by J. E. Parker
And dear Lord, he’d lost enough.
Despite the heartbreaking loss his parents had been through, there was no excuse for the way they’d treated Kyle, and it horrified me to think I may not be able to keep my opinions to myself the moment my eyes met his mother’s.
Lily’s death had been tragic.
But their actions after her death, ones which effectively killed the light that remained in Kyle, were preventable.
Today wasn’t the day for me to tear someone a new butthole.
No matter how badly I wanted to.
“You ready, Princess?” Kyle asked from beside me, his assessing gaze locked on my face.
Swallowing down the mixture of pain and anger consuming me, I slid my hand into his and forced a smile. “Ready when you are.”
He blew out a breath but said nothing as he walked toward the house, pulling me right along with him. After climbing the steps, we crossed the porch and came to a standstill.
Kyle hesitated for the briefest moment before raising his hand and tapping against the stained-glass door.
When he received no answer, he slipped a key into the deadbolt, disengaging the lock.
Then, with a look of trepidation on his face, he pushed the wooden barricade open.
Standing still, rooted to the spot, he peered inside the foyer.
Pain followed by regret swirled in his eyes.
My chest ached in response.
Needing to comfort him while also giving him the push he needed to step inside, I gave his hand a slight squeeze. “Come on, Hulk,” I whispered. “Let’s find your Mama.”
He nodded.
I followed him as he crossed the threshold into the foyer. Once I was fully inside, he shut the door behind me. “Mama!” he yelled, his voice bouncing off the dust-covered walls. “I’m here.”
When the sound of approaching footsteps reached my ears, my heart began to pound, my palms to sweat. Feeling my lungs burn, I focused on my breathing as I told myself not to get so worked up.
Breathe in, then out.
I thought I had my emotions under control.
I thought I had my special brand of crazy locked down.
I thought wrong.
The moment Kyle’s mother came into view, every ounce of anger I felt before stepping into the house dissipated. Skinny as rail and wearing a faded blue dress that was at least three sizes too big and gold rimmed eyeglasses that appeared older than me, she looked worn down.
With just one look, she broke my heart.
And judging by the look on her face, seeing me there with Kyle broke hers too.
“Mama,” Kyle said, looking from his Mama to me; then back to her again. “I want to introduce you to someone. This is my girlfriend—”
“You’re Ann’s baby,” she interrupted, her vacant eyes never deviating from mine. “You’re name is Carissa,” she continued, moving closer. “Carissa Johnson.”
Beside me, Kyle froze.
Meanwhile, my stomach dropped to my feet at the mention of Mama’s name. I had no clue how she knew Mama, nor did I have the slightest inkling how she knew my name, but I was about to find out.
“You knew my mother?”
His mother nodded. “She and I…” Her brown eyes—identical to her son’s—filled with tears. “We were friends all through high school. Ended up growing apart as we got older, but I never forgot her.” A small smile tipped her lips heavenward. “You look just like her,” she added. “Almost identical.”
That made sense.
Though it didn’t explain how she knew my name.
“I read her obituary, learned your name from that,” she added, reading my thoughts. “I wasn’t able to attend her funeral”—she diverted her gaze, looking at the floor instead of me—“but I cried like the dickens when I learned of her passing.” I opened my mouth to say something, but she kept speaking. “Ann was a good friend, but I’m sure she was an even better mother.”
A lump formed in my throat.
“She was an amazing mother,” I replied, my voice cracking on the last word.
Kyle’s mother nodded, her eyes still on the floor beneath her feet. “I don’t doubt it. Maybe I should’ve—” Snapping her mouth shut, she shook her head and waved a lone hand in the air, dismissing whatever words she almost spoke. “Nevermind.” She looked up; first at me, then at Kyle. “Doesn’t matter now.”
Trudging forward, she came to a stop five feet in front of us. “My name is Dorothy,” she whispered, “but you can call me Dottie.”
“Nice to meet you, Dottie,” I replied sweetly, my southern manners on full display as I looked around the homes entry. “You have a beautiful home.”
It was the truth.
Despite the army of dust bunnies that lined the walls, the house was gorgeous.
Her chin wobbled as she fought to keep her tears from spilling over.
Wringing her hands together, she pulled her gaze from me and looked up at Kyle. Her chest rose and fell, each breath she took quicker than the last. “Morning, son.”
Trying my best not to draw attention to myself, I watched as she peered up at Kyle, doing my best to examine her body language and facial cues. Realizing there was a lot more to her than I first thought, I suddenly wanted to know everything.
Kyle thought she hated him.
He was wrong.
That truth was obvious by the way her fingers twitched to touch him, and by the way her eyes brightened the smallest bit as she stared at him, her features much softer than they were moments before.
Though her expression was one of pain and grief, the love she had for him was astronomical.
How he didn’t see it, I didn’t have a clue.
Probably because he doesn’t believe he’s worthy of her love…
“You ready to go?” Kyle asked, his tone sharp.
Dottie’s eyes slid closed.
Pain masked her features.
My soul stirred as Mama’s voice spoke in my head, reminding me of the lesson she’d taught me so long ago; the one which gave me the drive to become a social worker in the first place. “Even the most people beautiful have scars that dull their light, Carissa Ann,” her voice said, “but with a pile of patience, an unending supply of love, and a whole lot of elbow grease you can make even the most broken among us shine again.”
The feel of her fingers stroking my hair, the smell of her perfume—it all came rushing back, and for a moment, I could’ve sworn she was right there with me, her stubbornness bleeding into me.
Tears blurred my vision.
Minutes earlier I’d been ready to jerk a knot in the woman who I thought helped single-handedly destroy what remained of Kyle’s heart after Lily’s death. Though she may have done just that, it had never been her intention.
That much was clear.
I wasn’t a doctor, and I couldn’t make a diagnosis, but I believed with my whole heart that losing her only daughter had been too much for Dottie to bear. Consumed by grief, she’d mentally checked out and retreated into a shell she’d never reemerged from.
It wasn’t her fault.
Just like it wasn’t Kyle’s.
The only person to blame was Edgar Louis, may he rot in hell.
Defeated and broken, Dottie needed someone to fight for her, the same way her son did. I’d already decided that I would be the one to pull Kyle out of the darkness that inhabited his whole heart and soul.
As my guy, he was mine to save.
But right then, I realized she was mine to save too.
Not only was she Kyle’s mother, but she’d also been Mama’s friend.
That told me everything I needed to know about Dorothy Tucker.
Calling upon every ounce of compassion I had, combined with everything my time working at the shelter had taught me, I pulled out of Kyle’s hold and took a step forward.
Dottie’s eyes opened; her gaze met mine.
Adding a dose of starch to my spine, I stood tall, squaring my shoulders. “Come
on, Mrs. Dottie,” I whispered. “It’s time to pay your sweet little girl a visit.”
A tear fell from her right eye. “Are you coming with us?”
“Do you want me to come?”
An almost pleading look spread across her face. “I do.”
“Then I’m coming.” Lifting my arm, I offered her my hand. “Whenever you’re ready, beautiful lady.”
Dottie didn’t hesitate.
Gently placing her hand in mine, she looked at Kyle. “Can you get the cake, son? It’s on the kitchen counter.”
Silence ensued.
Without replying, Kyle turned to walk away.
I grabbed the back of his shirt with my free hand, halting him.
He looked at me over his shoulder, a dark expression—one which made me lose my breath—on his face.
“We’ll meet you at the car.”
He nodded but still said nothing.
My belly roiled.
Something was wrong, but I had no clue what it was.
Did I overstep?
Is he angry with me?
Kyle’s jaw ticked. “Let Carissa take you to the car, Mama.”
Silence fell over the room as he moved in the other direction, placing space between us.
Space that I didn’t like.
Space that I didn’t want.
Space that made me feel panicked.
Swallowing down the hurt that rose into my throat thanks to his cold demeanor, I forced a smile, then returned my attention to Dottie. “Ready?”
When she nodded, I squeezed her frail hand tight.
Together, we headed outside.
I’d seen—and felt—a lot of heartbreak in my life.
I’d watched all six feet six inches of my inconsolable father fall to his knees the day we laid Mama in the ground, and I’d watched my beautiful little sister crumble under the weight of our mother’s terminal diagnosis. I’d observed countless women and children come through the shelter, their bodies bruised, their souls broken and their will to keep going non-existent.
But nothing, and I mean nothing, compared to the heartbreak I witnessed first-hand when Dottie Tucker kneeled over her deceased daughter’s grave, a homemade chocolate cake clutched in her hands and let every ounce of her pain free.
Sob after sob.
Scream after scream.
The agony on Kyle’s face as he kneeled next to her, one arm wrapped around her middle, the other braced against Lily’s headstone was enough to rip my chest wide open.
Hoping that I was doing the right thing, I kneeled next to Dottie on her other side. Taking the chocolate cake from her hands, I sat it on the ground in front of her. Her shaking hand grasped mine as she wailed, her agony-filled shrieks echoing through the empty cemetery.
Turning his head to the side, Kyle stared at me, his eyes filled with darkness.
The anger consuming him was palpable; the coldness from before radiating off him in waves.
While his mother’s heart was breaking from the loss of Lily, Kyle allowed it to feed his anger. There wasn’t a single doubt in my head that if Edgar Louis were still alive, Kyle would kill him.
Slowly.
Surely.
And without a single shred of remorse.
I don’t recall how long we stayed at the cemetery, but by the time we left, Dottie had cried so long and hard that her tears were gone, her eyes dry. Mentally exhausted and physically drained she’d been unable to stand on her own, much less walk.
So Kyle carried her.
Like one would an injured child, he lifted her into his arms, held her close to his chest and carried her to my car. After pulling open the door, he waited for me to climb in the backseat before depositing her next to me. Then, with her head in my lap and my hand rubbing her back, Kyle drove us back to the place he’d once called home.
Once at the house, he parked my car along the curb and carried his seemingly lifeless mother into the house and up the stairs. A range of emotions flashed across his face as he deposited her on the center of the queen-sized bed in the master bedroom and covered her pencil-thin body with a hand stitched quilt.
“What now?” I asked, pushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Do we just leave?”
Seated on the edge of the bed, Kyle rested his hand along Dottie’s cheek, rubbing his thumb across her jaw. The move was sweet and full of love. “Yeah. I’ll come by and check on her tomorrow, but for now she needs her rest.” He paused before speaking again. “Before we go, I need to check she still has food in the fridge.”
“I’ll go look,” I replied, wanting to give him a few minutes of alone time with his Mama.
Tired as could be, I leaned over Dottie’s still form and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. “Sleep tight, Mrs. Dottie,” I whispered. “I’ll come see you again real soon. Promise.”
When I straightened, Kyle’s dark eyes were locked on me, and for the first time since I met him, I wanted him to look away. He was angry, that much was obvious, but I didn’t know why. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.” My voice shook with each word.
Feeling vulnerable and out of sorts, I rounded the end of the bed and walked out of the room.
Downstairs the kitchen was dark and silent.
It was there, with my hand covering my mouth to drown out the sounds of my sobs, that I set the tears I’d been holding back free.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Kyle
I fucked up…
The realization echoed through my head, making the mountainous disgust and self-hatred I already possessed increase tenfold as I stood in the darkened hallway next to Mama’s kitchen watching Carissa cry.
With one hand covering her mouth, and the other clutching the edge of the sink, she allowed tear after tear to stream down her beautiful face, showcasing every ounce of the pain she felt.
Pain she felt because of me, the man who swore to always protect her.
Physically, emotionally, mentally.
I made my self goddamn sick.
Whether or not I intended to, I’d spent the last several hours keeping her at arm’s length as I allowed the hatred, and the rage that slithered through my veins to take hold, consuming me bit by bit.
Knowing I’d been cold toward her was enough to tear a gaping hole in the center of my chest.
Carissa was my girl, my soulmate, and the woman I loved.
Yet, I’d hurt her; something I promised I’d never do.
I hated myself for it.
But what made me hate myself even more was the way I continued to stand in the shadows, watching as she fought to pull herself together. Despite the disgust that churned in my gut, I should’ve gone to her, should’ve comforted her, should’ve apologized.
I did none of those things.
Instead, I waited until she wiped away her tears and splashed her face with cold water from the kitchen faucet before stepping into the kitchen.
At the sound of my footsteps, she turned.
When our eyes met, I wanted nothing more than to pull out my phone and call Hendrix. He would’ve been more than happy to come beat my ass for making her cry.
Ty too.
The only problem was, I hadn’t replaced my phone after shattering it at the station.
Didn’t matter though.
I could beat myself up better than Hendrix or Ty ever could.
I’d been doing it for years.
Was pretty much an expert at it.
Carissa blew out a breath and plastered a smile faker than most porn stars tits on her face. “You ready to go?” she asked, her voice small and hesitant.
Thanks to the boa constrictor wrapped around my neck, I didn’t answer her right away.
At my silence, she crossed the kitchen and pulled open the fridge.
I watched as her eyes scanned each of the shelves before shutting the door.
“She has plenty of food. Though her milk is close to expiring. I—” flustered, she paused “—I can pick up a gallon for her tomorrow.”
Finding my voice, I spoke. “I’ll pick it up. You don’t need to worry about it.”
It was the wrong thing for me to say.
One look at her face and I knew—I fucking knew—that I’d screwed up again.
Fix it, stupid, the voice in my head commanded. Now.
Without saying a word, I moved across the kitchen, closing the space between us. Once I was within reaching distance of her, I wrapped my fingers around hers and lifted her arm, placing a kiss on the inside of her wrist.
She sucked in a breath.
Lips still lingering on her sensitive skin, I looked down into her eyes. “I’m sorry, Princess,” I whispered, meaning every word. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
Her chin wobbled. “I don’t understand—” She bit her bottom lip before continuing. “Are you angry with me?”
“No.” My answer was immediate.
“Then why—”
The words, as fucked up as they were, rolled off my tongue before I had a chance to stop them. “Because my mother looked at you the way I wish she’d look at me.”
Carissa said nothing.
I didn’t blame her.
I sounded like a jealous, attention-starved child; which in a way, that’s precisely what I was.
“I’m not upset with you, Princess, nor am I mad at her, but I’m still mad as hell. Angry at God for the mistake he made, pissed at my father for walking out on us, and enraged at Edgar Louis for stealing my beautiful little sister.”
There wasn’t much I wasn’t angry at.
“I should have never taken my shit out on you. I realize that. And I’m so fucking sorry that I gave you the cold shoulder and didn’t embrace you the way I should have, but I need you to understand—the moment I saw Mama’s eyes light up for you, every ounce of bitterness, anger, and resentment that lives inside me welled into my throat, choking the hell out of me.”
Carissa still didn’t speak, so I continued.
“None of that is an excuse for my behavior, and I won’t pretend it is. I may be hot-tempered and stubborn as fuck, but when I’m wrong, I say I’m wrong. And baby, the way I treated you earlier was wrong. Period.”
More silence.
Messed up as it is, I was ready to put my hand through the nearest wall.