Page 79 of Every Heartbeat After

“Love you,” Mara mutters into my hair.

“I love you all so much.” I force the words out through a tight throat. When they finally release me, it still feels like I’m being held. I hope it stays with me the whole drive home. “Give Alex my love as well. And some ibuprofen for the headache this will inevitably cause him.” I lift the stone in a shrug.

Jenna’s dark eyes glitter with amusement, and Mo huffs a laugh. Mara retreats to her space behind the desk, as much a fan of goodbyes as I am.

“Would you like help to your car?” Mo asks.

I shake my head. “Not this time.”

“How about the next?” he says with a wink.

Tears flood my vision, but I smile anyway. “That sounds good.”

I walk out of the Carmen without looking back. Under the mimosa tree, across the scalding pavement, to my waiting car, where I load my bag into the trunk and place our handprints gingerly in the passenger seat. Who cares if it dirties up the fabric interior?

As I drive away, I catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye of the signature green roof, and I decide that’s how I prefer it. The Carmen will remain an image always in my peripheral, there if I choose to turn my head. There if I choose to return.

And everything else lies ahead.

ChapterThirty-Two

Kit

For the entiretyof the monotonous drive to Mississippi, my thoughts oscillate between two points. One moment, I’m beating my head against the gold Marilyn Suite plaque as I pray and pray and pray for one last chance to lay eyes on Tess. The next, I’m envisioning Gage behind bars. I can practically feel the keys dangling from my fingertips, as though it’s my fault he’s finally created a problem that can’t be solved with a little charm and a whole lot of money.

It spares me from thinking about my parents, at least.

By the time their house appears in front of me, I can’t remember a single turn I took to get here. Just me, the low crackle of the radio, and an endless internal monologue that insists I’ve let down everyone who matters in my life.

The first time I brought Courtney here after we’d announced the engagement, I remember sitting in the car buzzing with anticipation. As a boy who’d become a man who craved his parents’ approval like no other, I felt like I’d won the lottery. All I’d ever wanted was a love like my parents’. One that stood the test of time and raising two rambunctious boys. Never mind that they insisted we were too young; I was going to prove them wrong. Make them proud.

It’s hard to believe we’d have been married nearly a decade by now. At the beginning it was easy to look forward and see a whole life laid out. But from where I stand now, the fault lines are so painfully obvious. We never would’ve worked. Never should’ve even tried. Courtney was yet another victim of my need to do everything perfectly. It’s hard to admit to myself, but it’s the truth. I have no right to blame her for seeking affection elsewhere, just like I can’t blame my parents for staring at the car the way they are doing now.

The balmy morning meets me with a firm embrace. I slam the door behind me and march up the walkway like a man headed to the gallows. But to my surprise, Mom meets me halfway. Her arms come around my neck, and she pulls me in so tightly I have to bend to conform to her small stature. “Oh Kit, thank you for coming.”

A firm hand slaps my shoulder. I glance up, and my dad has tears pooling in his deep brown eyes. “Two times in as many weeks, huh, son? Careful, now. We’re gonna get spoiled.”

I straighten up and take a step back from them both. “This is all my fault.”

Dad’s bushy brows crumple. “Were you driving the stolen car?”

I blink. “Well, no, but?—”

“Did you abandon it in a Greyhound parking lot in Mobile and skip town?”

“Obviously not.” I shift my weight. Glance from him to Mom and back. “But I?—”

“But nothing, Kit.” Dad places a hand on Mom’s back, then reaches for me with the other. It creates a sort of semicircle out of our bodies, with him at the center of it, staring me down. For a moment I feel like I’m eight years old again, bracing for a lecture. “Your mama and I appreciate what you were trying to do. You’re a damn good brother and an even better son.” His voice cracks, and the sound slices straight through my heart. “But that boy is not your responsibility. We brought him into this world. And we may look old and fragile, but we aren’t. It’s our job to parent him, not yours.”

Mom nods, her bottom lip wobbling. “I always let you take on too much when it came to him. That was so unfair of me, Christopher. We should’ve known something was wrong, what with you staying away and all. But we buried our heads in the sand because we wanted to believe he was better. We let you pull the wool over our eyes ’cause it was better than facing the truth.”

I try to swallow, but my throat is in knots. The sun burns like hot coals on top of my head. Sweat beads at my temples. Every instinct tells me they’re wrong. That it was my job, and I failed miserably. I don’t know how to see it any differently.

“It wasn’t just Gage.” I manage to force the words out, difficult as they are. “I let you guys down in so many ways. Leaving the military. Getting divorced.” I shake my head. “I was supposed to be the easy kid. The responsible one. And I fucked it all up.”

“Language,” Mom hisses because she can’t help herself. But her flattened lips curve into a sad smile.

Dad, on the other hand, lets out a strangled laugh. “‘Easy’ is the last thing any kid is supposed to be. Exhausting? Sure. Amusing as all hell? Absolutely. But I don’t believe any of those parenting books your mom made me read included the word ‘easy’ as it relates to child-rearing.”

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