Page 34 of The Wrong Ride Home

I stepped forward, careful where I placed my boots so as not to startle Elena, and moved slowly over damp earth and fallen leaves.

I looked for her, and my heart hurt when I saw her on her knees in the dirt, her shoulders shaking.

She was crying. The roar of the river masked her sobs and my presence.

My stomach churned with regret and dread.

I’d never seen her break apart like this—not even after the last time when I had hurt her.

“You didn’t just break my heart, mi cielo; you broke me.”

I should leave, I thought, turn around and give her the privacy she deserved.

But I didn’t. Couldn’t.

I stood silently watching her fall apart, knowing I was the last person in the world who had a right to witness it. I’d done this to her in an effort to show myself how she felt about me. Iknewhow she felt. I’d always known. She used to wear her heart on her sleeve—while by the age of twenty, I’d mastered the art of hiding my feelings. Now, it appeared so had she, unless she was alone in the place where we’d dreamed of a life of love together.

So, I remained hidden in the shadows, watching her,each moment intensifying my self-loathing for what I had done.

“Ever wonder who your daddy is?” I asked her once, reclining in the soft grass with my arms tossed casually behind my head. My eyes fixed on the endless blue sky, and I felt as though the world stretched infinitely without confines.

“Sometimes,” she admitted. She sat next to me, playing with a sprig of wild lavender. “Mama says it doesn’t matter.”

I tilted my head, watching how she bit her lip, marveling at how small and fragile she appeared despite the undeniable fire in her spirit.

“But it does matter to you.” I took her hand in mine, kissed her knuckles, and smelled the lavender she was still holding.

“Yes. But less and less.” She smiled at me. She put her hand on my heart. “Especially now that I have you.”

“Do you think your mother loves you?” I asked then because I wasn’t sure about mine loving me. She needed me, yes, but love?

She nodded. “Yes. But maybe not the way I see other mothers’ love. She works a lot, and she’s distant with me. I feel…I feel most of the time like I’m a bother, and she prefers it if I keep out of her way.”

“My mother clings to me,” I confessed. “I couldn’t wait to leave Dallas and get here, have some freedom. She’s always…on me. She’s so fragile. Crying, weeping, afraid that if I come here she’ll lose me like she lost Dad.”

“She feels you’re all she has, Duke.” Elena cupped my cheek. “She loves you.”

“She also stifles me.”

“But you know she loves you. You have two parents who adore you.”

I felt guilty because she had neither. “I know. I’m very lucky.”

“Just because you have them both doesn’t mean it’s all roses,” she said with a perceptiveness that floored me. “You’re allowed to be annoyed and irritated.”

I had been tongue-tied, unable to find a fitting reply, so I reached out and squeezed her hand tenderly.

“When you talk about your mama, it sounds like you’re the parent, and she’s the kid.” More insights from my girl that hit the target.

“Don’t I know it?” I rolled to my side. “But it bothers me less and less…especially since I met you.”

I told her then about the suicide attempts.

She hugged me tight and told me she was sorry I had to go through that. She made me feel seen, understood—validated. Not like Mama, who had always acted like it was my duty to care for her as if my own feelings didn’t matter—as if her life and safety were my responsibility.

That summer, life had been a simple, untroubled melody…until everything fell apart, and I threw away the precious things we had once held dear. But how could I have kept those incredible moments? Our situation was untenable.

I now believed her when she said she hadn’t known about Maria. The woman I saw in front of me, and thegirl I knew wouldn’t have lied. I’d just been so angry that I’d lashed out. I was losing Elena because there was no way I could keep Maria’s daughter in my life.

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