She is wrong. So incredibly fucking wrong.
“That’s bullshit, Tara, and you know it. My mother would have taken you in when you first told me about him hitting you; she would have helped you. You claim Lucian has power. Well, so did my mother. It’s called money, and let me tell you, sweetheart, money means power, and she would have spent every last dime she had to keep you safe.” I’m seething. However, when I look deep into her watery eyes, I see she doesn’t believe what I’m saying is true. How could she when she’s been shackled to a man who beat her? Abused her and choked her beautiful self-esteem right out of her veins.
“If I had left, I wouldn’t have had her.” Those words puncture something inside of me. The mere fact she had someone else’s child guts me to the inner depth of my bones. It’s something I will never be able to give her. Doesn’t mean shit when what she’s saying is true. She’s that little girl's mother, and no matter who fathered her, it’s obvious Tara loves her and wants her.
“Christ. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be angry with you. Truthfully, I’m not. This sudden surge of emotions is more directed at me. It’s another reminder of me letting my own greed take over. Me listening to a woman who was obsessed with a plan that I allowed her to talk me into having that vasectomy so I wouldn’t get Clove pregnant.”
“I couldn’t have you beating yourself up more than you already were. He took her, do you hear what I’m saying? I don’t have a clue where she is. He doesn’t deserve to be a parent. I do. He could never be a good father to her, not like you could. I’ve said I’m sorry. I won’t feel guilty about my decision to not tell you.” Fuck me. She shouldn’t feel guilty about anything. Jesus Christ, that man has done nothing but steal from her since she met him.
I hoist her off the bed, sit down, and lay her in my lap and hold her. Her body starts shaking. Her lips start to quiver, and she breaks down sobbing in my arms. “It’s okay. We’ll get through this. Together. Remember?” I say, inhaling deeply, not even coming close to comprehending how Luciano could do this at all.
Before I got to know Tara, I thought the world would be a better place without having a child of my own. Genes are inherited. Sickness and diseases are passed down from one generation to the next. This was the reason I agreed to make sure that would never happen with me. It was hard enough living with what I had done; it would have been harder with always wondering if someday, my son or daughter would turn into a man like me. I had turned into my father, after all, and he was the root of all things evil.
The way I see things now is, the evil my father claimed I had inside me, the evil things he bore into my brain to do are what’s going to guide me help her get her daughter back.
“I’d love nothing more than to raise her with you and to be her father. Do you trust me?” I ask, staring into those watery eyes, feeling more like a dick for attacking her with every tear I swipe away.
I see clearly the dark void of a mother lost without her child. A never-ending dark hole that consumes everything inside of you until you’re left feeling nothing at all.
It’s no wonder she stayed with him for as long as she did. Trapped in an illusion of getting her daughter back.
“Yes.”
“Then you need to let me help you. We will find her, but it has to be done my way. Whatever we do has to be planned perfectly; one flaw, and we may never find out what happened to her. I have as much power on my side as he does; it comes in the form of manpower, of men who will help me bring him down if only to get him to confess where she is. You need to put all of your trust in our love. I’m going to get her back for you if it’s the last thing I do.”
A selfish man has done this to her, and if I don’t find a way to get her little girl back, she’ll drown. Guilt will eat her to death. It will show no mercy as it twines around her lungs, spreads across her heart, and squeezes until it suffocates. Guilt does not care. It strives off the pain. Leeches a hold of the weak and never lets go.
While I was living in my own hell, Tara has been living in one much worse. God, how I wish my mother were here. She would know the right things to say because she lived something similar herself once.
She told me once how her instincts of knowing I was alive kept her going. She knew I was out there somewhere crying out for her, too. The difference between my family’s situation and Tara’s didn’t have a thing to do with money. It was the power of love my father hung over her head. She could have drained every dollar she had in finding me, but she risked my father following through with his threat of killing me and coming after my brother if she were to try and find me. My mother loved me, and in the end, she won the bloody war she created. We were reunited, but before all the shit went down, when she was threatened by the forces of evil, she did what she thought was right in order to protect the only man she could save. My mother had to protect my brother from my father. And that right there is an unforgivable shame.
“Listen to me. I’m going to do whatever it takes to find your daughter. But first, we need to talk about how we can get to him without either one of us getting into trouble. I can’t leave the state, but I have friends who can. You also have to dig deep and remember everything I told you about the strong woman you are. You cannot crumble. I need you to be tough, Tara.”
I’d love nothing more than to hop on a plane and slice that motherfucker’s hands off. Stuff them up his ass and set him on fire. But I’ll be damned if I allow him or anyone else the satisfaction of fucking up my parole.
I used to envision many times the different ways I would love to kill Lucian. When you have nothing but time to waste while locked behind a cell twenty-three hours of the day, your mind tends to wander. You wish for things that may or may not come true. I spent half those hours thinking about Tara, and the other half wanting to drain all the blood from his veins.
“Where are all my letters?” I ask when she doesn’t acknowledge me. She’s lost in her head. More than likely remembering the little time she had with her, which was none. If I can get her to remember some of the things I said in every letter I wrote, then maybe she’ll acknowledge just how strong she really is.
I can’t even begin to imagine the pain this must have brought to her. God, it was hard hearing her tell me; it’s harder watching her suffer.
Seeing her this way gnaws at my soul, plunging me deep into the darkness of my past. I need to think of myself as the man I once was. One with the power to use my brain and hands as my most valuable weapons. Tara is the light that pulled me out of the dark, and I’ll do what needs to be done to make her life shine for once.
She peers up at me through her red-rimmed eyes, a slight smile lifting the corners of her mouth. Christ, she’s stunning even when she’s sad.
This wasn’t how I wanted our first day of meeting each other to go. Regardless, I’m glad she told me; this kind of talking has to be done. May as well rip the Goddamn cord off the blinds and welcome the light, since we’re about to be submerged into a black cavity that will soon be filled with death.
“In my suitcase,” she breathes out. Lips still trembling as she tries to gather strength.
“That’s good. I kept all of yours, too. If you need to read a few of them to remind you of the woman I know, the woman I see when I look at you, then maybe you should while I grab us something to eat. I’ll show you around, and then we can talk about a plan if you're up to it.”
“Alright. Thank you for understanding why I didn’t tell you,” she says in a tone filled with regret. Not sure if I’ll understand, but I know what it’s like to love someone enough that you’ll do what you have to in order to protect them.
She reaches up and runs her hands down my beard. I have no words to describe how good she feels pressed up against me or how the simple gesture of her fingers combing through the thick mass on my face feels. If I didn’t know her the way I do, I would clean it up, trim it down, and cut my hair. Tara doesn’t give a shit about any of that. She doesn’t give a fuck what I look like or what I do as
long as I stay true to loving her. Never hurting her and putting all of my strength into helping her heal.
I place her down on her feet. Her scar is in my line of sight. She’s so damn beautiful it hurts to look at her. I vow right there that even if I have to fuck with my parole, I’ll do whatever it takes to get her child back to her. I just need to figure out how.
“I’m going to take that shower, after all,” he says. I nod in agreement. It will do her some good to relieve the tension she has to be feeling. I want it all out of her, so she pays attention to the plan I have building up in my head.
Chapter 5
TRENT
“Not sure how we should go about it, and I sure as hell don’t want anyone going back to prison over this. We need to figure this out. Find that little girl. I’ve got a feeling Luciano knows where she is. He might not care about Tara or the kid, but he’s up to something. Could be he had someone taking care of the baby until Tara made a move like this, and now he has the leverage to use to get her back. Fuck all if I know what’s running through his warped head. Fucker is obsessed in a sick, twisted way.” I bow my head, listen to Adrian go over what he thinks we should do as I cradle the phone between my neck and ear, finish twisting the band around my hair, pull it tight, and take the last swig of my beer.
“Sounds like a plan,” I say, toss the bottle in the garbage, disconnect, and concentrate on the woman making her way down the hall. Wet hair all piled on top of her head, face free of makeup. Cute little red tank top on, dark jeans rolled up, and barefoot.
Gorgeous and yet full of battle scars that may never disappear.
“Hey. Do you feel better?” I ask with a smirk. My mouth lifts wider the closer she gets to me and the more of the house she takes in.
This house screams old southern charm. Its age goes back nearly a century. I bought this as soon as I knew I was getting out on parole. Funny how the prison system will toss you all kinds of books looking for real estate just to get a piece of scum out of one of their cells only to replace us with what they call another one. Fucking jackasses. It sat here vacant for well over a month while my parole officer down in Memphis worked his magic to allow me to transfer my parole here.
I’ve busted my ass on fixing it up. Turned it into a home for Tara and me, and just when I thought she wouldn’t show up, I stopped working on the one thing she wanted to have.
There’s isn’t any amount of washing the guilt a person feels away. I know this better than anyone. But the gleam in her eyes as she takes in the kitchen shows me she’s trying, and she loves what she sees.
“This is beautiful, Trent,” she replies, ignoring my question and running her hands along the top of the smooth black surface of the bar, steps right into the middle of the massive kitchen, and twirls.
“Figured you would love it. You said you never had a say on anything before, so I took all your ideas and ran with them. The wood is hickory. Welcome to my interpretation of your vision, Tara.” I keep rooted to my spot at the bar and watch her fiddle with the gadgets on the fridge, the stove, and the big wine cooler. Tara seems to be mesmerized with the simplest of stuff. I’m a guy who could give a rat’s ass about what a knob to a drawer looks like. You open it, then you close it. To her, though, she was very adamant about them being square and black with a copper edging.
“I think this might be my favorite.” She points to the wine cooler. I watch her in awe, thinking she reminds me of what a child would be like on Christmas morning, and since I can’t remember a damn thing about the few holidays I had with my family before my father took me and vanished, it’s a beautiful sight to see. My father didn’t give a fuck if I went to school, so celebrating any kind of holiday didn’t mean shit to him either.
Know it didn’t mean a thing to her mom as well. Tara was nothing but a convenience for her. A way to collect money from the state, only to dump that money into her veins instead of taking care of her daughter.
A vision runs through my head. One where Tara’s little girl comes to a screeching halt, eyes big and wide, sparkling from the lights on the Christmas tree when she takes in the presents. Stockings hung by the fireplace.
“Wine?” she asks, laughing as she opens up one of the doors and pulls out a bottle. I watch her take it all in. Couldn’t tell you what kind she grabbed; I wouldn’t drink that shit if it were the last thing to drink on this earth. I hate it. Tara loves it, though. So the fridge is stocked with all three of her favorites.
“That’s the funniest thing you’ve said since you’ve been here, beautiful,” I joke. I hate to collapse her good mood, but we do need to talk, and it's not going to happen unless one of us starts. I’m not tossing sugar over what needs to be said either.
I need to do right by her. If I fuck this up and something happens to me, she’ll have no choice but to go back to him if she ever wants to see her daughter again. I know with everything in me that’s the only ace he has up his sleeve to get her back, and he will ruin her more than he already has.
Guess Adrian was right when I talked to him a few minutes ago about love making you do the opposite of what you want to do. I can’t fuck up my parole, and she wouldn’t want me to. The thing is, there are certain situations where we have to take a chance and pray like a motherfucker it all goes according to plan. Tara deserves to soar. Be herself and do what she pleases. And I’m the man who deserves to watch her. Except, Luciano is a smart man. He knows her weakness, knows he can manipulate her, and that’s a huge fucking problem for all of us.
“You know, the old Trent would think nothing of crossing over the line between right and wrong. He would kill Lucian without a wayward glance. I’m not going to do that to you or me. You taught me how to love. His power ends here. He doesn’t have any left. This is my home, my town, and he’s fucked in his head even more if he thinks he has the ability to make you come back.” She finally looks at me. There are no more stress lines across her face. How could there be when they’ve been replaced with a mask? She’s hiding her emotions underneath it. I see them set in the depths of her eyes. So many of them I wouldn’t know which one to wash away first. I’m sure the fuck going to try, though. I won’t give up.
“You’re a good man, Trent. You should listen to yourself the next time you think you don’t deserve all this.” She gestures around the room with her hand.
“If I didn’t know better, I would guess you're keeping something else from me,” I bite out a little more than necessary.
“Why would you guess that? I’ve told you everything; it’s just… you keep saying he doesn’t have power, and yet I know he does. He has power over me. He scares me.” And there it is; in vague words, she’s admitting how the man’s mind works. Fuck, how I wish she had told me. I get it, though; doesn’t mean it sits well with me.
The guy has status power, and he’s done a damn good job at making sure his wife has nothing except her troubled mind to get her through life.
“He doesn’t have to anymore. He can’t hurt you here, Tara. What do I have to do to get you to understand that?” I take a deep breath. Hold it in while reaching up to pinch the bridge of my nose. I don’t want to push her, but something isn’t right here. She’s keeping something else from me. I know she is.
“Listen, in the short time you’ve been here, I told myself that every time I thought of my past, I was going to stop and look at my future. It takes the love of a good woman to make a man feel he’s deserving of anything. You gave that to me, Tara. You need to let me give you back your strength. There are glasses in the top cabinet to your right. I’ll grab a beer. Are you hungry?” I stand, head to the fridge, and pull out another beer. I need air. This running around in circles with her is driving me crazy.
“I had something on my layover. Can we eat in a bit? I’d like to go outside. We can talk out there.” She grabs her glass, while I twist off the cap to my beer, cork her wine, and fill her glass.
“Yeah. You’ll love it out there. We will be talking, and you will listen, T
ara. The quicker we decide how to handle this, the faster we can move on with our lives.” I take her hand before she has a chance to toss in another stab at me instead of focusing on her.
Once we pass through the sliding glass doors, I drop her hand, turn around to witness the look on her face, and crack a smile when her mouth drops open and her eyes remain glued to one certain spot. I know what she’s looking at; her smile says it all.
“You didn’t,” she squeals.
“I did. It isn’t done yet.” I take her glass from her shaky hand, sit it on top of the deck railing, and watch her run barefoot over the cobblestone sidewalk, the dirt, and stand right in the middle of where her garden will be.
“Now this. It’s going to be fun taking care of this. And the view out here is amazing.” I lean on the ledge for several minutes, wanting her to have her fun before I have her trailing down dark memory lane.
“We need to finish our talk,” I finally say, harsh and to the point. I may be a sentimental man when it comes to her, and I promised I would never hurt her, but fuck all if I know any other plan that’s going to work better than the one Adrian and I came up with. Tara and I should have known better. We should have hatched this shit out through our letters or found a way to be able to talk to one another on the phone the second I got out.
With every step she takes toward me, her smile fades until not a trace of it is left. I hand her the wine; she drains half the glass. Her hands start shaking, and her eyes go resolutely gray.
“I talked to Adrian while you were in the shower. We should have planned this a little better. I’ll take the blame for that. But, baby, you're going to have to call that son of a bitch and threaten to expose him about everything. You said you sent me pictures of one of the times he hurt you. Do you still have them with you?” I never received them. Chalked it up to whoever goes through the mail before they give them to us for taking them.
Parole (The Vault) Page 4