by Kelly Moran
Back to her, still hunched over, he held up his hand in a plea for her to stop.
But she couldn’t. This might be the last time she’d ever get her say. “Every day since then, I’ve tried to live my life to the fullest, to honor his memory so the sacrifice he made wouldn’t be in vain.”
He pressed his hand over his stomach, shaking his head repeatedly and wheezing.
“I thought I was doing pretty well until three women intercepted my world, and suddenly, I’d fallen in love with the son of the very man who rescued me.”
An agonizing, distressed bellow rent the air, and he straightened to full height. Slowly, he turned toward her, avoiding her gaze. He stared at her chest, despondent, as if not really seeing her at all.
She waited him out, seconds ticking to minutes, and the longer time went on, the more her heart bled. Hemorrhaging at an alarming rate, she grew dizzy and locked her knees to stay upright. Mere feet separated them, but it felt like a fissure. Growing. Spreading.
Finally, he lifted his eyes to hers, red, a sheen in them, and without a smidgen of the affection she’d come to expect. Vibrating, nostrils flaring, he swept his gaze over her face like he was trying to remember who she was or to memorize her features. His jaw ticked. He shook his head, barely perceptible had she not been watching him so close.
“Goodbye, Ella.”
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Just goodbye.
The word echoed in her head as he walked away. Reverberated in her ears as he disappeared from view. Hollowed out her insides and left a gaping hole in its wake.
She almost called his name. Almost begged, but it would just cause him more pain. He’d made his decision based on the truth. She had to live with the consequences.
A sob rose in her throat. Unbidden, she let the tears fall. She’d done this to herself. She’d hurt him, and now he was gone.
Violently shaking, she looked at the headstone. The letters of the name swirled in a blurry mass, but she knew them by heart.
Mitchell Burkwell
May the way be paved in gold.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Unsure what to do, only that she needed to get out of here, she sniffed and started walking toward her car. She should go home, cry it out, and find something to occupy her mind. Focus on the good things she had going. Not dwell on the bad stuff. Dive into work. Maybe all the innocent faces would help her move on.
Or she could wallow in self misery by eating a pint of caramel swirl while sopping up tears with a box of tissues and binging Netflix.
Gosh, did this ever hurt. Everything inside her hurt. A jarring, brutal pain.
A month. Roughly a month they’d been together, and she already didn’t know how she could function. What a difference a few weeks made. She’d longed for romantic love since puberty. Someone to notice her and like her for herself and take care of her the way she did for him. A genuine, respectful meeting of minds with great conversation and exceptional chemistry.
Careful what you wish for. Wasn’t that the saying?
She should’ve pined for doughnuts. They were filling and didn’t make her ribcage feel like it had been pried open or remove her heart to shove it through a meat grinder. Doughnuts didn’t say goodbye.
Someone was standing by her parents’ graves.
Coming to an abrupt halt, she stared beyond her car to the petite blonde. She wore a simple yellow dress, white heels, and a black purse over her arm. Her back was to Ella so she couldn’t see the woman’s face, but the hairs on her arms rose and her broken heart thump-thumped.
She’d recognize the lady anywhere. And it was instantly sobering.
“Hello, dear.” The woman glanced over her shoulder, offering a smile not fitting for the location. “Rough day today, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.” Ella wove around her car and cautiously stepped beside the grave. “I wasn’t aware you knew who I was, Mrs. Burkwell.” Did she plan on maiming Ella? She was petite and waifish, but Ella had a feeling Jason’s mama could kick her butt.
“Of course, I do.” Her thick southern accent belied the steel underneath. “Please, do call me Mary. We’ve met once before, but you wouldn’t remember.”
No offense, but Ella would have recalled an introduction if she’d had amnesia after being struck with a stupid stick. Alas, it had never happened.
Mrs. Burkwell focused on the tombstone, her head tilted. “After my Mitch’s funeral, when things had quieted some, Lou brought me to see you at the hospital. The doctors had you in a medically induced coma. He gave me details about the fire, how Mitch died, and then told me about you.”
She crossed her arms, the move making her shoulders seem delicate despite the enormous weight that had been on them. “Bless your heart, you were such a bitty thing. All those tubes and wires and machines. Your legs were wrapped like a mummy and you were still as stone. I visited every day while Jason was at school. At first, I think I needed to get my mind off my heartbreak, but each instance I came, I felt closer to Mitch. Here was this precious little girl who my husband saved. It had to be for a reason.” She eyed Ella. “God always has his reasons, you know.”
“MmmHmm.” Somehow, Ella had landed in another universe. Otherwise, the alternative was just too much to take.
Lou had never mentioned to Ella that Mary Burkwell had visited her in the hospital, nor that the woman had known about Ella’s recent presence back in town. She’d dated Jason the past month, and Mary hadn’t told her son about the connection? Why?
“I had to wait twenty-two years, but I finally understand the reason.” She faced Ella, hands clasped in front of her. “Can I assume by the way Jason stormed out of the cemetery that you told him who you are?”
“Er, yes.” Shoot, she wanted to burrow under a rock. “I tried doing it before, many times, but…”
“But Jason wouldn’t let you.”
“Yes. It’s not an excuse, but yes. We kept getting closer, spending more time together, and it became harder and harder. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Mary waved her hand as if Ella’s lie were nothing. “If he’d known the truth from the start, you wouldn’t have gotten through his walls. Why do you think I didn’t blow the whistle? Those wheedling sisters set their matchmaking sights on him, and I thought to myself, Oh boy, this is going to be a barrel of monkeys. And then I learned it was you they picked for him.”
Up went her brows, and Mary even did that like a proper belle. “All of a sudden, he’s not taking risks anymore, or hopping from one woman to the next, or avoiding difficult topics. Lou says he’s more focused at work. Parker says he’s opened up to you and no longer evades questions. Twenty-two years, dear. There’s the reason. Because my son needed that special someone strong enough, smart enough, and willing to dig below the surface.”
Darn it. Ella’s eyes welled again. “You should hate me.”
A sympathetic smile, and Mary shook her head. “It wasn’t your fault, and I could never hate anyone who loves my son as much as you do.”
She inhaled and glanced around like she was searching for someone or something that no longer existed. “Lovely day this turned out to be, morbid anniversaries notwithstanding. I apologize for invading your private time here.” She looked at the grave, smile secretive. “But I thought it was time we properly met.”
Ella wasn’t sure if the last part was meant for her or her parents’, but she was too stunned stupid to ask.
As if finished with the conversation, Mary Burkwell headed down the path toward the road. Unlike her son, she didn’t say goodbye. Before she hit the first curve, she spun around.
“They would be proud of who you’ve become. I am. You should be, too.” A nod, and she went on her way, calling one last thing over her shoulder. “Don’t give up on him.”
Chapter 19
“What are you up to tonight, son?”
From a blue paisley chair in his mom’s living room, Jason glanced at Lou sitting next to Mama on
the navy couch, their hands clasped. Jason was still acclimating to their PDAs, but he was glad they were happy.
Two outta three ain’t bad.
“Parker’s coming over to watch the Mariner’s game. We’ll probably have a few beers and yell at the TV.”
“Not heading to Shooters? It’s Saturday night. Isn’t that what you normally do?”
Normally? Yes. But nothing was normal. Hadn’t been for a week.
“I don’t feel like people-ing.”
Lou’s mustache twitched. “You haven’t felt like doing a whole hell of a lot lately.”
Nope. Jason sure hadn’t. He’d spent the first few days after Ella’s revelation calling in sick to work, parked on his couch in sweats and a tee, binging shows on Netflix she’d put in his queue. In the days following, he’d mustered the energy to shower, but little else. If his mother hadn’t insisted he come over for an early dinner today, he’d still be in his apartment.
Where Ella’s scent lingered.
Where his dining table was, the place they’d eaten together.
Where his couch was, the location of many make-out sessions.
Where his kitchen was, the scene of preparing several meals with her.
Where his bedroom was, the spot she had last deposited the charity cash envelope neither had taken possession of in their back and forth swap.
Where his cat chronically walked around as if expecting Ella to miraculously reappear.
Christ. One month, and she was imprinted in the floorboards, furniture, and drywall. The very air he breathed. His every waking—and sleeping—thought.
No matter what happens next, just know I do love you.
Who did he have to slaughter to get his mind to stop remembering she’d said that? He was going ape shit. Out of his ever-loving mind. Time wasn’t making it better, just worse.
There was a stack of uneaten takeout boxes in his fridge because nothing sounded appetizing. Not even the damn package of gingerbread cookies he’d bought without consciously being aware. They weren’t her particular scent. Not as sweet. Nor were the three different candles of the same fragrance he’d randomly purchased this morning on a beer run.
A change of topic was sorely needed. “You guys pick a date yet?” Because that’s exactly what he wanted to discuss. Weddings. He should punch his own face.
“Yes,” Mama said through a contented sigh.
He was instantaneously jealous. He hadn’t been content in a week, either.
“We reserved the Gardens for the first Saturday of September.” Lou tapped his fingers on the sofa arm. “I was wondering if you’d be my best man?”
Well, damn it. Jason’s ribs shrank. “I’d be honored.”
“Of course,” Mama added, “you’ll also act as maid of honor, too.”
He laughed. Imagine that. He was still capable. Who knew? “Your wish is my command. I’m not wearing a pink dress.”
She grinned. “Blue, then.”
He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, resting his head on the back of the chair since it took too much effort to hold it up. Blinking required effort. Breathing required effort.
Fuck this. He should go back to bed.
“Have you spoken to Ella?”
Scratch that. He should’ve stayed in bed.
“No, Mama, I haven’t.” Not that he hadn’t automatically grabbed his phone and was halfway to connecting the call about a trillion times whenever Storm had done something cute or he’d solved a mystery on one of Ella’s shows or simply out of habit to say goodnight.
His gut sank. The last thing she’d said to him was she’d fallen in love with him.
Last thing he’d said was goodbye.
He’d replayed that moment in the cemetery over and over again. Ad nauseum. When she’d dropped that L-bomb, his mouth had opened as if to say it back. The absurdity knew no bounds. Him, telling a woman he loved her. He wouldn’t know romantic love if it latched onto his testicles and wiggled. Yet, of its own accord, without him giving the orifice permission, it had wanted to react with those three words. He still didn’t know why he’d refrained. He may never know, but it turned out for the best, considering.
Speaking of… “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” He pointed to Lou. “You, I understand. You were there that night of the fire and hadn’t realized it was her I was dating until after the fact. Mama ordered you to keep it secret.” He looked at his mom. “But, you?” He shook his head. “You should have said something.”
“It wasn’t my place or my story to tell.”
Bullshit. “You should be as upset and deceived as I am. This is Dad we’re talking about.”
She nodded slowly, her expression grave. “If he’d lived and she’d died because he couldn’t save her? Would he have been able to move past his guilt? You run into situations every day where others run out. Put yourself in his shoes. Would you have stood by? Done nothing? Let it burn?” She leaned forward. “Let her perish? It was his job. It’s your job now. The one you chose of all the careers out there. He’d do it again. So would you.”
Yes, yes, yes. All valid points. She wasn’t wrong. And the thought of never having the opportunity to meet Ella, all the wonderful moments they’d shared, of reversing fate so his father had survived instead? Unfathomable.
When she’d shown him her scars, he’d felt the lick of flames like it had been him. When she’d relayed, bit by bit, the details of the fire, what she’d gone through afterward, he’d been right there with her. Terrified. Confused. Alone. In agony. He’d grieved with her. Her pain, her emotions, were his. He’d never been so devastated, so hollowed out in all his days.
Mama sat back once more, shoulders sagging. “Ella didn’t kill your daddy.”
He slammed his lids shut, ran his hand across the back of his neck. “I know.” That wayward, morose thought had never crossed his mind. Not once. The fire wasn’t her fault. His dad’s death wasn’t her fault. As a firefighter and first responder, if he were to die on an emergency call, he wouldn’t want his family blaming the victims. And that’s what Ella was, a victim. However, one thing was of her doing. “She lied to me.”
An epic whopper of a lie. As in, if a sidewalk crack were a lie, hers was the Grand Canyon.
“She did.” Mama tilted her head. “She did and it was wrong of her. She knows that and feels terrible. I’m willing to bet she tried more than once to talk to you about it, but you shut her down. Until you met her, that’s how you dealt with matters. By not dealing. You’ve changed. You’re still my funny, compassionate, fearless boy. But you’re able to process emotion now, whereas before, you pretended you didn’t have any. She did that, baby. She brought that out in you. If she’d told the truth when you’d met, none of this would’ve happened. There would be no you and her.”
Splendid. She was gonna fight fire with reason. Logic needed to go back in its hidey hole. Logic had no place here with all these…feelings coagulating.
“I’d like to give you something.” She patted Lou’s knee and stood.
Jason narrowed his eyes. “If it’s a slap upside the head, I don’t need it.”
Lou grunted. “I beg to differ.”
Mama left the room.
Lou watched her, then eyed Jason. “You’re being an idiot.”
“It’s my best quality.”
“At least you’re aware.”
“Yep.”
Mama returned with a small recipe box she used to hold index cards in before transferring them to her computer. She handed it to him.
Jason frowned at the box and the red flower print design. “Recipes? I cook better than Lou. He should have these.”
“Such a comedian,” Lou grumbled. “You should take your act on the road.”
“Food for thought.”
Mama decisively cleared her throat. “Not recipes.” She returned to her seat. “After your father died, I asked the Sinclairs to keep me abreast on how Ella was doing. That’s what they’ve sent me through the years.�
�
“What?” He’d had no idea. So…Mama had followed Ella’s childhood? Known about the time she’d recuperated?
Unsure what to make of that, he gripped the box tighter and stared at it. Ella’s life was inside, the testament and accumulation of her recovery? It was too small for medical records or files.
“Take it home with you. Look at it later.”
He grated a laugh. “Kicking me out?”
“Yes.” She grinned. “Have a great night.”
Class dismissed. A roll of his eyes, and he stood.
Outside, he set the box on the passenger seat and pulled his cell from his back pocket to text Parker he was on the way. From there, he drove out of the subdivision and through town.
Dusk was fading to twilight, the sky an endless expanse of navy with stars poking holes in the heavens. The scent of rain hung in the air from earlier showers, leaving droplets on the grass and flowers in planters beside the road.
Townsfolk waved as he passed. He nodded to be polite when he really wanted to flip them off. All of them. Every last person. Until everybody was as miserable as him. This was their fault, supporting the matchmaking and retweeting and liking Pinterest boards. Encouraging the damn Battleaxes. All their fault.
Thirty days ago, there he was, sitting in Shooters, searching for his next good time, planning a future excursion, happy as a damn clam with no worries except if he’d called his mama that morning or if he was on duty that night.
Now look at him. He hadn’t glanced at another woman since meeting Ella. He had zero interest in adventures. He hardly ate, slept, left his apartment, or breathed without pain.
Son of a bitch, did he ever hate this hollow, barren sensation in his chest cavity. Desperately needing, grasping for something. Anything. The frustration. The…loneliness? Yes, he supposed that was the right label. He was lonely.
And seriously. When the actual hell had he ever been lonely a second of his life?
Never, that’s when.
No matter what happens next, just know I do love you.
That’s it. He was over this. He was going to take up drinking. Just as soon as he got home.
