"The first time I was told I was a good-for-nothing, I was eight," Winn began. "You want to know who told me that?... My father."
Ivy's throat went dry.
"My father took every single opportunity to pull me down," Winn continued, the flash of bitterness sharp in the curve of his mouth. "When the words stopped hurting me, he switched to his fists." He offered a bitter smile, and Ivy could see the hardened edge of the boy he once was beneath the man he had become.
"When he called me useless, I proved to him I wasn't. When he called me good-for-nothing, I proved to him I wasn't. When he began to use his fists, I got stronger," he said, stepping closer until she could feel the heat radiating from him.
"I threw my first punch at nineteen at my father. Then it stopped. Because he couldn't hurt me anymore."
Ivy swallowed, captivated and shaken all at once. He was sharing this with her.
