Preston’s expression goes blank, his hard breaths rocking his chest up and down. “Enough!” he screams, pulling his keys from his pocket. “To hell with all of this and all of you! I’m outta here.”
He throws open the front door and rushes out, Charlotte on his heels, pleading with him not to go. When the Mustang revs and the tires squeal into the road, she closes the door and turns in slow motion, an expression straight from Lucifer himself burned on her face. “I hate you, Gage. I wish you’d never been born.”
“Yeah, what’s new?” I shoot back, pushing past Dad into his study. He steps in behind me and slams the door, muffling Charlotte’s shrieking behind a layer of soundproofing and dark mahogany paneling.
He promises full disclosure—no question off limits—as he pours two glasses of scotch and hands me one, saying a man-to-man discussion of this caliber calls for it. I hope it’ll dull the shredding sensation in my stomach, but so far nothing’s touching it. Still feels like someone let a rabid cat loose in there.
Ten minutes later, we sit there in a moment of silence as Dad digests everything I heard from Rayne’s mom. He hunches over his desk, his fingers steepled to his forehead before he balls them into fists, which he bangs down on the wooden top. The vibration creates little ripples across the surface of our drinks. “Mrs. Davidson? I just can’t wrap my mind around it. All these years. She knew and never said a word.”
“She was protecting Rayne.”
“And now you’re both paying for the sins of your parents.” He mumbles, circling his glass on the desktop. “In some weird way, I empathize with her. We both have Leighton’s blood on our hands.”
“What do you mean?”
“I put her in the position of being the other woman. She deserved better than that, but I couldn’t let her go. I loved her so much I thought binding her up, keeping her in a cage to wait for me, was best. God, that wasn’t fair to her. That wasn’t an act of love—it was an act of selfishness! I couldn’t bring myself to give her up, so I was willing to take away her freedom. Only…”
“Only what?”
“She was giving me mine. She knew I’d never be able to make a decision between my two sons—hell, my two lives—so she was taking herself out of the picture.” He rolls backwards in his chair to the wall safe, dials in the combination and retrieves a yellowed envelope. It trembles between his fingers. He rifles inside and pulls out a bus ticket that he drops on the desk. One way, from Greenville to Charleston. July 26. She was leaving him when she died.
I pick it up, the paper heavy as lead. My mother’s fingertips had once been where mine are now. Surreal.
He takes another sip of his scotch, watching me over the rim of the glass, grimacing as if the alcohol is reacting with all the reopened wounds. “She wouldn’t have been on that corner, waiting on a bus, had I not driven her away.”
Something’s not clicking in my head. If he loved my mom, why lie to Charlotte? Why stay? People get divorced all the time and still have relationships with their children. The black-and-white, this-or-that decision is just bullshit. “Why would you have to decide between me and Preston? We’re both your sons.”
Dad chuckles. Not the happy sort but the son-you’re-so-outta-the-loop kind. “You’re not ‘wired’ like the rest of us, Gage. You take that from your mother. Thank God.” He takes another swig of his scotch and tells the story of how the company was founded by my great-great grandfather and grown into the empire it is today on the backs of all those who came after. Generations of Howard men, slaves to a life of duty and expectations. A life that makes no sense to me, and now I know why.
Charlotte and dad had been groomed for each other, handpicked and strongly suggested for “holy matrimony” by their parents, who were lifelong business acquaintances. In their world, that was the only type of friends they had. None of the real kind that know your innermost secrets and dreams. Only those who had a solid lead on your five-year plan, retirement goals, and net worth. She was sharp-minded with a knack for social politics and considered beautiful in the superficial sense, even though that quality was lacking in her personality. He was bound by duty and the traditions of Southern pride to carry on the family name, in business and breeding, with someone of “equal upbringing and social standing.”
Though he’d loved Charlotte for a brief moment in time, he’d never been in love with her, and divorce was unacceptable, not only as a breach of etiquette and expectations but also because he’d lose half of his assets and the family-built company to her.
His explanation churned in my gut. It was all a very formal way of saying he was protecting his own ass. “So, it was cheaper to keep her?”
Dad grimaces and bites his lower lip. “Not only that. I was just getting to know Leighton when Charlotte announced she was pregnant. I was torn. Suddenly there was a child whose future depended on the choices I made. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t give up Leighton. I loved her. Like I’ve never loved a woman before. Like I never will again.” He pauses and stares at an empty spot on the wall before finally continuing. “Preston was only a couple months old when Leighton got pregnant. We kept it a secret, but when she died, I confessed everything to Charlotte. I couldn’t pretend you weren’t my son.”
“You told her about mom and me?”
He nodded. “She was livid, barking about divorce and law suits, but eventually, when she calmed down a bit, we reached a compromise.”
A compromise. In typical Howard style, I’d been used as a bargaining chip in a business deal, and my living in this house didn’t come without its fair share of conditions Dad was expected to follow to the letter. “If I adhered to her demands, you and Preston could grow up together as brothers. If I didn’t, she promised to have you sent away to boarding school and would systematically turn Preston against the both of us.”
“So she never wanted me here?”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re my son, and so is Preston. If you couldn’t grow up with your mother, then you could at least have your brother.” The realization sucker punches me in the gut. If mom hadn’t died, I likely would’ve never had a relationship with Preston. We’d either never have known about each other or Charlotte would’ve nixed that for sure.
And while Dad’s sacrifice kept me and Preston together, I’m not sure I can forgive the way he’s always held me at arm’s-length. “Charlotte’s demands—is that why you’ve always kept your distance?”
“If I paid you too much attention, she would’ve made good on her threats to send you away. And I needed you here. Not just because you’re my son, but because… I’m a selfish bastard.” He picks up the yellowed envelope again, flicking apart the open end with two fingers while searching the contents, then reaches in and pulls out several faded photographs. “You remind me of her. That sarcastic sense of humor, the way you twist your ring on your finger when you’re agitated, and those blue eyes. Those are all her. Little pieces of her wrapped up in you.”
He lays the pictures face-up on the desk, sliding them one by one across the top to me.
Mom in a flowing blue dress, her dark hair piled up in a loose twist, sitting at a river bank picnic.
Dad and mom, squeezed cheek to cheek, one of dad’s arms extending out to take the picture, the other wrapped around her shoulder.
Mom in a tight-fitting green shirt, standing sideways with one hand on top and one underneath a large, pregnant belly.
Not the stiff corporate headshot in the obituary, but relaxed snippets of her everyday life. Messy, free, and completely in love. It was written in her smile.
The knot in my throat grows to a boulder. “Do you ever think about her?”
“Every day. And every time I look at you.”
I pick up the photo of her and dad together. Happy. “I do have her eyes. And her nose.”
“I know. You have her strength of spirit, too.”
Good. It’s that strength I’m counting on to get me through this
.
“Dad… I can’t stay here. I have to…”
He nods, fumbling in his sliding desk drawer, and produces a ring with two silver keys. The keys to the firm’s corporate apartment downtown. “Take a few days to process this. Anything you need—anything—let me know, and I’ll bring it to you.”
I take the keys and shove them deep in my pocket as I stand up and head toward the door. My hand is on the knob when he calls my name, and I turn to look at him, eyes red-rimmed and watery, his posture slumped, almost broken, as he walks toward me. “I love you, son, and I’ll never let anything come between us again. When you’re ready, I’ll be here.”
I nod, open the door, and walk out of the Howard house.
Chapter 35
Rayne
T
his is messed up.
Two days and Gage hasn’t responded to any texts or calls. He hasn’t come by either. Mama’s in and out of consciousness. Daddy refuses to leave her side. The people I love the most have ripped my world apart and then disappeared when it’s time to pick up the pieces. The loneliness stings. The betrayal’s worse.
Maybe I’m being selfish calling it betrayal because they’re all going through some heavy shit. I get it. But so am I.
I sit on the swing, letting my toes drag along the porch floor, pushing back the crazy emotional tornado. Mama used to have this self-help book that said getting personal with your emotions brings healing. Right now, I’d rather be numb.
I hear him before I see him, the rumble of the Scout’s engine coming up the street, nearing our driveway. By the time I reach the steps, he’s there. He slams both hands on the wheel before getting out.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Mama’s erratic tendencies have invaded my brain, the way everything’s bouncing around. Thank you, God. He came back. I love him. I’m gonna kill him for leaving me.
“Gage!” I rush down the front steps and throw my arms around him. “Where’ve you been? I’m so sorry… I just… love you.” But as soon as I get it out, a new emotion surfaces, fiery hot. “How could you leave me? I need you. You need me. But you walked out! Why the hell didn’t you…” I scream as Gage calmly clasps my hands and pushes them down to my side.
“We’ll talk. Later. I need to see your mom first.” His eyes are dark, voice flat, almost robotic as he steps around me toward the house. I keep my back turned until the screen door slams, then sink to the dirt, leaning against the front bumper of the Scout and looking at the den windows wondering what’s going on. A minute later, Daddy slips out and walks to his garage.
None of this is logical or even believable. I don’t know how to process it. I don’t know if Gage has confronted his parents. I don’t know if there’ll be legal ramifications for a woman with only days to live. Is death enough? I don’t know. Maybe this’ll become my cross to bear, and I can pick up where Mama leaves off, mentally whipping myself and living in exile. I can’t do that, though, because I love him, even when he’s shutting me out. He has to remember why he loves me, why we’re so much bigger than this.
“Rayne.” Suddenly he’s standing in front of the Scout, shifting from foot to foot and twisting his high school ring on his finger.
I refuse to make eye contact, focusing instead on swirling patterns in the dirt with my finger. “Where’ve you been?”
“Around.” He sighs loudly. “My dad…”
“Is he going to the police?” I interrupt, my stomach tying in knots.
“No. Last thing Charlotte wants is a scandal.” He snorts and kicks at the dirt. “Or an extra son.”
I swipe my hand across the dirt designs, sending dust flying. “Didn’t you get my texts and calls?”
“I got ‘em.” His words, like a brick wall, shut me down. “I need to do this in person.”
“Do what?” It’s the first time I bring myself to look at him. His eyes are glassy, jaw locked tight, as he folds his arms in front of him.
“Tell you I’m leaving. Tell you…” he swallows hard and looks out across the yard, “it’s over.”
Why is he doing this? I’m breaking, physically, mentally, the splinters flying in every direction at once, and I jump to my feet, but my knotted insides double me over. “No!” I sob, no longer holding back. “I love you.”
He stands hard as a statue. “You don’t even know who I am. Neither do I, and I have to figure it out… alone.”
I lunge toward him, grab his arms and press my face to his chest. “Please… don’t leave me. I need you. I want to be there for you.”
He pushes me away, his hands cold and insensitive, and opens the car door. “Be there for your mama. She needs you.”
“You don’t?” I scream, slamming my hands on the hood of the Scout. Tremors course through me as if I’m on the verge of implosion.
“I have to do this, Rayne. For me. For you.” He slides into the driver seat and slams the door, the clanging metal like a gunshot to my spine.
The engine roars to life, and I can’t breathe right. I run to his door and grab the rolled-down window. “You can’t throw us away! I won’t let you!”
“Do what you have to.” He pushes my fingers off and accelerates forward, circling behind me. When he gets to the road, he tosses something out his window into the ditch. I run toward it as he disappears down the street.
His cellphone.
I spend Mama’s last hours by her side, curled up in the bed next to her, my head on her chest and arms around her waist. The way I did as a little girl. She mostly sleeps, and I stare at her, memorizing the slant of her nose and the shape of her lips before it’s only a memory. I’m not bitter we’re just now getting close. I’m grateful that when I look back, when I one day tell my kids about her, there’ll be no regret. It might be the one good thing to come from this whole mess.
Her fingers brush across my hair, and I look over at her, eyes open but heavy. Tired. “He forgave me,” she whispers.
I rise up on my elbow. “What?”
She pushes out a ragged breath. “He forgave me.” Why didn’t he tell me? And if it’s true, why did he leave? “He’s confused. Give him time. Be patient. He needs you.”
“I don’t know…” I look down at the tubes running in and out of her, like flexible plastic snakes against the soft pink cotton of her gown.
She pats my arm and manages a weak smile. “Why would I lie to you now? Trust me. I see the truth.”
I collapse back to her side and wrap my arms around her shoulders. “I love you, Mama. I don’t want you to go.”
“I have to, baby, but I’ll never be far. I’ll show up in the details of your day and then you’ll know without a doubt, it’s me.” She kisses my forehead, closes her eyes, and relaxes into the pillow.
A few hours later, Mama takes her last breath—a soft pulse of air—and passes from this life. Daddy and I sit on either side of her, holding her hands. All that remains is the tiniest upturn in her lips. Gage gave her the one thing the rest of us couldn’t. Forgiveness.
I kiss my fingers and press them to her lips then walk to the front screen door, looking out across the empty yard. The afternoon sun cuts through the trees, freckling the grass with patches of light and dark. Something about it looks different. Feels different. Final.
The ladder-back chair in the foyer sits empty, and my breath catches when I think about all the nights she sat there, waiting for me to get home. Loving me, protecting me in her own weird way. Never thought I’d miss it, but I will.
Daddy walks behind me, squeezing my shoulder with one hand while handing me a slip of paper with the other. The outside is simply marked “Rayne” in Mama’s flowing script. “She left this for you.” He kisses my head and walks upstairs.
I sit in the chair and unfold the note, Mama’s last words to me.
He asked to take one of my photos of you—the one from homecoming. If he didn’t love you, he’d have never asked for that. He’s gone now, but he’s not alo
ne. This is my favorite saying. Commit its truth to heart: “If you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it’s yours. If it doesn’t, it never was.” I’ll be there when he returns to you, my girl. I love you, Mama.
Silent tears drip onto the paper. Gage’s arms should be around me now. He should be drying my tears and holding my hand, but he’s not. He’s gone, I’m alone, but I can’t even hate him for it. I just love him more.
Chapter 36
Gage
T
he radio station’s fading. For every five seconds of song, ten seconds of static follows. In and out. Over and over. Like coach used to say, it’s “enough to make a preacher cuss.” While holding the wheel steady with my left hand, I fumble in the glovebox with my right, until my fingers graze the hard edge of my iPod hiding in a sea of old papers and fast food napkins. I push in the cord and toss it in the cup holder, completely forgetting the last time I played it Rayne was sitting in the passenger seat, bare feet on my dashboard, curly ponytail flapping in the breeze, and singing along to her playlist going in the background.
So unlike the girl I left behind today, the one whose tears I pretended didn’t matter. She was holding on to me, begging me to stay, to love her, and I peeled out in a cloud of dust, watching her disappear in my rearview mirror. Oh God, will she ever know how much that ripped my insides apart? How much I wanted to scoop her up, throw her in the Scout, and drive far away where nobody would find us?
But I couldn’t. I can’t tie her up until I’m strong enough to be her man. That’s a Jackson Howard move, and it won’t end well. I’m taking a gamble she’ll wait on me. That she’ll forgive me for walking away. That she’ll still be loving me when I figure out whatever it is I have to figure out to come to terms with this.
Meant to Be Broken Page 25
