Every Time We Touch: A Redeeming Love Novel (Book 5)

by Parker, J. E.

  Kyle reached across the seat and took my hand in his.

  Like earlier, he laced our fingers together.

  Warmth spread through me, and I relaxed into the leather seat as his calloused thumb caressed the back of my hand. The exhaustion that had plagued me for the past several hours returned and my eyes closed.

  Within seconds, I was fast asleep.

  * * *

  Thirty Minutes Later

  Strong arms carried me in the house.

  The battered screen door, the same one Daddy still hadn’t gotten around to fixing, squeaked and then banged shut behind us as Kyle and me moved into the house and ascended the stairs. His booted footsteps along with the creaking of the hundred-year-old pine floors were the only sounds to be heard as we moved down the hall toward my bedroom.

  The house was silent; everyone else was asleep.

  That much was obvious when Daddy didn’t start hollering at Kyle for carrying me, and in return, Heidi didn’t start fussing at Daddy for yelling at Kyle.

  I sighed in relief when my back hit the cool cotton sheets covering my bed.

  Kyle chuckled as he pulled off the flats that covered my tired feet; first one, then the other. After dropping them to the floor next to the bed, he pressed a knee onto the edge of the mattress and leaned over me, caging my body in with his much bigger one.

  Suddenly wide awake, my half-lidded eyes fluttered open.

  Chest hovering over mine, he looked down at me, a huge grin on his beautiful face.

  I’d seen a lot of beauty in my life, but nothing compared to his smile.

  It was both heartwarming and delicious; soul shattering and sweet.

  I loved it.

  “Remember what I said, Carissa,” he whispered. “Tomorrow...”

  “… I’m yours,” I finished for him, giving him a smile of my own.

  “You’re damn right.” Leaning down, he kissed my forehead for the second time that night. His lips lingered, tasting my skin. When he pulled back, he looked down at me one last time. “Night, beautiful.”

  “Night.”

  Stopping in the doorway, he turned, and braced his hands on each side of the frame. “I’ll be here first thing in the morning to pick you up.”

  My eyes flared.

  Daddy would have an absolute conniption fit. He was hell-bent on driving me to the ceremony, but it looked like Kyle had other plans.

  This will not end well…

  “Don’t worry about Daryl,” Kyle continued, reading my thoughts. “I’ll handle him.”

  I nodded, knowing he would.

  Daddy and Kyle may have butted heads over me constantly—one still saw me as his little girl, while the other saw me as his girl—but Kyle always found a way to calm the ornery ol’ grizzly known as my father.

  How he did it, I haven’t a clue.

  It was a feat no one had accomplished since… well, Mama.

  “One thousand, one hundred and forty-six,” Kyle said, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  “What?” I blinked, bleary eyed, and a tad bit confused.

  Dropping his hands from the frame, he pinched his bottom lip between two fingers. “That’s how many days I’ve waited for you, Carissa.” My heart began to pound. “And you were worth every fucking second.”

  Overwhelmed with emotion, my eyes slid closed.

  Taking a small breath, I whispered back, “You were worth it too.”

  When I opened my eyes again, he was gone.

  Ten

  Kyle

  Home Sweet Home.

  Trepidation churned in the pit of my gut as I stared down at the brown welcome mat beneath my feet. The fibers were worn; the color faded. It should have been thrown out long ago, but that would never happen.

  As long as the house stood, the mat would remain.

  That’s how Mama wanted it.

  Holding a dozen yellow roses in one hand, I used the other to open the stained-glass door in front of me. Bile rose into my throat as I turned the knob and pushed it open.

  I’d only taken one step into the foyer when the first memory hit. Lily’s ghostly laughter rang out, followed by the sound of her footsteps as she bounded down the stairs, her worn tap shoes clicking against the oak steps. “Kyle!” Her yell sounded distant, muffled. “Come play with me!”

  Fiery pain mixed with rage sliced at my heart like a hot scalpel.

  It was agonizing.

  Me coming here today, hours before Carissa’s graduation had been a mistake.

  A damn huge mistake.

  I needed to get out, to take a breath.

  I turned, ready to leave, but froze when my mother’s soft footsteps reached my ears. “Kyle,” she said from behind me, the ever-present heartbreak that lined her voice clear. “What are you doing here?”

  My grip on the roses tightened.

  I cupped the back of my neck with my free hand and gritted my back teeth together as I stared out into the front yard where Lily and I’s swing set still sat. Located between the sandbox and the white picket fence, its boards were rotten, the swings broken. The faded blue slide was missing pieces of plastic and leaned to one side. The sandbox, Lily’s most prized possession was bare, long since void of sand.

  A large patch of dry potting soil sat to the left of the sandbox, the only item that remained of Mama’s prized rose garden. Long since abandoned, the bushes were bare, the flowers non-existent.

  A reminder of everything I’d lost, I couldn’t stand to see any of it.

  It fucking killed me inside.

  “I wanted to see you,” I said, turning around, bringing Mama and me face-to-face.

  The sight of her made the pain in my chest increase tenfold.

  Wiry, unbrushed salt and pepper hair.

  Tired, brown eyes.

  Nonexistent smile.

  My mother was a husk of her former self.

  I held up the cellophane wrapped bouquet, showing her the roses. “I brought these for you.” I hoped like hell—no, I prayed like hell—that they would make her smile. “I know they’re your favorite.”

  Mama remained mute, unmoving, her pupils devoid of emotion.

  Another prayer goes unanswered…

  “I wanted to stop by and see if you needed anything before I head out for the day.”

  Silence.

  Fighting to remain patient, I shut the front door and crossed the foyer. “Come on, Mama.” I tucked a strand of wild hair behind her ear. “Let me make you something to eat before I go. Do you have food? If not, I can run down—”

  “Pantry is still full of the groceries you had delivered earlier this week.”

  My brows drew together. The last time I’d had groceries delivered to her was over two weeks prior. If the pantry was still full that could only mean one thing. “Have you been eating enough?”

  One glance at her bony frame and I had my answer.

  “I eat just fine.”

  It was a damn lie.

  “Mama, you have to eat.” Irritation danced beneath my skin. “If you don’t, you’ll get sick.”

  Without answering, she tucked her hands into the pockets of her robe, strolled into the living room and sat on the center of the sofa. It was the same sofa Lily and I had spent countless afternoons lounging on, watching movie after movie. Her favorite throw blanket was still draped over the back cushions, her Nemo shaped pillow was still tucked against the armrest.

  I averted my gaze, refusing to look at them.

  Mama rested her hands on her knees and stared at the empty fireplace in front of her. “I don’t care if I get sick,” she said, her voice monotone. “It would be better if the good Lord took me now. I’m tired of living like this. My heart can’t take much more.”

  I dropped the roses onto the cushion beside her and kneeled before her. With gentle movements, I took her hands in mine and rubbed my thumbs along her knuckles. “Don’t talk like that.”

  Her words cut me deep.

  Maybe that was the point...


  “I’m sorry, Kyle.” Unable to bear my touch, she pulled her hands from mine and laced her fingers together. “I don’t mean to upset you. I just miss my sweet girl so much.”

  A lump formed in my throat.

  Guilt set in.

  I forced myself to look at Lily’s side of the couch.

  I deserved to be reminded of what I’d done for the rest of my life.

  She’s dead because of me.

  “Her birthday is coming up.”

  The reminder was unneeded. It was a date I’d never forget. “I know.”

  “I thought I’d bake her a cake.” She nodded, adding emphasis to her words. “Maybe take it to the cemetery and leave it on her headstone.”

  I wanted no part of that, but if it’s what Mama wanted—or needed—to do, then I wouldn’t stop her. Everyone grieved differently. Mama just did it a helluva lot harder than most.

  “Do you want me to take you?”

  She jerked her chin down once in affirmation. “I’d appreciate it.”

  “I’ll pick you up then. Whatever you need or want, you know that.”

  An expression I recognized flashed across her face. I instantly regretted the words I’d spoken. Fully aware of what she was about to say, or instead ask, I stood, spun in place, and stomped across the room, stopping in front of the fireplace. I rested my white-knuckled fists on the mantle and stared at the gold-framed family picture that hung on the wall in front of me.

  The urge to pick it up with both hands and slam it against the floor until it shattered was strong, but the good that remained in me refused to do so. Even though the picture housed a man I loathed with every bit of my jacked-up heart, I wouldn’t destroy something that had Lily’s face on it.

  No fucking way.

  “Don’t ask me to go see him, Mama,” I growled, my anger obvious. “I won’t do it.” I turned, facing her head on. Arms crossed over my chest, I looked down at the woman who used to be so full of light and happiness that it radiated from her soul. Now, engulfed in the darkness of her pain and misery, she was nothing like the mother I’d once known.

  When Lily died, I lost more than my baby sister.

  I also lost Mama.

  And my father? I lost that son of a bitch too.

  “He’s your father, Kyle,” Mama whispered, tears lining her voice.

  The air in the room shifted, becoming heavier, almost suffocating.

  Unable to control the rage that festered inside me like a pus-filled boil, I exploded.

  I couldn’t hold back my feelings of frustration and betrayal any longer.

  I’d had enough, and I was done.

  Lost in the rage that consumed me, I took two steps forward, and slammed my fisted hands down onto the coffee table.

  The wood splintered, the frame cracked.

  Debris shot into the air and across the dusty floor.

  “Kyle!” Mama shouted, throwing herself back against the cushions.

  Angrier than I’d been in a long time, I picked up a piece of broken wood and slammed it against the floor beneath my feet. “Fuck”—I lifted it into the air and smashed it against the hardwood again—“him!”

  “Kyle!” Mama cried. “Calm down!”

  I froze; my gaze snapped to my mother. “Calm down?” I asked in disbelief. “You’re telling me to calm down?” I threw the broken piece across the room, watching as it bounced off the far wall before picking up another. “You should’ve told him to calm down the day he single-handedly ruined what was left of my fucking life!”

  Mama stood from the sofa and clutched the belt of her robe. Wide-eyed, she looked at the pieces of the broken table before looking up at the same family portrait I’d been staring at moments earlier.

  My stomach twisted into a dozen knots.

  The pain only enraged me further.

  “But you didn’t!” I continued to yell.

  I dropped the wood to the floor and closed the space between us. Mama paid me no attention. Like always, her attention was focused on him, the bastard who didn’t deserve a second thought from her, much less me.

  “Look at me,” I demanded. Unaffected by my harsh tone, her eyes didn’t deviate from the picture. Desperate for a response, even if it was a slap across the face, I hit my chest with my fisted hand twice like an enraged psycho. “Look at me, Mama! Look at your only son!”

  Silence reigned.

  Nothing but the sound of my heavy breathing filled the room.

  “Fine, fucking ignore me!”

  Aware that I was fighting a losing battle, I kicked the broken pieces of wood out of the way and stomped toward the front door. After jerking it open so hard the hinges screamed, I stopped and looked back at the woman who both loved and hated me.

  Still facing the fireplace, she didn’t care I was leaving.

  Why would she? I was responsible for the death of her favorite child.

  “I realize it doesn’t matter to you, to Dad,” I said, my chest rising and falling in rapid succession, “but I tried, Mama…” A vice tightened around my throat, making it nearly impossible to breathe, much less speak. “I tried so damn hard to save her!”

  Mama’s head dropped forward, and her shoulders jerked as a silent sob shook her almost lifeless body. I wanted to go to her, to pull her into my arms, but there was no point. She’d only push me away, destroying me further.

  “Kyle, you don’t understand.” Her whisper was so quiet it was a miracle I heard it. “What your father said, what he did—”

  Disgust rolled through me. “How can you defend him?” I shouted, my voice growing louder with each word. “After what he said to me the day he walked out, how can you stand there and attempt to excuse his goddamn actions?”

  A switch flipped in my head.

  The memories of that day, the second worst of my life, resurfaced.

  Everything came rushing back.

  Dad’s venom-laced words.

  The hatred that brewed in his stormy eyes.

  Unable to stop it, I let the memory take hold.

  * * *

  Seventeen Years Earlier

  It was a Saturday, exactly three months after Lily died.

  I was standing in my bedroom, my back to the east wall. Dad stood in front me, his trembling hands clutching the front of my shirt. Completely enraged, he looked down at me, a disgust-filled expression on his face. Behind him, Mama stood in the doorway, her arms wrapped around her frail body. Tears streamed down her face as she silently watched the scene before her play out.

  I was so angry at her.

  She was supposed to defend me.

  She was supposed to protect me.

  She did neither.

  Scared out of my mind, I screamed as Dad shoved me backward, slamming me against the wall. My skull bounced off the plaster, making my head spin.

  “You gave me your word!” he hollered, spit flying from his mouth. “You promised me you’d take care of your sister, that you’d look after her!” I opened my mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. “You lied!”

  “I—” I started.

  “No!” The volume of his shouts grew. “There is nothing you can say. Not a damned thing!” He took a ragged breath and gripped my shirt tighter. My head snapped in his direction as he jerked me forward, making my neck pop. For a second I thought it was broken. It wasn’t, but as soon as he spoke again, I’d wished it was. Death would have been a blessing compared to the rancid seed he was about to plant deep in my soul. “It should have been you!”

  I froze.

  My heart clenched.

  My world fell apart.

  He doesn’t mean it, I told myself.

  But he did mean it.

  Every word.

  “Dad?” Tears fell from my eyes.

  His features softened the slightest bit before hardening once again. The hatred rolling off him in waves was unmistakable. He’d once loved me, but that love died with Lily. “My little girl’s gone and it’s all your fault,” he said,
releasing my shirt. “I can’t look at you anymore.”

  Coldness seeped into my bones when he turned around and walked away.

  With his vile words lingering between us, he stomped down the stairs, grabbed the already packed suitcases that sat in the foyer and walked out the front door, abandoning what remained of his family.

  And it was all because of me.

  My mistake had cost us everything.

  * * *

  “Kyle,” Mama’s quiet voice pulled me back to the present.

  I turned my head in her direction.

  She no longer stared at the picture above the fireplace.

  Instead, she looked directly at me, a broken look on her face.

  Unable to refrain, I asked a question I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer to. “The shit Dad said that day—you agreed with him, didn’t you?” I didn’t give her a chance to respond before continuing. “You wish it had been me. Just like Dad, you wish it was me that died instead of Lily. Say it, Mama… say the words that your heart already fucking feels!”

  She said nothing, but it didn’t matter.

  The truth was in her eyes.

  That truth? God took the wrong child.

  My stomach rolled; I was about to puke.

  In the back of my mind, I’d always known how she felt, but having that feeling confirmed was like a one-two punch straight to the head. It left me reeling, unsteady on my feet.

  Emotionally raw and out of fucks to give, I forced my face to remain passive, hiding the searing pain that ate away at me, destroying me piece by piece. “I don’t blame you, Mama,” I replied, stepping onto the porch. “Cause I sure as hell wish it had been me too.”

  Without another word, I slammed the door shut. Hard.

  I moved across the porch, bounded down the steps and headed to my truck. Once there, I climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. The radio turned on, drowning out the surrounding silence as I shifted the transmission into drive and stomped on the gas, leaving a trail of burnt rubber and thick smoke in my wake.