Chapter 30 Char
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAR
What am I even doing? The question plays on repeat each morning when I wake up to the sound of nothing but my own heartbeat.
It’s been days since I left, and somehow the silence feels louder than it ever did before.
The days are so long and lonely. Getting away was supposed to quiet the chokehold of fear that had me in its clutches in Sycamore Mountain. But I’m even more confused than ever.
How did everything fall apart so fast? One minute, I was wrapped in the arms of a strong, gorgeous man, feeling safe and sated. The next, I was running.
I’m always running.
Sure, he’d betrayed me by digging into things he shouldn’t, but it’s getting harder and harder to fault him. Every encounter has been respectful. No touch without consent. And the minute I wanted space, he gave me just that.
Why had the past reared its ugly head? Was it the wedding that tipped someone off?
I keep going over it in my head like there’s some secret clue buried in the details.
I only used cash. No social media. No paper trail.
I didn’t go anywhere crowded. Unless Buc-ee’s counts as high profile now. I almost laugh at that.
I think about what Margaret said. Her voice has been looping in my head for days, gentle but relentless. “You can’t live your life running from people who care about you, Char. That road you’re on, it’s long and it’s very lonely.”
Still, I shared everything with Ellie. Then Betty. They know. And instead of running for cover and worrying about their own safety, they were only concerned for me.
This does something to me. Maybe it’s guilt. Or perhaps it’s gratitude. Regardless, that little town of Sycamore Mountain is starting to feel like home. And I’m missing them more each day. And no matter how much I tell myself I’m better off keeping my distance, every time I close my eyes…
I see him.
Dave
I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, headlights slicing through the dark stretch of highway that cuts through the Carolinas.
The road hums beneath my tires, the kind of sound that fills the silence just enough to keep me from screaming into it.
Fuck. There are so many things I’d do differently.
“Lonely Road” by mgk & Jelly Roll fills the cab of my truck. The words are smacking me in the face, the lyrics hitting way too close to home.
It’s been a ghost town without her. The house that once felt like my sanctuary.
The place I built to escape everything and everyone now feels like a big, empty tomb.
Every creak, every echo in those vaulted ceilings reminds me she’s not there.
The smell of her sweet scent still lingers faintly on the pillow, taunting me.
But the thought of it being washed away is almost worse.
Will this home ever be the same? Probably not. Not anytime soon anyway.
It’s funny. I’d learned quickly not to bring anyone here who’d question my wealth, my mother’s situation, my relationship with my father… then I go and do the very thing I was trying to protect myself from. I invade her privacy.
What the fuck was I thinking?
Maybe she’s right? Can I blame it on a hero complex? I knew something was off and immediately flew into protective mode. But it’s more than that, and I know it.
I glance at the empty passenger seat. For half a second, I swear I see her.
That beautiful carefree way about her the night I brought her home.
Dressed in that oversized cable knit fisherman’s sweater, all bundled up against the chill of the mountain air.
Then the illusion fades, and it’s just me again.
As Jelly Roll sings about using alcohol to fill that void, I let out a cynical chuckle knowing I tried to do the same to no avail.
And god, I tried. A few too many bourbons by the fire.
A few too many nights staring at my cell phone, willing it to light up.
Or to just risk it and call her. I have to admit, knowing her number is stored in my contacts is a little more temptation than I can probably handle. But I’m trying to walk away like a man.
A pathetic, love-struck man.
Even my tricked-out log cabin bachelor pad isn’t the same now. And every time I enter my damn game room, I think of her. Well, and Christian Grey.
Yeah, I watched it.
The song continues, pulling me back out of my trance momentarily as they sing of how they probably could’ve saved their relationships, but instead, let them crash. Because they don’t trust anyone to love them back. A stone feels like it’s burrowing into the pit of my stomach.
That line runs through my head on repeat.
It could’ve been written about my own life.
I chuckle darkly under my breath and shift in the driver’s seat, rolling my shoulders against the tension that’s been riding me for weeks.
Maybe the sins of my father are still causing me to do things that will push people away.
Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time. I’ve become a pro. But this one simply hurts more.
Yeah, I’m on this road now. Driving north. Feeling so damn alone.
By the time I pull into my mother’s driveway in New Jersey, it’s well past midnight. The porch light is still on. It always is. Even when she forgets half the groceries she goes for, even when she barely eats. Some things she just never forgets.
Thankfully, she sleeps like a rock on the anti-depressives she’s on, and she knows I’m on the way. She doesn’t have anxiety as much as no emotion at all. I’m honestly not sure which is worse.
The next morning, I’m in her kitchen, carrying in grocery bags. It’s muscle memory. The same routine we’ve had for years. I unpack the items, and she puts them away without a word. As if on autopilot.
I’m cracking eggs into a bowl when suddenly she reaches out, her hand warm on my arm. “What’s wrong?” Even drowning in her own depression, my mother can still read me like a book.
I set the knife down and stare at my hands for a long moment. “I don’t know how it happened, but I fell for someone I barely know. And I’ve already managed to ruin it.”
That gets her attention. Her eyes light up in a way I haven’t seen in years. But instead of seeing concern or the motherly, overprotective nature she usually displays if I share something bothering me, she appears hopeful, soft. “You did?”
I nod, exhaling. “Yeah. Wasn’t looking for it. Didn’t want it, honestly. But she’s… Mom, she’s everything.” I shake my head. “And I completely screwed it up.”
“What happened?” she asks gently. There’s the tiniest flicker in her brown irises. It’s like a pilot light to the carefree woman I remember years ago.
I grip the back of my neck, trying to rub the continued ache from the stiff muscles that have taken up permanent residence.
“I was trying to protect her. Thought something wasn’t right, and I.
.. I found some information I shouldn’t have.
I would hate if someone was digging into my private life.
And then I went and did the very same thing to her.
I was only worried.” I swallow hard. “But I had no right.” My head falls forward in shame.
“Then she found out. And now she’s gone. ”
When I look back up, she’s smiling. Grinning, actually. “Why the hell are you smiling?” I ask, half-laughing, half-exasperated.
“Because,” she says, squeezing my arm, “you finally let someone in. I’ve waited years to hear you talk like this.”
I shake my head. “Mom, this isn’t something to celebrate. Did you miss the part where I said I lost her?”
She tilts her head, her voice soft but steady.
“I’ve had so much guilt over what your father and I did to you.
How the divorce hardened you. I let you down, not providing you with a cohesive family.
Not to mention what it may have cost you financially.
But the worst of it was seeing how it made you cynical about love.
But this…” She claps her hands together in a sign of joy I haven’t seen in years. “This means there’s still hope in you.”
“Stop,” I say quickly, grabbing her arms, turning her to face me. I need to be sure she hears me. “None of that was your fault! None! I could see his priorities were somewhere else. My relationship with him was wrecked long before he took his selfish wrath out on you.”
I need her to understand she’s been nothing but a positive force in my life. She needs to know this wasn’t on her. “You were the best mother I could’ve asked for. You are the best mother.”
Her lip trembles, and I pull her into my arms. For a long while, we just stand there, the smell of a fresh start filling the air, both of us trying not to fall apart.
When she finally pulls back, her eyes are wet but steady.
“You know,” she says softly, “your father used to tell me you were just like him. Stubborn. Closed off. I used to pray he was wrong.”
I give a small, self-deprecating smile. “Guess he wasn’t entirely.”
She shakes her head. “No. You’re loyal. That’s quite different. You’re not heartless and cold. And you’re compassionate to a fault.” She nudges me with her elbow. “You’d never hurt someone on purpose.”
Her words hit deeper than I expect. I look away, staring at the counter where the half-sliced tomatoes bleed onto the cutting board.
“She said she needed space,” I murmur. “That she needed to get her head on straight. And I get it. I do. But I can’t stop thinking about her.
” About how she laughed when she didn’t mean to.
How she’d bite her lip when she was trying not to cry.
How it felt like I’d known her a lifetime after such a short while.
Mom smiles again. It’s glorious after missing the sight of it for so long. “Then don’t let the space turn into silence.”
I glance at her. “You think I should reach out to her?”
“I think,” she says, setting a hand on my arm, “that some people come along once in a lifetime. And if you’re lucky enough to find one of those, you don’t let pride or guilt keep you from fighting for them.”
My face falls. Does she think my dad’s worth fighting for?
“Don’t give me that look, young man. You can’t possibly think I’m that stupid.”
There’s no holding back my stunned laughter.
Now if that isn’t the best thing I’ve heard in years.
I need to focus on this and let it keep my head somewhere positive.
Yet, the idea of calling her after what I’ve done still feels daunting.
I exhale, a shaky sound that’s half chuckle, half sigh.
“What if she doesn’t want to hear from me? ”
“Then at least you’ll know,” she says. “But if you say nothing, you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering what might’ve been.
That’s a heavier kind of loneliness, David.
Trust me.” Her voice falters on that last line, and my heart begins to plummet until I force myself to remember she’s slowly digging herself out of that treacherous hole.
The kitchen grows quiet. She turns back to the counter, like she’s said all she needs to.
Until she blurts, “Okay, let’s get cracking.
” She tosses an egg into the air. I have to react quickly to catch it.
The joke completely catches me off guard, nearly knocking the wind out of me.
God, I love this woman. She just keeps fighting her way out of the darkness, even when I can’t see it.
And if she can, so can I.