jo is just really upset. Having Charli here is bringing up a lot of memories, and she really feels it would be beneficial to get everything out in the open. I don’t want to fight with you about this again.”

Wait a second. They were talking about me ?

I couldn’t hear what was said on the other end, but Uncle Padraig sighed wearily. Peering through the gap in the door, I saw him sitting at his desk, his phone held to his ear with one hand while he held his head in the other.

He looked stressed and exhausted, and my mind reeled. From what I could piece together, he was trying to convince my mom to tell me something she didn’t want to, and it also had to do with the fight they’d had all those years ago. I’d always thought they’d fought over money, but that wasn’t it. It was somehow about me, and a hollowness filled my stomach. I just couldn’t imagine why they would’ve possibly fought over me.

Also, what did Aunt Jo have to do with it? Bringing up memories? It didn’t make sense.

Remembering Rhys was still waiting for me, I made a note to call Mom and ask her what exactly was going on before I continued downstairs. When I reached the shower room, Rhys was standing by the sink, hands braced against it as he stared at the floor, a towel around his waist and another about his shoulders, covering most of his torso. He looked weighed down, his shoulders sagging under the heavy pressure.

“Hey,” I said, stepping past the threshold and lifting the first-aid kit. A shiver trickled through me, and I couldn’t tell if it was due to my damp hair, what I’d overheard Uncle Padraig saying on the phone, or the awful sight of Rhys’ injuries. He had a split lip, one of his eyes was swelling, and his right cheek was dark with bruising. There was also a nasty looking cut on his temple.

“Rhys, you’re still bleeding,” I gasped, stepping close. “Let’s go sit down somewhere so I can patch you up.” I gently touched his hand and motioned for him to follow me.

I walked out and sat on one of the lounge chairs by the pool. Rhys sat next to me, and I quickly opened the dark green box. I searched for some bandages and something to clean his cuts with. My stomach twisted all the while.

“Whoever did this to you,” I began, my throat thickening with emotion. “I hope—”

“It was my dad,” Rhys blurted, and my eyes flashed to his. They were endlessly blue and full of shame. I wished to say so many things, make him see the shame was his father’s to carry, not his. But I didn’t say it because he was leaking tension, and I didn’t want to upset him. I needed to check his injuries.

I swallowed past the painful lump to ask, “Where is he now?”

“Gone. He won’t be bothering me again.”

“How do you know?” My voice was soft, quiet. I felt like if I spoke at a normal volume, I might spook him. He’d close himself off when everything inside me was begging to be let in.

Rhys looked away for a moment. I poured some antiseptic liquid onto a cotton ball and dabbed at the blood on his temple. The sharp, medical smell stung my nose, but Rhys barely flinched when I gently pressed it to his wound. His eyes returned to mine, and suddenly, gone was the shame. Now they were full of determination.

“I let him hurt me. I didn’t fight back because he came at me right in front of the hotel’s CCTV cameras, and I wanted it recorded.”

Hearing this, tears welled behind my eyes. I wanted to cry for him because I cared about him a lot, and the idea of him letting himself be beaten … It didn’t bear thinking about.

Finally, he continued, “I wanted it on camera so I’d have leverage. My dad has a record, and if I go to the Guards with the footage, he’ll do time. I told him that was exactly what I’d do if he didn’t sign the divorce papers and agree to all of Mam’s terms.”

“Rhys, my goodness,” I breathed, my heart swelling. He let himself be beaten to a pulp so his mother could get her divorce? It was a dangerous thing to do, not to mention risky. If his dad was the sort of man I imagined he was, then he might not respond well to blackmail.

“That was very brave of you, Rhys, but please don’t ever do anything like that again. These injuries will heal, but they could’ve been worse. He could’ve put you in the hospital or …” I didn’t finish the sentence because I honestly couldn’t bear the thought of Rhys dying. I’d only known him a short time, but he meant so much to me already.

“Hey,” he breathed, moving closer and lifting his palm to my cheek. “Don’t upset yourself. I’m okay. A week or two and my face will heal.”

“It just makes me so … angry . I really hate seeing you hurt, Rhys. I hate it so much.”

His eyes flashed to mine, flaring a little like my concern for him was surprising, which only pained me more because he obviously wasn’t used to being worried over. He didn’t respond, and silence fell. I sniffled and finished cleaning the cut on his forehead before covering it with a small bandage. The cut on his lip wasn’t as bad, but I knew it had to sting.

“How long has he been like this?” I asked, and the suffering in Rhys’ gaze was almost palpable. As soon as I saw his look, he didn’t even need to answer. I felt powerless. I wanted to go back in time and save him from all he’d been through.

That night in the kitchen when I’d asked him about his bruised jaw, it was clearly his dad who’d hurt him then, too. I thought back to the night I arrived when I had the bump on my forehead from the plane journey. Rhys had been unusually concerned, and it all suddenly made sense. When he saw someone had been hurt, his mind immediately went to a dark place.

“A long time,” he answered finally.

“What about your mom?” I asked, my eyes flickering to his. “Does he—”

Rhys nodded, and a sickness rolled in. I inhaled sharply and pressed my lips together. “In that case, I’m glad she’s divorcing him. I hope that once it’s final, you both don’t ever have to deal with him again.”

Rhys’ gaze searched mine. There was worry there, a worry that maybe even the leverage he had wouldn’t be enough to control his father.

“I need to speak to Padraig,” he said when I sat back. I’d done the best I could with his face though I sensed from the way he was holding his middle that he was hurting in other places, too.

“Is it painful here?” I asked, ignoring his comment about talking to my uncle as my hand went lightly to his ribcage.

His gaze clouded as he shifted away slightly. “Just more bruising.”

“Are you sure?” My hands went to the towel covering him. “Let me s—”

Rhys’ hands stopped mine, a hint of teasing in his expression, but it was hollow. A weak attempt to cover his discomfort. “You’ll use any excuse to get me naked.”

“Right,” I said, laughing softly and going along with the joke even though I felt no humour in any of this. My concern lingered. “You’ve figured out my secret plan.”

His eyes locked on mine, briefly running over my nose and cheeks before lowering to my mouth then sliding away. I wondered if he was thinking about last night, about kissing me behind that couch or pushing me up against the wall and kissing me more. Every part of me had hungered for him, a desire swirling inside I couldn’t tamp down. Heat flushed my skin, and I felt breathless at the memory.

“So,” I said, clearing my throat. “What did you want to speak with my uncle about?”

Just like that, the tendril of heat in his eyes fell flat. Rhys shifted away, lifting his hand to rub the back of his neck and then wincing because the movement clearly hurt something in his torso.

“I think you should go to the hospital, just in case,” I said, worried.

“No, I don’t need to. I’m …” he trailed off. “I’m used to this, Charli. I know what it feels like when I need to see a doctor and what it feels like when things will heal on their own.”

His statement made me feel like crying again because what he’d gone through in his life—suffering in secret and with no one to turn to—was impossible to stomach.

“I need to speak to your uncle to ask him for the CCTV footage. I’ll feel better with the physical evidence in my hands,” he finally explained.

I knew it was the smart thing to do, but I also personally never wanted to see that footage. I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone hurting Rhys, let alone witness it happen.

Nodding soberly, I went to grab the change of clothes I’d brought down for him. Rhys changed into the jeans and T-shirt, and though I’d turned around to allow him some privacy, I found myself taking a glance. Not because I wanted to see him shirtless. I looked because I wanted to make sure he was telling the truth about not needing a doctor.

My gasp was impossible to contain when I saw the mottled bruises that coloured his stomach. My blood pulsed in my ears, my breathing quickening, hands clenching as I stared at him. I wanted to do … something. Give Rhys’ dad a taste of his own medicine. I felt like snatching the footage myself and reporting him. It wasn’t moral to let him away with hurting his own son so badly. Tears welled behind my eyes as I suddenly realised Rhys didn’t avoid taking his shirt off in the pool and at the beach because he was self-conscious about his weight. Or, at least, if he did, it wasn’t the whole reason.

No, he kept his shirt on to cover his scars.

“Charli,” Rhys said, trying to get my attention, but I was too stunned to look up. My attention was on his torso. Wetness filled my eyes once more. I’d lived a pretty sheltered life, and although I’d experienced loss when my dad had passed away, violence had never touched me. This was shocking in a way I wasn’t equipped to handle, and not just because of the hurt Rhys’ dad inflicted on him. I hadn’t noticed it when he took his T-shirt off after the pool last night, probably because I’d been distracted by wishing he’d kiss me. Rhys’ body was marked with old scars, injuries inflicted over a lifetime. My legs felt shaky as I stood and approached him. I heard his intake of breath when I lightly touched my fingers to a silvery scar near his collarbone. Next, I touched another a few inches lower. There were more, but Rhys caught my hand, and I looked up, my breath catching at the depth of emotion in his gaze.

“No one’s ever seen …” he trailed off, eyes flickering back and forth between mine. “Ah, fuck, Charli. Don’t cry,” he whispered.

I couldn’t help it. I was officially bawling. Rhys let go of my hand to cup my face, his thumb brushing away some of the wetness. I didn’t know what to say. What did you say to someone who’s baring a part of themselves to you they haven’t bared to anyone before? The weight of it was too much, but I wanted him to know I was there for him, for whatever he needed.

Leaning forward, I pressed my lips to his very softly. He sucked in a sharp breath, and I remembered the cut on his lip. Pulling away, I sent him an apologetic look. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to … I just …”

“It’s okay.” His gaze was tender. “I don’t mind a bit of pain if it means kissing you.”

My chest erupted with butterflies. I’d never get tired of the sensation. I took his hand, lacing my fingers through his. “You’re so strong, Rhys. I’ve never known anyone like you.”

He shook his head. “I’m not strong, but I will be. One day.”

I frowned. “What do you mean? Of course, you’re strong. If I’d been through what you have, I wouldn’t be as together as you are.”

“I might seem like I’m together, but I don’t feel it,” he said, and it broke something in me. I wished he could see what I saw when I looked at him. I wished he could see the boy I’d been drawn to from the very first time our eyes had met. “I feel like … like I’m just a collection of unformed bits. I don’t think I’ll ever feel like a complete person until I can get away.”

“Away?” I asked, blinking.

“I want to leave Ireland, at least for a couple years. Once the divorce is through and my mam is settled somewhere, I’m going.”

Something twisted in my gut at his words. It didn’t make sense, but I felt panicked, like him leaving Ireland meant I’d lose him. But I was going home in a couple weeks, and then a few weeks after that, I’d be at college. It wasn’t like this thing between us didn’t already have an expiration date. But I’d allowed myself to imagine it was far off in the distant future, something I didn’t need to immediately concern myself about. Suddenly, the weeks felt like they were rapidly hurtling forward, and before I knew it, Rhys and I would be separated. Our brief time together cut heartbreakingly short.

“Where will you go?”

“I want to join the French Foreign Legion, but if they don’t accept me, I’ll get a job somewhere, perhaps in security. I have some savings from working at the hotel.”

I stared at him. I only knew a little about the French Foreign Legion, but what I did know was that it was intense. Rhys wanted to become a soldier? Was that what he meant when he’d said he’d be strong one day? I wanted to tell him that joining some foreign army wasn’t going to fix the pain inside him. That he could become as big and strong and tough as he wanted, but in the end, he might still feel weak on the inside. But there was something in his eyes, something that told me he needed to latch onto this plan of his because if he couldn’t, he’d be completely lost.

I understood how having a goal and a purpose could save you during tough times. When Dad had passed away, I felt like I was floating in a void, unable to find joy or meaning in anything anymore. It was like being in an extended period of shock. But then Mom had pulled me out of it. She’d helped me figure out what I wanted to do, and I threw myself into my studies. Aiming for a scholarship was what had kept me afloat long enough to finally start swimming on my own again.

And that was why I didn’t tell Rhys his plan was flawed, nor did I beg him not to do it because the thought of him fighting in some future war made me panicky. Instead, I drew him close and wrapped my arms around his middle, careful to be gentle and not press against his bruises.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” I said. My heart was already aching, and he wasn’t even gone yet.

“I’ll miss you, too, Charli. Getting to know you this summer, even with all the shitty stuff going on in my life, has made things so much better. Being with you makes me forget about that for a while.”

His words brought on a sudden sense of urgency. I wanted to make the most of whatever time we had left together. I wanted to take care of him while he recovered, feel his body next to mine, kiss every scar, old and new, and show him he was worthy. Time was running out. I didn’t want to waste a single second more.

And that was why I looked up at him and whispered, “Stay in my bed tonight.”