Burn For Me

by Shiloh Walker

  Turning his head, he looked over at the other man. “I can’t help it.”

  “Sure you can. You just need to decide you’re going to move on.” Guy shrugged. “You think I don’t have bad memories of my folks?”

  “Your dad didn’t kill your mother and get away with it.” Tate stared at the brick wall in front of him, but he wasn’t seeing anything. He was seeing that night. Hiding in the room with his sisters after his mom had left. The way his dad had slammed the door, locking himself in his room.

  Then a little while later, Doug had left, returning hours later.

  Fourteen years old, he’d tried to convince his sisters everything would be fine.

  But nothing was ever fine again. His dad woke up. They asked where Mom was. He didn’t know. They waited. They all waited.

  Fifteen years later, they continued to wait.

  “No, he just beat her to death in front of me, and when I tried to stop him, he put me in the hospital.” Guy straightened in his chair, staring out at nothing.

  Tate closed his eyes, swore under his breath. “Fuck. I’m sorry. That was–.”

  “Don’t. It’s okay. Neither of us were the picture for normalcy. My dad beat my mother to death and went to prison. Your mom…” Guy sighed, and then shifted his attention back to Tate. “Look, there is no proof that Doug killed your mom. None.”

  He shot Guy a dark look. “Who else would have done it? My mom didn’t get into a fight with some other husband that night. Nobody else reported seeing anything. There’s shit for evidence. Besides my dad, who else was angry with her that night?”

  “Sometimes, there isn’t a point.” Guy stood from behind his desk and moved around to stand in front of it. “Look, I’ll poke around, see what I can find. But there’s not much hope here. We don’t have a body. We don’t have any witnesses. There is nothing to go on. She just…”

  “Disappeared.” Tate closed his eyes. He knew all of this. It was the same shit he’d lived with all this time.

  “Let it go, man.” Guy rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Go chase Ali down, make her marry you. Just let all of this go. That’s what your mom would have wanted, you know. All of you happy.”

  “Chase Ali down.” He looked up at Guy. “I think Ali is tired of waiting around for me. Besides…”

  He paused, struggling to keep the words trapped inside him. But the misery over Ali and everything suddenly came spilling out and for the first time, he gave voice to the fear that had lived inside him all of his life. “Something in him snapped that night, Guy. Just snapped. How do I know I won’t do the same thing?”

  For a second, Guy just stared at him and then he swore.

  Turning away, he moved to the window and stared outside. After long, tense moments, he turned back to him, watching Tate with burning eyes. “You’re a fucking moron. Do you really believe that? Is that why you keep pretending there’s nothing between you two even though the whole damn town knows you’re crazy about her? You think you’re going to go crazy and hurt her?”

  “My dad never would have thought he’d hurt my mother, but he sure as hell did it.” He glared at Guy.

  Guy closed his eyes, blowing out a breath. Then, he opened them and pinned Tate with a direct stare. “Okay, Tate. We need to have a talk—we should have had it a long time ago.”

  * * *

  The river unfurled under the sun, a long, glinting ribbon of blue and gold, stretching between the wooded shores of Kentucky and Indiana. It was the dead of summer and there wasn’t even a breeze coming off the water. But that didn’t seem to bother the boaters out there. Some sailboats, more than a few people out fishing—although it was possible they were just out there drinking and the poles were just for looks.

  Tate walked alongside Guy, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he waited. It had been nearly thirty minutes since they’d left the sheriff’s department but Guy hadn’t said much of anything.

  “You know, if I’d known you were in the mood for a nice, romantic walk along the river, we could have set up a date in the evening when it’s cooler,” he finally pointed out.

  “Why? So you could say no?” Guy sneered. “Then again, you might say yes … after all, you aren’t in love with me. You’re in love with Ali, but you won’t take her on a nice long walk along the river, will you?”

  “Shove it, Guy.” He shot Guy a dark look. Then he smirked. “Besides, you’re not my type.”

  “Ali is. You push her away. All the damn time.”

  “My relationship with Ali is—” Over. He swallowed the bitterness that rose up inside him. Stopping along the walkway, he turned and looked out over the river. A breeze blew up and he closed his eyes, lifted his face to it. “It’s none of your business, Guy.”

  “Maybe not. But you, being a friend, are my business. If you’re avoiding trying to reach for anything real with her because you think you’re going to turn into your dad…” Guy stopped and blew out a breath, then he crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes, gray as the storm clouds piling up overhead, met Tate’s. “I don’t talk about this with you. I’ve tried before and you never listen. You never want to listen, but damn it, this time you are going to, even if I have to chase you down and sit on you. Tate, your dad isn’t a killer.”

  “Oh, don’t start—”

  “I fucking will start and for the first time your life, you’ll listen to me,” Guy said, his voice flat. “I know bad guys. I know scum. I know guilty men and I know men who could kill and not feel a damn thing. I came from that. I saw it, every time I looked at my father. I know killers. I also know the weak-ass bastards who snap and do awful things and regret it. I know that is who you think Doug is, but you’re wrong. If I had to stake my badge on this, I’d be willing to do it. I don’t think your dad killed your mom—I know that man and if you’d stop being pissed off at him, for just a little while, long enough to look at him, you’d see it, too.”

  Tate glared at him. “You weren’t there,” he snarled, leaning in, nose to nose. “You didn’t hear them.”

  “No.” Guy shook his head. “But I was there, day in and day out, when my dad threatened to kill my mom. I walked in when he was doing it … when he was beating the shit out of her and when I tried to stop it…”

  Guy looked away.

  Tate jerked out of his grasp and put distance between them.

  Back in high school, their senior year, there had been a morning when all the teachers had been … off.

  Guy’s seat was empty. They’d shared almost all their classes and come lunch, Tate finally heard.

  Guy was in the hospital. His mom was dead.

  Guy’s father had been sentenced to twenty years for her murder. He’d been released on parole a few years ago, but hadn’t even gone nine months before it was revoked. So he was back in jail.

  Tate rather wished the fucker would rot there.

  He looked down, staring at the battered leather of his boots. “Guy, our parents were different people. Your dad was always…”

  “A monster?” He turned his head and met Tate’s gaze. “Yeah. He is. He was always a monster. He beat me. He beat my mom. He beat that mean-ass pit bull of ours and threatened to kill anybody who stepped foot on our property or looked at him sideways. He’s a monster. I know monsters. Your father isn’t a monster, Tate. I’ve spent too many nights talking to him. I cannot believe that man is the kind of man who’d kill the woman he loved. I don’t believe it.” He closed the distance between them and leaned against the railing, staring out over the town while Tate continued to stare at the river. “But even if I didn’t know your father, I know you. You would cut off your arm before you harmed a woman, man. It’s just not in you. Stop thinking that you’re some fucked-up kind of fruit from the poison tree. You’ve got a woman who’d make you happy. She’s got two kids who love you and you adore them. But instead of reaching for a life where you could finally be happy, you run from it. Out of fear? Shit, Tate. Fuck that. Think about it. Would your mom r
eally want this kind of life for you?”

  Then Guy shoved off the railing and walked away.

  Tate stood there, staring at nothing.

  * * *

  “Instead of reaching for a life where you could finally be happy, you run from it.”

  Those words haunted him. Whether or not Guy had intended that, Tate didn’t know.

  But as he bent over the twisting metal, watching the image in his head take form, he couldn’t block them out. There was no escaping the truth of what Guy had said.

  The truth of what Ali had said.

  He was in love with her.

  Had been for … hell.

  Forever, maybe.

  Sometimes, it seemed like he’d just been waiting for the right moment to take his spot in her life. It hadn’t been a sudden thing. He could remember seeing her with that fuckwit, Scott, back in school and thinking how much better she could do. He remembered seeing her push little Joey around in his stroller, and the kick he felt in his heart, seeing the two of them.

  Forever. Yeah, that seemed about right.

  Once again, memories rocked him, but this time, they weren’t the brutal ugly memories of his past.

  He thought about nights spent in her backyard, her behind the old, brick grill he’d helped her repair, while she wielded a spatula and threatened to beat him if he came near her while she was cooking. The boys laughing as he pretended to cower away.

  He thought of Nolan, the way he’d laugh when Tate threw him up the air and vague memories of his own father doing the same tried to creep in.

  Then there were bittersweet, beautiful memories of nights spent in her bed. Her arms, soft and strong, wrapped around him as he moved over her, her voice a hungry little whisper in her ear.

  He’d felt so … right.

  With her.

  It was the closest to real he’d ever felt.

  He was letting it slip away.

  He did run.

  “Fuck.” He glared at the sculpture in front of him, the blowtorch feeling too heavy, awkward in his hands.

  Swearing, he stepped back and lowered the tool.

  If he kept this up, he was going to ruin the damn thing or put himself in the hospital.

  He stowed his gear and moved away, staring out the grimy windows, but seeing nothing.

  Except Ali. He saw her everywhere, felt her even when she wasn’t there.

  The need to be with her, to tell her everything he had inside him was choking him.

  He wanted to be the man she deserved.

  The thought of seeing her in town one day, with some other guy was enough to gut him.

  It would happen. Madison was about the size of a postage stamp.

  He couldn’t stand the thought of her being with somebody else, but could he be what she wanted?

  “Instead of reaching for a life where you could finally be happy, you run from it.”

  Reach for a life.

  Dropping his head, he rubbed the muscles along the nape of his neck while the storm built inside him. How in the hell did he reach for a life anyway? He’d never had one. It had all stopped one hot summer night fifteen years ago.

  Reach for her, he thought.

  That was how he started.

  If he was going to do that, though, he had face things, figure out the mess that was his life, his past.

  All of it.

  * * *

  There used to be a car shop there.

  Tate stood at the corner, eyeing the empty building. The sign wasn’t readable anymore.

  For the longest time, even after his dad had stopped trying to make it work, he could make out the words Bell’s Auto Care. A few others had tried to make a go with the place, set up a business but nothing had lasted.

  When Doug Bell had owned it, it had done okay. More than okay, actually, although Doug had worked long hours. For a few months, right up until Mom had disappeared, Tate had been working there, too, and that had helped some.

  Tate tried not to think about that time of his life. Tried not to think about how his mom would tease his father, making the somber man laugh, even when he didn’t know what to make of her sometimes.

  Nichole had been silly. Strict and silly. Absolutely wonderful.

  So many of those arguments had happened because their dad thought she was too strict.

  Half the fights, though, Tate didn’t even understand what they were about. The last one …

  Something crunched behind him.

  Slowly, he turned, although he already knew who he was going to find behind him.

  His father stood there, wearing the overalls he had to wear at the mechanic shop where he’d worked the past ten years. The words Assistant Manager were embroidered under his name. He’d been an assistant for ten years. At sixty years old, he probably wasn’t going to go any higher.

  “The old shop looks like hell,” Doug said softly, looking past him to glance at the place he’d once taken so much pride in.

  There were so many things Tate could have said.

  So many things he’d already said. Questions he could have asked, maybe questions he should have asked.

  He found himself thinking of what Guy had said … and Ali. Maybe it was just desperate hope that forced him to look at his father. Really look.

  Tired eyes. So much more tired than Tate had ever seen them.

  Tired but kind.

  He’d been angry that night and Tate wanted him to suffer for what he’d said. But people did things, said things in anger. How many ugly words had he forced back inside? How many times had he leashed his anger, afraid of letting it out?

  “Did you kill my mother?” The words ripped out of him, full of desperation, and a son’s need to believe.

  Doug slanted a look at him. Then he sighed, his stooped shoulders rising and falling. “Tate—”

  He closed the distance between them, hands clenched into fists as he glared down at his father. This man, whom he had loved so much, that he’d looked up to, admired.

  “Trailer trash.”

  “Go on. Get out!”

  “You called her trash,” he said, his voice shaking as years’ worth of rage and grief came spilling out. “You made her cry and you called her trash and you told her to get out. Did you kill her?”

  “No.” Then Doug met his eyes. “But I might as well have. If I hadn’t been so cruel to her, she wouldn’t have left that night. Whatever happened…”

  Tate barely heard the rest of it.

  The word no echoed through him and he spun away, sucking in oxygen. He couldn’t get enough. Couldn’t breathe deeply enough and his heart knocked hard against his ribs.

  “Tate, I’m sorry.”

  Blood roared in his ears and it was forever before he realized his father had moved to stand next to him.

  “It was a fight,” Doug said, his voice level. “I said awful, ugly things that I never should have said and I said things that I know hurt her. I’ll never be able to apologize to her and I’ve accepted that. But I also hurt you all. Saying what I said was wrong. I was wrong and whatever happened to her that night wouldn’t have happened if I’d just shut my fool mouth. Because I couldn’t, because I let anger get the best of me, she left … and you kids had to grow up without your mom. You all lost her because of me.”

  “No. We lost her because somebody took her from us.” Tate closed his eyes, struggled to keep his voice level. “That lies with that bastard, not you. It’s my fault I’ve been blaming you all this time.”

  Then he took off.

  He didn’t look back.

  There was too much crashing inside his head just then, too much noise, too much confusion.

  Underneath all of it, though, he realized something painful.

  He believed him.

  For the first time ever, Tate really believed that his father hadn’t killed their mother.

  But all that did was leave him with more questions.

  If Doug Bell hadn’t killed Nichole … who had?
r />   * * *

  The storm came blowing in not long after her parents whisked the boys off.

  Her dad hugged her tight, folding her in his arms and asking, “Do I need to beat somebody up?”

  She tried not to sniffle against his chest. They’d had their rough spots, but there were times like this when he proved to be … well. Just wonderful. “Won’t help, but thanks for caring.”

  That had been nearly thirty minutes ago and not long after they’d left, the storm had started. The hard, heavy downpour hadn’t let up since.

  Sitting on the porch swing, staring out into the night, she watched as the lightning lit up the sky over the river and she tried not to cry. It was easy to push it all aside when the kids were here. When they were here, she had to be a mom, first and foremost. Sometimes it sucked because as a single mom, she rarely had a free moment just to herself. But in moments like this, it was a blessing in disguise because she didn’t want moments to herself, moments to brood, moments to hurt.

  Moments to think about everything that was never going to happen.

  Sniffling, she focused on the raindrops, told herself they weren’t blurring before her eyes.

  I’m not going to cry because it’s over.

  I’m not going to cry because it’s over.

  I’m not going to cry—

  She hiccupped as a sob broke free.

  Bringing her knees to her chest, she buried her face against them.

  Lost in the hurt, she didn’t hear his footsteps. It wasn’t until he closed his hands around her ankles that she even realized she wasn’t alone.

  Jerking her head up, she stared into Tate’s gaze. His eyes, so dark they were nearly black, bore into hers.

  “Tate…”

  He tugged her legs down and she curled her hands around the edge of the porch swing, her heart slamming against her ribs. He went to lean in and she lifted a hand, pressed it to his chest.

  “Don’t.” Her voice cracked. “I’m not … we can’t do this anymore. I can’t do this anymore.”

  He didn’t seem to realize she’d even spoken as he reached up and closed one hand around her wrist, his thumb stroking against her inner wrist as she continued to press against his chest. “Ali…”

  His heart slammed against her palm and his shirt, soaked by the rain, was no barrier between them. She felt the scalding heat of his skin. Drops of rain clung to his hair and as she stared into his eyes, one of the drops fell, caught on his cheekbone, and rolled down. It hit her wrist and she was surprised it didn’t sizzle, as hot as she suddenly felt.