by Lee Kilraine
“Well, holy crap,” Hope said, staring all big-eyed and still at Eli. “It’s like looking into a mirror.”
“We look like identical twins.” Eli was staring right back at her, his gaze flicking all over her face and hair. “Except you don’t have a beard.”
Eli had always looked adopted. The rest of us had dirty blond hair and some shade of blue eyes. Eli’s hair was white blond and his eyes light green. Exactly like Hope. Same shaped head and same nose that slanted a bit to the left.
“So…wow. I have brothers. Six of you. And here I thought I was all alone after—”
“Oh, whoa, wait.” I interrupted Hope as quick as I could. I wanted to save Eli the same shock we’d just had. “Eli, take a seat.”
Gray rolled the empty receptionist’s chair over, and Eli sat and waited while he kept staring at Hope with a smile on his face.
“Eli, Hope just let us know that her parents passed away last year in a car accident.”
The smile fell off his face, and he glanced around at all of us. He closed his eyes for a few moments, then took a breath, opened his eyes and stood. “I’m sorry, Hope. I’m sorry for your loss. I really wanted to see our mother again. Maybe meet you father…find out if he was mine. I have a lot of questions about them.”
“Hang on, Eli,” Ash said. “Hope was just about to tell us about her meeting with Ryker.”
“What? You know Ryker?”
Hope shook her head. “No. I met him once. It was a couple of months before the accident. He came by the house. My father had just left for work. Mom answered the door, only she didn’t say anything. They stood there staring at each other for a long while until it got weird. I asked him who he was, and he said I should ask my mother. So I did…”
“What did she say?” I asked, my body tense, and my hands clenched into fists at my side.
“She said ‘I can’t.’ Then she turned and walked away, telling me to close the front door. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes as he watched her walk away. First there was pain, but then his eyes went cold, colder than I’ve ever seen. That’s when he looked at me. He looked at me for the longest time, then handed me over a business card with a phone number. Nothing else, just the number. His eyes looked like the sky on a cold winter day. He said if I ever needed anything I should call him. And then he said, ‘Have a good life, Hope.’ And he walked away, and I never saw him again.”
“Did you call?” Sinclair said. “Not even after your parents died?”
“If some strange man handed you a card out of the blue and he looked like Rambo in First Blood, super intense, bordering on crazy—would you call?”
“Yes,” Eli said. But that was Eli for you.
“Hey, for all I knew he was just another weirdo, macho dude like Sinclair. Of course I didn’t call him.” She raked Sinclair with her eyes. “How was I supposed to guess he was my brother?”
“You weren’t. You did the safe thing.” Hope was right; no person in their right mind would call some bad ass dude who showed up out of nowhere. “Did he really look like me?”
A part of me wanted that just so I had something connecting us.
“Uncanny. Hair, eye color, size. You two could be twins. Except for the scars.”
“What scars?” Beck’s voice shot out of his mouth like a sharply thrown knife.
“The whole left side of his face and neck…” We all saw the shadows in her eyes.
“Fuck.” Beck paced away and then back again, stopping with his hands on his hips and his head up to the ceiling. “God fucking damn.”
And then Beck left.
“I’m sorry. I thought you knew,” Hope said.
No, we hadn’t known. And now my brain would go through all the possible ways Ryker could have been hurt. In the war? In a car accident? At the hands of an abusive foster parent? Fuck. They were all bad. I hated every one of the possible scenarios. Every fucking one. The possibility that it happened in the foster system while I was living safe and sound with the Johnsons shoved the sharp pain of guilt deeper into my chest.
I slipped out in search of Beck.
I found him exactly where I knew I would. Where most of my brothers go when they had anger and frustration to work off. Or some problem to think about and solve. The batting cage. I was actually the only brother who didn’t use the batting cage as therapy. Personally, I went to the woodshop when I needed to think. Since anger and sharp tools were a bad combination, I got a little cage time too.
“Beck? You okay?” The fact that he was hitting the stuffing out of every ball that shot at him from the pitching machine was a sure sign the answer was no. But I had to start somewhere.
“Nope.” Thwack. The ball shot from Beck’s bat like a cannon into the back netting. Would have been a line drive, probably a double. “I am definitely not okay.”
“This is not on you, Beck. It’s not, and I’m pretty pissed that you’re taking it on.” Dammit, I loved my older brother. As far as I was concerned the guy hung the moon, but I hated the way he took blame for shit that was the fault of the grown-ups in our lives when we were young.
“I found everyone except Ryker.” Thwack. “I fucking failed him.”
“First off, we don’t even know how he got those scars. Maybe he served in the military and got injured in the war.” I knew it didn’t matter how it happened, but I couldn’t take the pain on Beck’s face. “That’s not all. What else?”
“I hate her.” Beck took his stance, settling in for the next pitch. Thwack. “After all these years, I still hate her for leaving us to that monster.”
I think all my brothers did to some extent. Not me. It was hard to hate someone you had no memory of. No connection. No love. No hate. So while I was mad for what Beck and my brothers had to endure—that deep-seated anger and pain didn’t really touch me when I thought of our mother.
“Have you ever thought that she stayed—took Dad’s abuse and beatings as long as she could—for us…maybe even held out longer before she finally left?”
“She still left.” Thwack.
“I don’t think it’s a coincidence that she finally left when she was pregnant. When she had Hope to protect.”
“I just”—thwack—“sometimes wish she would have taken us with her.”
“It’s hard to run from an abusive fuck when you’re weighed down with six boys. If she’d been stronger, maybe she would have. But it took a strong woman to stick it out eight years too. Maybe not as strong as we’d have wanted, but, I don’t know, Beck, we’ve learned a lot about the cycle of abuse and how it repeats.” Beck had made sure we each had therapy once he had his first job and insurance. That had been the beginning steps to reclaiming a normal outlook on life. I’d also done more research before we began volunteering with our foster kids.
Beck paused, resting the bat on his shoulder. “So, you’re saying mom leaving to protect Hope was like a redneck trailer park version of Sophie’s Choice.”
“I guess that’s what I’m saying. And up until today, I used to believe that leaving hurt her as much as it hurt us. That’s what I told myself to make it something I could wrap my head around.”
“Right. Nice theory,” Beck growled. “But to hear that she turned Ryker away—that sort of blows your theory to hell.”
“I hear you. But none of that is Hope’s fault.”
“Fuck. You’re right. I just need a few more balls to have everything under control, then I’ll be back in.”
I came out to talk Beck into forgiving Mom, so he didn’t have to give up the loving mother from his childhood memories. The same memories all my brothers had. The ones Hope had of a loving mother. The kind of memories I didn’t have. Not sure I helped Beck feel better. I was pretty sure I felt worse.
Chapter 21
Wyatt
When I returned to the main building, I found everyone had
moved into my office and spread out around the conference table. By the looks of it, half the contents of our beer fridge were in the center of the table along with take-out containers of what smelled like ginger pork ribs and pad thai from our favorite place around the corner.
“Wyatt, come sit down. We’re having a wake for Mom.” Eli motioned me over with his hand.
I parked my ass on the edge of my desk, keeping my distance. I’d have nothing to add.
Beck entered shortly after me, looking stiff, but he took a seat at the table. Just like he always did, my big brother was going to put someone else’s needs in front of his own. If this is what Eli and Hope wanted, then he’d do it. Even if he hated every second of it.
“What’s wrong, Wyatt? You freaked out that you aren’t the baby of the family anymore?” Ash’s gaze narrowed on me.
“Yeah. It’s going to be hard to give that up, all right.” I smiled at Hope. “Fair warning, they’re typical big brothers and are very good at being a pain in the ass.”
“Well, I’ll be back in Arizona soon, so I think I’ll be safe,” she said, looking a little unsure if that would be a good thing or not.
“Go ahead and cling to that if it makes you feel better,” Ash said. “I travel to Arizona for hockey a fair amount. I’m going to expect you at my games.”
“Plus, there are phone calls, email, and texting. Being four thousand miles away isn’t going to keep us from communicating.” Gray waggled his eyebrows up and down.
“I’ll vouch for them, Hope. Since I’ve been dating Beck, these guys have been bearable—most days,” Sam said. Gray and Ash tossed sugar packets at her, making Hope laugh. “Seriously, they’re great. Ask Rhia. She’s been working in the office for a few months now. She hasn’t killed any of them yet.”
Rhia nodded. “This is true. It’s been close some days, but no dead Thorne brothers buried out back. Yet.”
“They like to pretend they’re grumpy Alpha-holes sometimes. They’re not.” Sam winked at Hope. “Rhia and I will write you up a cheat sheet on each of them.”
“Hey now,” Beck said, wrapping an arm around Sam and pulling her in for a kiss on her forehead.
Eli stood at the end of the table and cleared his throat. He raised a beer in his right hand. “We’re gathered here to remember Rose, mother to Beckett, Asher, Gray, Ryker, Wyatt, Hope and me, Elijah. She wasn’t perfect, but then, neither were her circumstances. I choose to believe she did the best she could every day. Until she couldn’t.”
Each of us stayed silent, lost in our own thoughts about what Rose Thorne did or didn’t do for her boys. And girl.
“In celebration of Rose, I’d like to start off with a memory,” Eli said, taking a seat at the table. “I remember when she used to let us help her in the garden and let us get muddy from head to toe; then she’d hose us off before dad got home and say we’d all had our baths.”
“I remember that,” Gray said before adding one of his memories.
Each of my brothers shared a memory, except Beck.
I was okay without knowing my mom when the rest of my brothers had a simmering anger over her abandonment. But watching them let that anger go—even just a little to remember—was surprisingly painful. Because with their anger, they held our mother at a distance. A distance that made me feel like I was the same as them. Their anger kept them separated from our mother just like I had been.
None of it—not one memory—rang any bells for me. No distant memory of our mom hiding in my subconscious ready to be coaxed out with these happy stories that everyone shared.
“Hope, how about you tell us about the Rose you knew. What was she like?” All of our stories involve a woman trying to raise her boys while trying to survive herself. That had to change a person. I wondered what she was like when she wasn’t worried about the abusive drunk she lived with.
“She was fun. She laughed a lot. Mom was great at card games, but pouted a little when she lost. I think she was angling for Dad to kiss her out of it. She liked to work in her garden. She grew—”
“Roses and tomatoes,” Beck said.
“Yes.” Hope nodded. “Roses and tomatoes.”
“Remember that time we had a tomato fight?” Eli snickered. “She couldn’t get us in trouble because she was laughing too hard. Fun time. What else did she do with you, Hope?”
“We went out for ice cream every Friday night, and we’d go to the beach for a week every summer. She loved the beach, even though it made her sad. She’d spend hours staring out at the ocean or walking by herself.”
“I think I can explain that,” Ash said. “When Dad was drunk, she’d hide with us in our bedroom. We’d pretend we were at the beach, and she promised to take us there, and we’d build sandcastles and tickle dolphins on their bellies.”
Beck shook his head. “We never made it there—not with her.”
Sam reached out, grabbing Beck’s hand.
“Beck, seriously, one happy memory. That’s all I’m asking.” Eli stroked his beard and waited.
“Fuck. Fine. She used to sing a special song for each of us. Mine was ‘You Are My Sunshine.’ Ash was ‘Peanut.’ Gray was—”
“‘Moonbeams.’ I loved when she sang it to me.” Gray’s lips tilted up.
“Eli, yours was ‘Rocket Man’ and Ryker’s was ‘The Bellybutton Song.’” Beck looked over at me, at a loss for a moment. “Wyatt, your song was ‘There’s a Fat Man in the Bathtub.’”
“You’re making that up.” Not only did I have no memory of it, it sounded like something they’d say to irk me. “That’s not even a song.”
Beck threw his head back and laughed. “I’m not making it up. Swear to God.”
“It’s a song,” Rhia said. “It’s by Little Feat.”
“My song was ‘Sweet Baby Mine,’” Hope said, sharing her smile around the room with us all. “She loved to bake. Cakes especially. She’d make a special cake for no reason. Like one time, she made this big chocolate cake and said we were celebrating the second of August, just because.”
“Fuck,” Beck said, running a hand down his face. “Asher’s birthday.”
“Fuck me,” Ash said, shoving away from the table to stand with his forehead against the window while he pulled himself together. “It’s beginning to feel like it was easier to be pissed at her. I’m not sure I can take hearing all this bittersweet crap.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about our mother celebrating our birthdays, yet not trying to contact us. It seemed like a cop-out. But I kept quiet, not wanting to ruin Eli’s wake.
“Did she drink, Hope?” Beck asked. Because he’d said at the end, before she’d finally left, she’d done a fair share of getting drunk herself. Maybe trying to make her reality go away.
“No, never. Just sweet tea and Diet Cherry Coke.”
“Your father never hit her…or you?”
“No. Not even a spanking.”
Our mom took Hope to the beach, flew kites, and out for ice cream every week. We never went once. She took Hope to the zoo and the state fair. Hell, they even went to Disney one summer. Once she finally had the chance, she was the perfect mother.
“Remember the time Ryker lit the oven mitt on fire?” Gray’s lips twitched.
“Mom kept yelling at him to drop it, so he did, right on the stack of newspapers…” Ash laughed so hard he couldn’t keep going.
“And the newspapers caught fire, so she had Beck stick the outside hose through the window to put the fire out.”
“She let us put our swimsuits on and splash around while she sat on the counter, laughing at us.”
The wake was a double-edged sword. On one hand, we were all happy and relieved to hear that Hope’s childhood had been normal. Somehow, Rose had stopped the cycle of abuse. None of us would have wanted our little sister to experience what we’d lived through. On the other side, the
re was the slightest trace of sadness in our faces and in the tone of our voices. It wasn’t about begrudging Hope one minute of happiness with our mom. I think it was more of a yearning. A yearning that we’d been able to know the Rose who mothered Hope.
I’ll admit this: I was unprepared for the pain. Hearing my brothers share some of the good memories of Mom cut into the boarded-up part of my soul I didn’t even admit existed. Until now, as it was sliced open. And I felt adrift. Isolated and alone.
Something coiled up tight, a burning fist of anger punching at my stomach at never having known my mother the way my brothers did. Hearing the proof of the close times they had with her. I felt raw and torn open. But also selfish and small. I needed to grab all of this ugly pain and shove it back down. Lock it back up and regain control.
I slipped out of the room during a story about Mom’s jokes to distract us whenever we had to get stiches or a shot. Hope had heard the same jokes as my brothers. I’d been too young to remember any of that.
I didn’t escape to the batting cage the way Beck had. I escaped to the woodshop. First, I sat on a sawdust-covered table and breathed in the scent of the fresh cut wood. I picked up the block of red oak I was working with on my latest project, focusing on its weight and the smooth grain where I’d sanded it down.
“Wyatt? You okay?” Rhia called softly from the door of the workshop.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” A splinter pierced my thumb, and I tossed the length of wood I’d been turning over in my hand onto the picnic table next to me, ignoring the prick of pain. I stood, thinking I should get busy with something. Anything. “We’ve been worried about and wanting to meet our little sister since Sinclair told us about her a few months ago. This is bloody fantastic.”
Rhia moved until she stood directly in front of me, her eyes moving back and forth, examining mine. She moved even closer, lifted her hands, and held my jaw, forcing me to look at her.
Every muscle in my body tensed, ready to retreat. To escape. I clamped my jaw, making speech impossible. A familiar space I’d escaped to before a long time ago. Into myself and my silence.
