Page 89 of The Temptation of Truth
“Paul had decided after our fight to come home. He felt bad. I made him feel bad, and he drove all night. Then his car died on the side of the road, so he called my parents to pick him up. On the way back, another driver fell asleep at the wheel. Went off the road and over-corrected. Crossed the median. There were four cars involved in the accident. Nine people total. Only three fatalities.”
Only three fatalities.
Her family.
On a day that was supposed to be a celebration, she lost her entire family. Everything she knew changed in an instant, and along with grief, she’s been harboring guilt. Four years of agony. I can’t even imagine how heavy that must be. I can’t imagine how exhausted she is from carrying it.
I almost tell her it’s going to be okay, that it will get easier, but I stop myself. That’s not what she needs to hear. More condolences and false promises. I can’t tell her something I don’t know to be true. I press another kiss to her head and instead say what feels necessary. I give her honesty.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“I’ve spent so long believing that it was.”
“It was a terrible, horrible accident, Aurora, and it wasn’t your fault. Not only that, but your parents and brother loved you, and they knew you loved them.”
She shakes her head. “The last thing I told my brother was to go to hell. I slammed the car door on my parents as they were telling me they loved me. That’s my last memory of them. Their last memory of me...”
“My apology came too late. They never saw my texts. By the time I stopped being a brat and sent them, my family was already dead. Now they’ll never know how sorry I am. They’ll never know I didn’t mean what I said. I was too late.”
Her apology came too late.
It makes sense, now. The constant apologizing. That must be why she’s so quick to say she’s sorry. For everything, all the time, even when she’s done nothing wrong.
I hold her tighter and press my face into her hair, willing my words to penetrate her skin. To burrow into her. To become permanent.
“They knew you loved them. They did. I promise you, they did. Foundation of truth, remember? I wouldn’t lie to you.”
Aurora sniffles and nods, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she sits up, and chill bumps rise on my arms from the air when it hits my shoulder, replacing her warmth and cooling my skin that’s still wet from her tears.
I loosen my hold on her, but I don’t let go. I don’t wipe my face of my own tears, and I don’t hide from her pain. I don’t want her to hide from it either.
Her eyes bounce between mine, and she chews on her lower lip before folding it between her teeth. Her brows furrow, and I hold my breath for whatever she’s going to say next. Then shehuffs out a small laugh. It’s quiet and tired, but it’s still such a sweet sound.
“Second time in a week you’ve found me sobbing on a floor.”
I smile. “To be fair, you found me this time. And we weren’t on the floor to start with. Or sobbing.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
She leans back onto the sliding glass door, cheeks flushed and glistening with slowly drying tear tracks. Her lashes are matted, and her eyes are red-rimmed, but I can’t look away from her. She’s a mess—we both are—and she’s beautiful. Raw, real, vulnerable. Beautiful. Her attention moves back to the orchid, and her frown returns.
“Uncle Wade wanted me to move to L.A. with him until the college semester started, but I didn’t want to leave my hometown. We sold my house, but my friends, memories of my family, everything I’d ever known was in that town. I couldn’t go through another huge change. I couldn’t.”
She shakes her head and sighs, slow and defeated. Then she shrugs. “Enter Brady.”
My spine straightens at the mention of her husband, and I can’t fight the downward turn of my lips or the slant to my brow. Her shoulders droop. I can see her regret in the way her body deflates. In the crease of her forehead and the tone of her voice.
If I could turn back time—if I had the power to change one thing about the past—I’d change this for her. Fuck all the shit I’ve been through, all my mistakes. They can all stay. But this pain she feels? This regret and guilt? Aurora doesn’t deserve it. I’d erase it all.
“Paul and Brady were best friends. He was at our house a lot. I kind of grew up with him, and my brother thought of the Sinclairs like a second family. When they offered to let me stay with them, I jumped at the chance. I clung to it. I was desperate. Brady had all these stories about Paul. All these pictures. He wasso comforting. In a way, it was almost like having Paul back. Like having my family back. I told Uncle Wade to go back to L.A., and while he called and checked in every day, he wasn’t there, you know? And my friends didn’t understand. They tried, but they had lives. They all went off to college. I only had Brady.
“When he suggested I defer my university acceptance and go to the local community college, I did it. I didn’t think twice. The thought of being on my own so soon was debilitating. I thought I needed the Sinclairs. I thought I needed Brady. When he asked me out, I was happy for the companionship. He offered me a comfort I desperately needed, and at the time, I didn’t see it for what it was. A crutch. A bribe. A trap.”
Aurora drops her head to the glass door and peers up into the tree canopy. The dappled sunlight dances across her flushed skin, and for a moment, it’s like I can see her gaining strength from it. She’s fascinating and resilient. The more I learn about her, the more in awe I become.
“You are one of the strongest people I’ve ever met,” I say, giving her hand a squeeze, but she shakes her head and keeps her eyes on the trees.
“I’ve spent the last four years willfully blind and closed off. I’ve lost direction and control. I couldn’t handle my reality, so I allowed Brady to change everything to better suit him.”
