Page 68 of Love Notes & Lifelines
Lucía laughs, and it breaks a sad chuckle free from me too.
“I can hear her saying that. You’re the only one who can make this call. It’s hard, and it’s not fair, so no one will judge you no matter what you decide, but if this new job makes anything in your life easier, then I think you should hold on to it. Life doesn’t always have to hurt.”
“My mother never liked Silas,” I admit. “She wanted grandbabies, but she never mentioned them with Silas.”
The ring I grabbed from my apartment earlier—the last remaining tie to Silas—sits like a beating heart in my pocket. I’d only picked it up to try and sell it, but now I wish Silas had demanded it back. I don’t want it anywhere near me.
“Mothers usually know the truth, Stella. We spend years learning our children so we’ll know how to help them when they need us.” She kisses the side of my head and leaves me alone with my mom.
“This isn’t fair, Mom,” I sob as soon as Lucía closes the door. “You’re supposed to be here for me. You’re supposed to help me pick wedding dresses and baby strollers. You’re not supposed to leave me all alone.”
Two more hours pass before I can pull myself from her bedside.
It’s not her anymore. She’s not in there. She doesn’t mean it.
But that mantra is hard to believe when she still looks like the mom I’ve always run to.
I leave Mindful Moments full of hate and anger and sadness. Hate for the world that is so cruel. Anger at the doctors for not being able to save her. And sadness for what my life will be when she’s no longer my responsibility.
The house is completelydark as GPS guides me up the last of the long and winding driveway. Thank God.
I’m not ready for an inquisition, and I’m not strong enough to store my feelings in an airtight vacuum yet.
Every time I think I’ve built back an ounce of strength, I’m reminded of how fragile I am—of how precarious life is.
The enormous SUV crunches over gravel until it comes to a stop at the front porch. It’s a beautiful home that grants mepeace in its safe haven, and I’m grateful Beck had all the locks changed yesterday. The new one has a keypad with a special code for each of us. Beck said it’s practical, but beneath the practicality is his need to keep the girls safe, even if he doesn’t admit it.
Pressing the code he set for me, I enter the house as quietly as the chimes will allow.
Safely inside, I slide the lock closed, pausing momentarily to appreciate one lock as opposed to the four flimsy ones at my apartment, then press my back to the cool glass and suck in a breath that masks my fears.
There’s a significant temperature difference between the coast and Raleigh, and now that I’m inside, I don’t know if I’ll ever feel warm again.
“You’re home.” Beck’s low, throaty voice startles me. It’s so dark in here I can’t tell which direction it came from.
“Beck?”
A lamp flickers to life beside the sofa and I glimpse the side of his face.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, pressing myself harder into the cold glass pane of the door.
He nods while shuffling papers in front of him. I need to disappear before he looks at me too closely.
“Okay, well. It’s been a long day. I’ll see you in the morning,” I say, then attempt to flee the scene.
I feel it the instant his gaze lands on the bandage above my left brow. The air crackles between us with an edge of danger that soothes more than it scares. It’s not fair that I’m so in tune with this man, but tonight I’m a hairsbreadth away from crumbling, so I hike my large bag to my shoulder, tilt my body away from him, and break for the stairs.
He catches me before my foot hits the second step. His fingertips graze my face before catching the edge of the bandage and removing it—then everything changes.
The muscles in his forearms flex as they hold my chin hostage. His gaze darkens, and his chest expands, eating up all the space between us.
“This is the second time you’ve gone somewhere and come home injured.” His words are stilted, and it takes a moment to realize his jaw is clenched as he speaks. There’s a hint of alcohol on his breath.
“Have you been drinking?”
His eyes narrow into slits as if my question insults him. “I had one drink,” he growls. “Don’t deflect, Stella. What’s going on?”
God, I want to tell him—tell him every sordid detail. But if I tell him about my mom, it will only lead to more questions about her facility—how I afforded the hefty deposit in the first place, or why I can no longer teach, and it all leads back to Silas. Shame makes me bite my tongue.
