“Now, Mrs. Cummings would like to say a few words.” Inside, I smile just a bit, because knowing Mrs. Cummings, she won’t say a few words. She’ll have a whole mess of them. I blow out a breath and grab my tissue blotting my eyes.
This is the part where people can talk about the good times, and it usually rises a chuckle from the audience. Me, I just can’t feel that in here this time. I want to, but it’s like I’m not designed to. This is my grieving time, and laughter will come later. With my mother, it didn’t come for months. Grief is a powerful thing. Even when someone’s not dead and they leave you, the pain is there.
“George and Doris were outstanding members of the community. They took care of so many children, giving them a safe place to life.” My heart constricts first thinking of Marlayna and then Whitton. If it weren’t for the Browns’, I wouldn’t have either one of them in my life. I know it’s painful, but they also brought joy. The Browns’ gave me more than they ever realized, and it sucks I can’t tell them thank you.
“The best part of George and Doris was their love for each other. Married over forty-six years, they were like high schoolers sometimes.” She lets out a chuckle, lots of the congregation follows. I do not. “I always said to my Charles that those two are models for all of us. They had so much love to give and gave it freely to everyone, never meeting a stranger. There will be no one like them, and they will be truly missed.”
Mrs. Cummings grabs her little papers and moves from the podium and to her seat. She didn’t talk nearly as long as I thought she would, but she got out what needed to be said with very few words.
The Browns’ had no biological children, but fostered several. As I look around, I remember some faces of those children. Only a few, though. One is crying. Another is staring into space. They have to be in their twenties or so. I’ve never been in their position and don’t deem to know what they’re feeling.
That’s when I feel it behind me. Eyes, like they are boring into my skull prying for my attention. Unable to stop myself, I turn and stop breathing as complete and utter shock overtake me. Whitton Thorne stares back at me, and I swear time freezes for a moment. No one moves. No one blinks. Nothing exists except the connection with our eyes.
I suck in air coming to a point of pure need. I swear I see Whitton’s lip tip just a touch, but the scars on his face hide it well. He always saw himself as damaged, but I never once did. Those scars on the outside meant nothing to me. It was who he was as a person that I loved. The scars just made him unique.
A fresh wave of hurt hits me. He came back for the funeral, but never once thought of coming back for me. I quickly turn in my seat and new tears fall from my eyes. Love wasn’t enough for Whitton. At least I thought he loved me, but maybe we were just young and I was stupid and foolish. At least that’s the way I feel right now with him sitting behind me and feeling his eyes on the back of my head.
Part of me wants to run away and remove myself from his stare, but I would never disrespect the Browns’ like that. All the hurt from my mother, the Browns’, and Whitton cascades through me. I bow my head and let the tears freely flow.
I let the emotions pour. For the first time in a long time, I let all the pain consume me. Pain from my losses and for the dreams that will never be a reality.
Chapter 6
A woman holds far too much power in the depths of her eyes!
I shouldn’t do it.
I should just pay my respects and ride out of Blakely, Georgia without a second thought.
Only, I can’t.
The selfish, gluttonous fucker I am can’t be here, see her, and not make my presence known.
I stare. With fervor, fury, and need, I stare at the back of her head full of brown locks. When she turns her head, our eyes lock and I read her.
I read Roelyn Duprey like a book.
She still wants me, she still loves me, and she still, without a doubt, knows when I’m around. She feels me and she feels deep.
I fight back the smile knowing there was a small tip of my lips. I fight my internal cravings to stand from my pew, rows behind her, and slide in pressing my thighs to hers. I fight the piece of me that has always been hers from going up and claiming what I have craved for all of my life.
Her shoulders shake as her emotions win the war she’s fighting inside.
Is this emotion for the Browns’, for me, or for it all?
Her mother died, and she cried.
I know because I watched. In this very same church, I stood outside and watched through a window. At the cemetery, I was twelve rows over ten rows deep away, but I watched with determination to feel every ounce of her pain, her loss, and take it on as my own.
I didn’t stay. No, as soon as it was done, I hit the road back to Bama and no one even knew I was here. Not even Waylon.
I’ll do the same today. No one will know but Roe and Waylon that I came here. No one needs to.
Even as my insides crawl and my skin prickles to be near her, I will leave and I won’t disrupt her day any more than I already have with my mere presence.
I close my eyes, breaking the bond between us. Giving her the relief to mourn without the weight of my stare on her and giving myself the freedom once again to walk the fuck away.
Silently, I let my mind give the praise, the respect, and the adoration to the two people who gave my brother and me a home, a sense of family, belonging, and a desire to be more than the white trash we were born to be.
As the preacher sets up to say a final prayer, I stand and leave the building. I was able to come inside a church and it didn’t burn down.
Take that, Mother! I think as I climb on my Harley parked off to the side of the lot. Slipping the key in, I pause.
“Whitten, you can be anything you want to be in this world. There are so many doors that can open for you,” Mrs. Brown says, looking over my math homework. I fucking hate math. Mrs. Brown says it’s because it’s too easy for me. She’s right, but I’ll never tell her that.
Ever since Waylon and I moved here, Mrs. Brown has told both of us this same thing. I believe Waylon can be, me—no. It’s not in the cards for me.
I say nothing.
“Whitten Thorne. You mark my words. You will find your happy in this world.”
Closing my eyes, I suck in the clean air. Mrs. Brown always had high hopes for me, same as Roe. They both saw something in me that wasn’t there, but damn there were times I wished it was. Just once—but that’s not in my cards.
People begin to exit the church and just before I crank my bike, Roe steps out into the sunlight. Damn, she grew up even more beautiful than the last time I saw her. Her brown hair is pulled together at the nape of her neck. Her skin is creamy.
She looks out into the parking lot. Her eyes connect with mine, and the wind leaves my body. Fuck. Roe’s lips part and her chest rises and falls rapidly. The desire in her eyes makes my cock hard. Only Roe would take a look at this mangled face and see something that’s not there.
A child’s voice comes from somewhere, and Roe’s eyes leave me. I follow the sound as a small child with light brown pigtails goes running up to Roe, arms open. A smile beams on Roe’s face as she bends down, arms open, and the little girl runs into them. Roe’s arms go around her, and her eyes close as if she’s the happiest person on the planet.
It could only be one thing, and my gut twists at the thought. The acid inside me churns, and damn the shit burns.
She has a kid. Some lucky motherfucker got to have Roe and start a family with her. He was given a gift. One I only wish I was worthy of, and instantly, I fucking hate the man.
Roe was mine. Mine!
I should have listened to Waylon and stayed away.
Seeing Roe with her daughter, happy, is a punch to the gut that I didn’t fucking need. It’s just another example of my mother being right. Nothing good will ever happen in my life. Everything I touch will go up in smoke. She marked me, scarred me so I would remember. She wanted everyone to know,
to see me for the filth and evil I am so they wouldn’t touch me.
My brothers and club are as good as it’ll ever get. The one woman who could see beyond the scars—is really gone. I’m no fool, but I guess there was a little bit of hope. Small and I didn’t deserve to hold on to it. This just brings it all to a close. Roe’s happy, and that’s what she deserves.
It’s why I left and didn’t come back. She needed to move on. It stings, but this is what I wanted, right? She gave me the gift of knowing what it is for someone to see beyond my marks. She will always own a piece of me. The only thing good in my black heart is tied to Roelyn Duprey. She need not know it. She’s got it good, and I’m going to pull out of here and keep it good for her.
I crank my bike and get the fuck out of Blakely, Georgia. I may have to come back, but at least for right now, I can put some distance between myself and the woman who has had my heart and soul for far too long.
Chapter 7
The innocence of a child’s acceptance is pure, hold it tight!
The little girl in my arms squeals with excitement, and I feel the same. Marlayna is here. I look up at Ms. Marie who beams a smile. She says nothing and allows Marlayna and I to have a moment.
Everything about today is forgotten as I cherish this very second, every second I hold it tight. I fight back the tears as I inhale the sweet scent of her shampoo. Her fingertips are small and soft against my back as she hugs me with all her little strength. We pull away, and her eyes are bright in a way that soothes the ache in my soul.
The strength of this little girl, the maturity in which she faces everything, it both kills me and lifts me up. Kids shouldn’t have to know the kind of life Marlayna has. No, adult problems are something I wish no child had to face. Let them be young, be free. There are plenty of problems to assault them in their futures, at least allow them to have a childhood without worry.
I smile down at the little girl who will carry a piece of my soul with her forever even if she doesn’t know it.
That’s when I hear the sound of a motorcycle roar to life. My head jerks to the side as I watch Whitton once again running away from me. Not that I should be surprised. It’s what he does best after all. The pain cuts deep, but not nearly as deep as the last time. This is what he does. I can’t control it and gave up trying to understand it a long damn time ago.
“Ms. Roe,” Marlayna says, getting my attention. “I brought you something.” She smiles sweetly and reaches in her little pocket. Unfolding the crumpled piece of construction paper, she hands it to me.
The design is circles, squares, and hearts of many colors.
“I sleep with your blanket,” she tells me proudly. “Since I can’t make you a blanket, I drew you one.”
Teaching–I wanted to teach to touch the lives of children. I want to be the teacher who leaves a lasting moment of good in each child’s life.
“Your blanket is magic. It keeps the bad dreams away. Like the magic carpet that flies, your blanket keeps all the bad away.” She points to a circle on the paper, “Like Captain America, you can have a shield too, Ms. Roe.”
I smile big back at her. “Captain America, huh? Where did you learn about him?”
“TV!” she says excitedly, like I should already know the answer.
“We have to get an early dinner, if you would like to join us, Roe,” Ms. Marie interrupts us. My eyes meet hers trying to understand. “I have to have her back before seven.”
It’s then I realize, Ms. Marie doesn’t get to keep Marlayna. This may be the last moment I have with the precious little girl in front of me.
“Ms. Marie is taking me to a place I can eat as much as I want. They even have an ice cream machine she says,” Marlayna explains and puts her small hand in mine. “Come with us, Ms. Roe, you can eat as much as you want too.” She pauses, looking to Ms. Marie. “I think,” she corrects.
“It’s a buffet, sweetie, everyone can eat all they want,” Ms. Marie explains.
Her hand is small inside of mine, but the weight of the emotions is what I feel. With Marie leading the way, I let Marlayna take me to her car and I climb in beside her.
Dinner is spent with her eating a little bit of everything, it seems. I commit to memory everything I can from the way she uses her fork to way she dips her carrot sticks in ranch dressing. It’s simple, yet the small act means the world.
The ride from the restaurant back to my car is quiet. Goodbye is hard, and I can imagine Marlayna has had more goodbyes than anyone should have in her four years alive.
Marie parks beside my car, and I decide to keep it short and simple.
“Marlayna, thank you for coming to see me today and for letting me go to dinner.”
“It was a hard day, Ms. Roe. Ms. Marie told me you grew up with Ms. Doris and Mr. George.”
I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her close. “It was but you made it so much better, Marlayna.”
Her body gives a little shrug. “Thank you for the blanket, Ms. Roe.”
“Thank you for the picture, Marlayna,” I say, barely managing to keep my emotions at bay.
“I won’t be coming back, Ms. Roe.” The honesty and innocence of this child is overwhelming.
My heart shatters at her frankness. “We had a good day sweetie,” Marie says as she watches us from her rearview mirror, tears filling her eyes.
“Marlayna, I’m always gonna have your picture, and you’re always in my heart,” I explain as I find the strength to wrap both my arms around her and then slowly pull away.
“You’re always in my heart, Ms. Roe,” she whispers but doesn’t cry.
With every ounce of willpower I can muster, I exit the car and shut the door. If she can be this strong, so can I. As much as this kills me, it’s beyond my control and I have to face the facts.
Rather than climb in my car, I stand beside them as Marie backs out and pulls away. I wave as Marlayna turns her little head to look out the back windshield to see me.
One last glance. One last memory. One last moment.
I should get in my car and put an end to this day. I should run, not walk, in hopes that tomorrow the sun will shine brighter. Instead, my feet take me to the doors of the church. Opening the door, not a sound but the creak of my steps echoes the space. The lights still shine as brightly as they did only hours ago when the place was filled with people mourning the Browns’. For some unexplained reason, a sense of calm comes over me. Unfortunately, it only lasts a brief moment because my eyes dart right to the spot where Whitton sat only a few hours again.
Whitton. Even after all this time, that man has this weird power over me. Like some unexplained connection that binds and twists us together in a unique way. I hate that, yet love it at the same time.
I move to sit in the exact spot Whitton vacated, being a glutton for punishment and all. The warmth from his touch is gone, but the remembrance of him, the way his eyes took me in still remains. I had so many hopes and dreams when it came to Whitton and the future. I’d thought he felt the same way, but just like many things in my life, I was wrong.
My head drops, and I stare at my hands laced together at my lap. When will the pain of losing that man go away. He doesn’t want me—hell he wants nothing to do with me. Yet, the pain is still there. Like an open wound festering. I need to cap it and move on, but that’s so much easier said than done.
“Roelyn,” a man’s voice says from a few feet away, and I gasp, not realizing anyone was there. As I take in the man, the rush settles because it’s Pastor Corbin. A slow smile tips my lips.
“Hello,” I greet, rising from my seat to which he holds his hand out and I halt. He comes around and takes a seat next to me.
“It’s fantastic to see you. Would be better if it were on a regular basis.”
Inside I smile. “I know. Life has a way of getting in the way sometimes.”
“Ahh…yes. This is true, young lady, but it is a good thing to have you sitting in the pew on Sunday. Try to make some time
for that.”
I nod because what else can I do. He is a Pastor, and this is his place. “I’ll try.”
“You do that. The Browns’ thought the world of you. So do most of the people in this town.”
My belly warms thinking of my time growing up here. The children I’ve seen come in and out of my classroom, growing into great kids. It was never my intention to leave a stamp on this town, but I guess that’s happening either way I look at it.
“Thank you.”
“I know he was here,” he says quietly, and my body jolts. “The boy who the Browns' took in with the scars on his face. I saw him while I was standing up there.”
“Yes, Whitton was here.” I feel my shoulders slump. Maybe coming to church will help to relieve this feeling I have every time I think of him. I’ve never thought about a higher power or not, I’m indifferent. But if I’m real with myself, I need a higher power or something mystical, magical, or the likes to get Whitton Thorne out of my system.
“That boy had it rough and after seeing him in the back of my church, I’m afraid things didn’t get better for him. Don’t get me wrong, I hope they did, but that boy has a sadness inside of him that I’m not sure anyone can shine light on.”
All I’ve ever wanted was for Whitton to have happiness. As much as it kills, even if it wasn’t with me. Pastor saying this doesn’t make me happy one bit. No, it cuts into my soul. Whitton Thorne isn’t the man who should be broken like he is. I see inside him, always have. What he could be, the level of love, loyalty, and passion … all the pieces of him he shuts out.
“The way he looked at you, though.” His focus goes to the front of the church as I watch his side profile. “For only the briefest of moments, the light in his eyes appeared. It was a flash, something, if I hadn’t been so intent on watching him, I’d have missed it. But it was there.”
His words should make me feel good. Happy. Excited even. All they do is twist my heart. I really don’t want to hear this. I’d much rather wipe it all away. Unfortunately, I’m stuck, which seems to be a lot these days.
Scarred: The Ruthless Rebels MC Series Book 3 Page 4
