Blowing out a strained breath, I cranked open the door and climbed out. I went straight for the back-passenger door, and I swung it open to Everett who was smiling so big at me it made everything hurt.
My heart and my spirit and my mind.
Guts twisted.
How the fuck did this happen?
The kid was sixteen-months-old. All emerald eyes and dimpled, chubby cheeks and trusting face.
“Hey, Chunky Monk.” I rumbled the nickname I’d given him that first night when I’d held him for hours to try to calm him down because he freaked the fuck out every time I’d tried to set him down. As I’d comforted him and he’d clung to me and I’d paced for hours as I’d tried to figure out what to do.
Probably should have gone straight to the police, and somehow, I’d shown up here.
Everett made a bunch of sounds that I felt rather than heard.
His sweetness skating my skin. Fisting my heart in a tight clamp.
I undid the buckles of his car seat. “It’s going to be okay, Everett. I promise I’m going to figure out what the hell is going on. Promise I won’t let anything happen to you,” I swore to him, not even sure if the words coming off my tongue were making any sense, while he babbled a bunch of indecipherable things that I wanted to read like Braille.
To be able to get to know this kid—for him to know me—and wondering the whole fucking time if he was going to be ripped out of my life as quickly as he’d come into it.
A wall fought to go up around my heart every time I thought of it, a guard against the coming pain, and the kid knocked it down every time he looked at me with all that trust.
Awkwardly, I hauled his little body against mine and slammed the door shut just as I felt the energy erupt from the house, and I looked up to see the front door bang open.
Kale barreled out, his chest heaving and his demeanor wild, so different than my dad who’d always had it together.
He came to a rigid stop at the top of the five steps that led to the house, staring down at me in outright disbelief.
In grief and hope and confusion.
The man who’d become my father when I was eight years old.
The man who’d saved my life.
Literally.
It was one thing to be deaf.
It was another to know your days were numbered, your heart metered with a timestamp.
But Kale?
He’d given me more days than I’d been destined to live.
I clutched Everett to me.
Making some kind of statement.
Taking a stance.
I didn’t know.
Only thing I knew was I wanted to wrap this kid up and protect him for all my days.
My throat bobbed heavily while Dad stood up there like he wasn’t sure how to breach the space.
E-V-A-N.
He signed my name like a petition. Like desperation. Like terror.
Could feel all of them rushing down.
Slamming into my being.
A reminder of what I’d done.
Everett buried his face in my neck. No doubt, he’d felt the force of it, too.
I rubbed his back. “It’s okay, sweet boy. It’s okay. I’ve got you. It’s all going to be okay.” Just prayed it was the truth.
I edged for the wooden steps, meeting my dad’s eye.
Dad’s hand clamped down over his chest, like looking at me caused him physical pain. “Evan.”
Emotion clogged my throat, and I blinked, trying to see through the years. “Dad,” I forced out.
Shame written in the word.
A plea.
“God.” His lips moved. Distraught. Overwhelmed.
And then he was stumbling down the steps, his eyes flickering frantically between me and my son.
Like he was readying himself. Prepping himself to have to step in the same way he’d had to do when I was a kid.
Like he was reliving it all over again. With a shaky hand, he reached out and ran his hand over the back of Everett’s head.
Tenderly.
Like he was making his own statement.
A promise.
I felt it like an earthquake.
Then he shifted his gaze to me, hesitating, before he hauled me in for a hug that shouted so many things.
Distress and hope and gloom.
He seemed to have to pry himself away, his expression full of apprehension. “We should go inside.”
“Yeah,” I responded.
I followed him up the steps to the porch and into the house.
This house that was just as cozy as the one Mom and I had shared when she’d run with me.
When she’d saved my life, too, doing every single thing she had to do to keep me alive.
To keep me safe.
I finally understood it now.
A parent’s willingness to give it all.
Sacrifice everything.
No matter the cost.
I noticed the whir of movement upstairs, and my attention snapped up to find my little sister blazing down the steps, her hair this unruly mix of red and blonde.
My heart clutched.
She’d grown at least five inches, no longer a child, now fourteen, so much that I had missed.
She didn’t slow. She hit the bottom of the landing and dove right for me. Her arms around my waist and her cheek against Everett’s back.
Pinning us all together.
With my free arm, I fumbled to return her embrace. “Charlotte.” Was pretty sure it was some kind of whimper. It was taking my all not to lose my shit right there.
To drop to my knees with the crash of emotion.
I’d known coming back here was going to be hard, but I hadn’t prepared myself for it to feel quite like this.
She squeezed tighter before she looked back at me, her face a blur of tears. “Evan. I was so worried about you. I can’t believe you’re here. And you have a baby. Oh my God. How did you get a baby?”
She was rushing. Rambling.
Good thing, too. There was no chance in hell I was answering that.
“I’m here, I’m here,” I told her instead. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The promise came out without thought. I cringed. Unsure if it was the truth or if I was just placating her.
At the same time, I was hit with the devastating realization that I hadn’t felt right in three years. That I hadn’t felt whole or real during all that time.
Lost.
Drifting.
As messed up as my current situation was, there was no question that this was where I belonged.
“I need to talk with Mom and Dad.” I touched my sister’s cheek, meeting her eye in a promise that we would talk later. No matter what. That I wouldn’t disappear.
Her attention darted between Everett and me before she nodded frantically. “Okay,” she said as she swiped at the tears beneath her eyes.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you, too,” I mouthed back.
Angling around her, I took the short hall to the left. I passed by the formal dining room on the right and stepped through the arch at the end that led into the gourmet kitchen.
A custom nook was built at the far end under the windows that looked out over the yard and the forest beyond. The kitchen huge and brimming with warmth. It’d basically become our family’s gathering spot.
My mother was already there, her eyes wild, her arms eager as she pulled Everett from my hold. Hugged him to her chest.
Ripples of angst undulated through the air.
Unease and questions and speculation.
I moved right for the refrigerator. This conversation was going to require alcohol.
I grabbed a beer.
Popping the cap, I chugged half of it before I let the refrigerator door shut, and I turned around to meet their faces.
Their judgment.
Their doubt.
I deserved it.
Still, I was heaving out an unsteady breath.
WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN, EVAN? Dad’s anger bled free, the movement of his fingers and hands hard as he made the demand.
I swiped my free hand over my mouth and set the beer aside.
Wasn’t sure if I was surprised that he was starting there or if I’d expected it.
If they’d be more upset that I’d disappeared for three years, or if they’d be more shocked by the fact I’d returned with a child.
Not that I was a kid. It was just the fact I was never supposed to have one of my own.
CALIFORNIA, I told him.
I KNOW WHAT STATE YOU WERE IN. WHAT I WANT TO KNOW IS WHY? WHY YOU FELT THE NEED TO CUT US OUT OF THE LAST THREE YEARS OF YOUR LIFE?
Sadness blew through the air. Their pain so stark I felt it like the stab of a knife.
I rubbed my palms together and exhaled a harsh breath.
“I needed to go,” I finally forced out, tongue close to tied. “Needed to find out who I am outside all of this.”
I gestured around the room like it could embody the pressure I’d felt on my shoulders. Too bad my hand was shaky as shit. Nothing but a tell.
Dad’s face twisted, like it was hard for him to hear the sound of my voice. Maybe he’d thought he would never hear it again.
AWAY FROM US, EVAN? FROM THE PEOPLE WHO CARE AND WORRY AND LOVE YOU? FROM YOUR FAMILY? AFTER WHAT HAD HAPPENED?
Didn’t he fucking get it? That was exactly it. I was so over being their albatross.
But looking at them now, through the dust and the ash and the debris? I knew what I’d become was an affliction.
IT WAS TIME YOU TWO COULD TAKE A BREATH WITHOUT HAVING TO BE WORRIED ABOUT ME. LIVE WITHOUT FEAR.
Could feel the weight of his incredulous laugh riding on the atmosphere. “Are you kidding me, Evan? You think that was easier? That you could walk and we’d forget about you? Your mom . . .”
He planted his hands on the island and dropped his head, like he couldn’t bring himself to even say it. To even delve into what I’d put her through.
Grief and guilt constricted, and my attention flew to Mom who was still hugging and bouncing Everett and kissing his little knuckles like he could be her relief.
Both my hands went to the ache in my chest. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry. But I had to go. You have to understand that.”
Could they?
Could they get it?
That I had to go for them.
That I had to go for Frankie Leigh.
Didn’t want to live my life an obstacle.
Still didn’t.
But there I was.
Laying myself at their feet.
Asking them for mercy.
For forgiveness.
Something I had to do for my son.
Dad turned the weight of his gaze back on me. “Have you even seen your specialists? Continued on your medication? Jesus, Evan, if it weren’t for the few letters you’ve sent, I would have thought you were dead.”
His hurt cut through me like a dull, rusted blade.
Slow and excruciating.
I heaved a sigh. “I’m healthy.”
REALLY HEALTHY, I signed in emphasis.
Was probably healthier than I’d ever been. Pushing myself to the limits. Over the last year, I’d been working out. Eating right. Doing everything my cardiac specialist had told me to do and doing it to the T. Finally crawling out of that hole I’d dug myself into.
Doing my best to discover myself.
That was until three days ago when my entire world had been flipped upside down. Rug ripped free, leaving me face down and on my knees.
That seemed to give him some sense of relief, and then his attention was drifting to where Mom had Everett against her, my son with her necklace in his fist, babbling up at her like he wanted to tell her his life’s story.
I wished to God I knew it.
Dad’s eyes swung back to me, his worry fierce. “You have a child.”
Second he did, I signed. YES, AND I THINK WE’RE IN TROUBLE. DAD, I NEED YOUR HELP.
Three
Frankie Leigh
I burst through the door of my parents’ house. I was gasping for the breath that I hadn’t been able to find for the last thirty minutes, trembling and nearly bent in two.
I’d come straight here.
Home had always been my first solution, but I wasn’t sure that was going to remain true today.
“Frankie? Is that you?” My mother’s voice echoed across the great room from the kitchen.
“Hey, Mama,” I called from the doorway.
Her diner, Pepper’s Pies, would already be closed up tight for the night.
Of course, because she was Rynna, she would still be doing what she loved to do most.
Cooking.
I followed her voice and the scent that wafted from the kitchen, stumbling a bit on my wobbly legs as I angled around the couch as I made my way over to the wide threshold that separated the two rooms.
White pillars rose on both sides.
Both ornate and welcoming.
I peered through to see Mama had a big pot of stew on the stove. The aroma of it wrapped me in a blanket of comfort.
A shiver rolled my spine as I was struck with the enormity of it.
The safety and sanctuary of this place. I was staggered by the sudden urge to run to her and throw myself in her arms and beg her to chase away the demons the way she used to when I was little.
This was a woman who hadn’t birthed me but had become my mother in every way. Stood by me. Never left me.
Had never deserted me.
Hurt crested in waves.
So maybe I had some abandonment issues.
Scars that had been written in the deepest, darkest recesses.
I guessed that’s why my first thought had been to seek reprieve here.
Her goodness filled the space, her devotion so fierce I could feel it weaving through my spirit. “Frankie?” she asked with almost a laugh in her voice. “What are you doing, lurkin’ back there?”
I sucked all the turmoil down and tried to come off as chipper as could be as I strode in. “Lurkin’? What are you talking about? I’m right here. Just came to see you. I got off work a little bit early today, and I thought I’d stop by and see what’s goin’ on. Goodness, that smells delicious. You really are a food genius. Remind me why I moved again. I mean, that’s just downright crazy, right? Up and payin’ rent when I could live here with you and eat all your food? What kind of psychopath am I?”
Okay, so maybe I was known to be a bit chatty.
But there was no missing the tremor that rolled out with the ramble as I moved for the refrigerator, opened the door, and stuck my head inside.
Cold air blasted out.
I wanted to climb all the way in.
Maybe it would cool the heat that was burning me up, flames that were going to leave me nothing but ash.
Mama knew it too.
Could sense her shifting, her awareness, her keen eye turned on me. “Sweet Pea . . . look at me.”
Hesitating, I heaved out a breath before I forced myself to turn around and look at her. Guessed it was just then I felt the hot moisture covering my cheeks.
Great.
Now I was straight-up cryin’.
Mama reached out and gathered up a tear. “Oh, sweet girl, what’s wrong? What happened?”
I chewed at my bottom lip so hard I was sure I was drawing blood, and I angled my attention to the side and mumbled the name. Maybe if I quieted it, saying it wouldn’t hurt so bad.
“Evan.”
Nope.
It slayed.
A sharp, searing pain that cut right through the middle of me.
Intensity and worry blustered through her expression, and she was searching mine for a sign.
Blinking through the bleariness, I forced myself to meet her worry. “He’s here, Mama. He’s here. He walked right into A Drop of Hope like he’d never left, all except for the fact that everything has
changed. God, Mama, he has a baby. This little boy who’s so adorable and sweet and looks just like him—”
And it’s never hurt to look at someone so much.
I had to stop myself from actually saying the last part aloud.
Questions toiled and raged.
Had he found someone? Had he fallen in love? Oh God, was he married?
My weakened knees faltered, and the walls spun, and I was pretty sure I was two seconds from passing out right there on my mama’s floor.
A hand was pressing to her mouth, her chocolate eyes that were just as warm and comfortin’ as her food going wide with her outright concern. “Is he well?”
I didn’t know if she was asking about Evan or the child, and I was blinking through the disorder, trying to make sense of what I’d seen. I swallowed around the grief lodged like a tumble of jagged rocks at the base of my throat. “I don’t know, Mama. I don’t know anything. I found him standing in the doorway and I just . . . hightailed it out of there. I couldn’t stay.”
“Oh, Frankie.”
A flash of a second later I was in her arms, and she was hugging me hard, and I was releasing my pain and my rage and my sorrow.
All the hopes that boy had left shattered inside of me.
The dreams that were scattered.
I sank to the floor like maybe I could gather them up.
She came with me, pulled me onto her lap, and held me, rocked me the way she’d done when I was a child.
Sobs heaved, and she kept whispering at the top of my head, “It will be alright, Sweet Pea. It’ll be alright. You’ll see.”
“How could it be?”
Tears kept streaming free, and I was clutching her like a lifeline, searching for air, for reason.
My lungs squeezed.
Painfully.
Agony stretching me thin.
Ripping me in two.
“How could it be?” I whimpered. “He left me, Mama. He left me.” And just because he was there didn’t change the fact that I could still feel that void echoing inside of me.
That little face pushed into my mind like a storm. Raging and rampant. Beautiful and terrifying. Old wounds rushed in with the darkened, churning clouds.
It doused my soul in anguish.
The deepest, ugliest kind of affliction.
I gasped and choked.
Mama brushed her fingers through my frizzy curls. “He might have walked away, but that boy left a huge piece of himself with you. He’s etched himself in places that helped to mold and shape who you are. And I know you did the same to him.”
Hold on to Hope Page 3