“You don’t even see it,” he said. “You’re so blind. You know what he’s done. How can you just pretend you don’t?”
From behind her, a shadow passed through the entryway and his father appeared in the kitchen doorway. He glared at them, eyes locked on Josh.
“Gloria?”
His mother’s face went pale, and Josh could see that despite what she said, she was terrified.
“Mom.” Josh spoke softly, hoping his dad wouldn’t be able to hear. “Come with me. I’ll put you up in a nice house. I can support you. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”
Her lower lip trembled and her chin dipped, eyes on the ground—meek, just the way her father had trained her to be. “My home is here,” she whispered.
“What are you saying to her?” His dad made quick work of the distance between him and the front door.
His mom spun around. “He just came over to give us an update on Jaden, honey.”
He pushed her aside, and Josh moved into the entryway.
“Don’t touch her,” he growled.
“Or what?”
Josh drew in a deep breath. One—two—three. He forced his mind to calm. He unclenched his fists. “You don’t get to do this anymore.”
The older man laughed. “That’s where you’re wrong, son. You might think things are different because you have money now, but you’re mistaken. This is my house.” He pointed at Gloria. “And she’s my wife.”
“Joshua, please. Let’s have some lunch. It’s Sunday so I’ve made—”
“Fried chicken and coleslaw. Dad’s Sunday meal. I know.” He kept his eyes firmly on his father.
His mom laughed. “Am I that predictable?”
“No, Mom, you’re that brainwashed. He’s trained you to do everything just the way he wants it done—or else.”
His dad shoved Josh in the arm. “Don’t talk to her like that.”
“Don’t pretend you care,” Josh spat.
“You’re not going to come into my house and disrespect my wife.”
“No, but I am going to get her out of here,” Josh said.
The wrinkles in his father’s forehead deepened in confusion. “What are you talking about?” He looked at Josh’s mom. “Gloria, did you tell him to come here?”
“Of course not.”
“She might be too scared to stand up to you, but I’m not.” Josh took a step between his parents, positioning himself in front of his mom. “I’m not going to let you bully her anymore.”
His dad scowled, eyes flashing anger. “What are you going to do about it?”
Josh planted his feet. “I’m going to stand here while she packs a bag, and then we’re going to leave.”
“That’s not happening, sonny boy.”
The words ignited something inside Josh, and once again he had to draw in a calming breath. His anger would not get the better of him today.
I am not like you.
“You cost me everything, Dad. Everything. I’ve been so afraid of turning out just like you that I left my family—and you just watched it happen. What kind of father does that?”
“Don’t you blame me for your mistakes. You’re the loser who got that slut pregnant.”
Josh’s face heated. “Don’t you dare talk about her like that.”
“Both of you, that’s enough,” Gloria said, moving from behind Josh. “We haven’t been together as a family in ages. Let’s go eat dinner.”
“Shut up, Gloria!” Jim shouted.
“Mom, enough is enough. Get outside.”
Get outside. Get outside.
The words wrestled in his mind. He looked up and found his father locking his sights on Gloria, eyes angry, breath rushed.
Get outside, Dylan. Run!
Josh looked up as his father growled. “She’s not going anywhere.” He lunged toward Gloria, but Josh stepped between them again. His father swung a beefy arm back, striking his mom with the back of his hand. She fell to the ground with a shriek.
“Stop it!” Gloria yelled.
“Mom, get outside.”
His dad circled Josh, positioning himself between his son and his wife. He gave her a backward kick with his heel.
She cried out in pain.
“Leave her alone.”
Leave her alone!
“Get up, Gloria. Stop whimpering,” Jim snarled. He spun around and faced Josh. “Come on, sonny boy. Let’s see what you’re made of!”
Josh’s mind spun back decades. He was young—only eight.
Come on, sonny boy. Let’s see what you’re made of!
Dylan, get outside! Run!
He brought his hands to his head as his father shoved him backward.
Josh swatted his father’s hand away, mind still whirling, trying to settle on what was true, trying to peer through the fog of memories he’d worked so hard to forget. He stumbled toward the kitchen, the image of his little brother flashing through his mind.
Feisty and rambunctious, Dylan had been full of life. Full of spunk.
That night was like most nights.
Their parents were arguing. Angry words lit the air, and Josh raced upstairs, determined to wait it out, just as he’d always done.
But Dylan—he was younger, but he was braver. Dylan left the hiding place inside the window seat in the upstairs hallway and ran downstairs, shouting the whole way.
“Leave her alone!”
Josh could hear his tiny voice echoing through his safe spot.
“Get out of here, boy!” their father shouted.
“Dylan, get outside! Run!” Gloria shrieked the words.
The sound of a smack reverberated through the walls.
“Leave her alone!” Dylan yelled again.
Josh pushed the window seat open and raced downstairs, hollering for Dylan the whole way.
“Dylan, get outside! Run!”
He reached the door of the kitchen seconds before his mother grabbed on to his father’s arm—a failed attempt to keep him from injuring their youngest son. His dad reared back, and his mom fell onto the floor, but as his dad righted himself, he flailed again, this time seeming to lose control of his large, muscular arm, knocking Dylan backward—hard—into the corner of the counter.
Josh screamed.
Gloria screamed.
Dylan fell to the ground, head bloody in the back, and crashed onto the tile with a thud.
Josh raced over to his brother while his father stood upright, hulking over the two boys.
“I said get out!”
“Go, Josh,” his mom said. “Get outside. Go to the park.”
Dylan’s eyes fluttered open and Josh tugged him closer to the doorway. “Let’s go. We have to go.”
Now, standing in the kitchen—not unlike the one in that house in another small town—Josh heaved a heavy breath.
What happened next?
He spun around, away from his father, away from his mother, memories seeping in like water through cracks in a wall.
“It was you,” he said. His eyes slowly crept from the floor to his father’s angry face. “You said it was me.”
“What are you talking about?” His father growled.
Josh’s eyes darted to his mother, who stood, unmoving—a look of panic on her face.
Josh stumbled backward but stopped himself from falling with a hand on the counter. His eyes searched the air, as if the answers were there, waiting to be captured and clung to.
Images raced through his mind like an old home video, but quickly, the images turned into Josh’s worst nightmare. His father’s arm swung back, hitting Dylan with such force, the boy fell into the corner of the counter and then onto the ground. Their mother lay in a quiet heap, unable to help.
Josh picked Dylan up, helped him to his feet, and together they raced off to the playground. The wound wasn’t gushing blood, so Josh thought his brother was okay—it would heal, like a scab on a skinned knee.
He covered his head with his hands, unable to escape
the memories.
“We’ll wait here until dark and then we’ll go back home,” Josh had told Dylan as they sat on the merry-go-round, slowly pushing it in circles with their feet. “We’ll wait ’til he’s asleep.”
“My head hurts.” Dylan touched it gently.
“I know, Dyl,” Josh said. “It’ll get better soon.”
But it didn’t get better. As they spun, Dylan started to fade. His eyelids seemed too heavy to hold open and then, in a flash, he tumbled off the merry-go-round and onto the ground.
There were only two other kids playing at the park at that hour, and one of them was Josh and Dylan’s across-the-street neighbor. He raced off, shouting, “I’ll get your parents!” and Josh remembered the words that flitted into his mind in that moment.
No, don’t! This is their fault!
Words he’d never said aloud. Words he’d pushed aside when his father wrote a whole new script for the day’s events.
“I believed you,” Josh said now, horror building up like bile at the back of his throat. “You said it was me.”
He locked eyes with his father, and he knew no other explanation was needed. They were both back in that old house, in that quiet neighborhood park. They were both reliving the moments leading up to Dylan’s death, and they were standing on opposite sides.
“Don’t try and rewrite history,” his father shouted, closing in on Josh. “You and I both know the truth. You come in here all high and mighty like you’re so much better than the rest of us, but you know what you are.” His father loomed in front of Josh, as if daring him to lash out, as if begging him to engage.
Josh’s hands turned into fists at his sides. He clenched and unclenched them, anger coursing through his veins.
His father gave Josh a once-over, then a heavy push on the shoulder.
Josh shrugged him off, shaking away the angry thoughts building in his mind.
“You wanna hit me—then hit me,” his father antagonized.
Josh wanted to hit him. He wanted to pummel his father until he was so bloody he lay limp and lifeless the same way Dylan had.
He took a step back and for a fleeting moment, it was as if he’d left his own body—and as he floated overhead, he could see a clearer picture of the scenario in which he now found himself.
“You’re a bully,” he said quietly and without thinking. He glanced at his mother, folded into a ball of timidity. He glanced at his father, whose face had reddened in his anger.
And for what?
“Is this what you think a real man does?” Josh moved away from his father. “You think a real man beats his wife and kids? Does a real man convince his son he is the reason his brother is dead?”
“Joshua, please.” His mother reached for him, but he tore his arm away.
“No!” he shouted. “You were a part of this too. You knew what it did to me—thinking it was my fault, what happened to Dylan. You knew—” His voice broke and tears flooded his eyes. “And you did nothing.” He choked out the last words, wishing he were stronger, wishing he were emotionally detached the way he’d worked so hard to be.
“Are you crying?” His father faced him.
Josh pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and forced himself to pull it together. He shook with anger, with disbelief. He’d lost everything because of a lie. He’d lost Carly because he’d convinced himself he was exactly like his father—because what he’d done to Dylan proved it. Because he didn’t want to risk hurting his own son the way he thought he’d hurt Dylan.
And it had all been a lie.
He glared at his father. “For as long as I live, I never want to see you again.” He looked at his mom. “Either of you.”
And he stormed out of the house and into the street, back to the safety and quiet of his truck, but he found no peace there.
Would he ever find peace again?
35
Josh wasn’t responding.
Not to her texts. Not to her phone calls. Not to her voicemails.
It had been hours since she’d left Sunday dinner, and now Carly’s mind had turned into a jumbled mess.
Why had she defended him at all? It was obvious that if Josh really reentered her life, she’d spend it wondering if this disappearance was his final goodbye.
It was no way to live.
Maybe that was why she’d spent the evening Googling jobs in Colorado.
Now who’s the one running?
She shoved the thought aside, then picked up her phone and scrolled through her messages to Josh. If anyone found his phone, they’d think she was a crazy stalker—she’d even driven by Josh’s parents’ house. Twice.
But nothing. No sign of him anywhere.
Had he left for good?
She took a long breath, like a drag on a cigarette, and her nerves settled for a moment. “God, I have a really bad feeling something’s happened. Please let him come to us if he needs us—he needs to stop running.” And please let him be okay.
She’d just popped a bowl of popcorn when there was a faint knock at the back door. She pulled the melted butter from the microwave and listened—unsure she’d heard the knock at all. It was rare for anyone to enter her house through that door.
Seconds later, another knock. This one a bit louder.
She set the butter on the counter, walked to the door, flipped on the outside light and found Gloria standing there.
The older woman wore big sunglasses and a coat, and something seemed decidedly off. In her entire life, Gloria had never paid Carly an unannounced visit. In fact, Gloria had only ever been in Carly’s house a handful of times, and usually for some family gathering celebrating Jaden.
“Gloria?” Carly opened the door. “Is everything okay?”
Slowly, Josh’s mom drew her eyes upward to meet Carly’s. Her face and neck were red and splotchy, the same way Jaden’s got when he was nervous or upset.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry to bother you.” Her voice shook. “I thought the back door would be safer.”
Carly frowned. “Safer?”
Gloria removed the sunglasses to reveal not one but two darkening bruises, one around each of her eyes. There was a cut above her right eye so deep it looked like it might need stitches.
“Gloria.” Carly sighed her name, pushing the door open to let the woman in.
“Is Jaden here?” she asked.
“No. He went to the training center with Grady,” Carly said. “Come in. Please.”
“I don’t want to impose.”
“You’re here for a reason,” Carly said.
Gloria met her eyes. “I’m here because you’re the strongest woman I know.”
Carly’s mind worked for a response, but the words had caught her so off guard, nothing came. She’d felt so weak and helpless lately—how ironic.
“And because you have medical training.” Gloria passed through the door and into the kitchen.
“Here, sit.” Carly pulled one of the kitchen chairs away from the table and Josh’s mom set her purse down and sat. “You really need to go to the emergency room and have that checked out.”
Tears streamed down Gloria’s already stained cheeks. “You know I can’t. What would people say?”
“This is about more than your family’s reputation. You might need stitches—that cut above your eye looks pretty bad.”
She gingerly pressed at the cut, which oozed red. “Can you just help me clean it up? It’s been a long time since he hit me anywhere anyone would be able to see.”
The sadness of that statement settled on Carly’s shoulders, and she chided herself for not trying harder to help Gloria over the years.
The few times she’d even hinted that something might be wrong, Gloria had brushed her off. Should she have pushed harder?
“Have you called Josh?” Should she call Josh? His mom was sitting here, battered—wouldn’t he want to know?
Gloria’s tears fell more quickly now. “He doesn’t want to s
peak to me. Maybe ever again.”
Carly walked to the cupboard and took out a first aid kit. “I can’t imagine that’s true.”
“No,” Gloria said. “Those were his actual words. And I can’t blame him.”
Carly got to work cleaning up Gloria’s cut, then her eyes fell to the older woman’s lip and saw that it was split and swollen too. “What happened?”
Tears pooled in the woman’s eyes, sliding in an already marked trail down her cheeks. “Josh loves you so much, Carly.”
Carly stopped dabbing and found the woman’s eyes.
“He loves you and we ruined that for both of you.”
Carly went back to cleaning the wound. “That wasn’t your fault.”
Gloria wrapped a hand around Carly’s wrist to stop her and met her gaze. “It was. I’m telling you.”
Carly shook her head. “Josh chose to leave us. It was hard and he left. End of story.”
“I know it’s hard to give second chances, Carly—goodness knows I’ve given them when I shouldn’t have. But would you consider it this time?”
Carly took a step back. “He’s not sorry for leaving. He doesn’t regret it at all. Said he did what was best for me and Jaden.” A lump grew in Carly’s throat. Josh’s words had wounded her more than she’d realized.
Carly dabbed at the gash above Gloria’s eye with a cotton ball soaked in hydrogen peroxide. Gloria grimaced at the touch.
“Sorry, I know it hurts.”
“The night he left—what happened?” Gloria’s voice shook as she spoke.
“To make him leave, you mean?” Carly patted Gloria’s cut dry with gauze.
The older woman nodded.
“He told me to go out with my friends, and when I got home, I found Jaden screaming and Josh beside himself.” Carly’s mind whirled back. “He was so angry, as if it was somehow Jaden’s fault—or mine—that Josh couldn’t figure out why he was crying.”
“Where was Jaden when you got home?”
“In his crib,” Carly said, unsure why Gloria would ask that.
“And Josh?”
“The living room.” Carly frowned. “Why?”
“I remember once when Josh was a baby.” Gloria’s voice hitched. “I’d run out to the store and left Josh with Jim. He’d been asleep and should’ve slept for another hour, but he woke up screaming.” Her eyes went glassy. “When I got home, Jim was so irate for leaving him alone, for taking so long at the store.” Her words faded away, as if she was remembering something painful.
Just One Kiss: A Harbor Pointe Novel Page 27