10 #4
“There are things that happened that day that I’ve never shared.”
“Never? Not even with Callie?”
“There was no reason to. Mom and Dad were dead, and nothing would bring them back. Others had heard them arguing, especially
at the gas station when Dad stopped to fill up. The weather was bad. They’d both been drinking.”
In other words, no one had questioned the wreck? “I’m sure everyone was busy taking care of you.”
“That, too.” She kept her head turned, her gaze on him, as if that gave her comfort.
He reached out to settle his hand on hers, holding her fingers loosely.
She returned the touch, not so loosely. “I was bad, Kam.”
Just as quietly, he said, “You were a child.”
“I was eleven. Older than you when you went to live with Addie. Old enough to know better.”
“What happened?”
“It was pounding rain, the wind blowing really hard. Mom and Dad had both drank too much, but they weren’t drunk. Not like
they sometimes got. They’d argued all day over everything. Mom was mad and telling him he was a lousy driver. He yelled back
that she was a lousy lay.” She let that land, cleared her throat, and continued. “She slapped him. He shoved her. I was already
a little freaked out from the storm, and I guess I lost it.”
“Lost it how?”
“I started screaming.”
That last word came out higher, thinner, and Kam knew she was crying but he didn’t know what to do about it. He wanted to
hold her, but she was hurt. He wanted to reassure her, but she needed to let it out. All he could do was rub his thumb over
her knuckles and keep holding on. Listening. Being with her.
Caring. And he did. He cared far too much.
“Dad tried to look back at me, not understanding.” Her words broke, and she gasped.
“Memories can cause more pain than fractured ribs. I know that, babe.” Hell, his own eyes burned. “I understand, okay?”
“Mom leaned over the seat to grab me, to tell me to shut up. Dad was swearing.” Swallowing her tears, she whispered, “And
we crashed. I was screaming because I hated them, hated hearing them fight all the time, hated being stuck with them—and a
few minutes later, they were gone.” Rushing the rest of the explanation, she said, “We went off the road, hit something, maybe
a guardrail, then over a hill. Or something. I don’t remember much of that. I just remember flashlights coming through the
windows, an ambulance, and people talking—but the storm never stopped. I guess I passed out, and when I woke up in the hospital,
everything was different.”
Needing to be nearer, he scooted closer, close enough to feel her warmth. “Okay? I’m not hurting you?”
“You could never hurt me.”
Those words fisted around his heart like the tightest of hugs. “No, I never could. Not on purpose. I would never lie to you,
either.” Using ultimate care, he kissed the tears from her cheeks. “Now you listen to me, Glory McCallahan. You were a child,
and you reacted as a child would. That’s on them, not you. Kids do and say things because they’re kids. That’s how it should
be. You’re not at fault, so don’t think that.”
“But—”
“Liam was a mistreated kid, you know that right?”
“I assumed.”
“He felt the same shit you’re feeling. I felt it. Tanner felt it. The difference is, Addie taught us it was okay to be a kid.
Tanner teaches that fact to at-risk kids all the time. I believe it now, and I want you to believe it, too.”
After a sniffle, she admitted, “It’s not easy. My brain knows you’re right, but my heart tells me that by screaming, I changed
everything.”
Sitting forward, Kam retrieved a tissue from the side table. “Can I do this for you or—”
“Ha!” As if in slow motion, she took the tissue from him, mopped her face, and then blew her nose.
Tomorrow, he’d get her better set up with everything she’d need close at hand, but for now, he grabbed another tissue, wrapped
it around the one she held, and pitched it toward the kitchen. “I’ll get that when I get up.”
She half smiled. “Okay.” After a moment, she gave him a long look. “I don’t know why, but I feel better now that I shared,
so thank you for listening.”
“Thank you for sharing with me.” The distance was killing him, so he moved that damned divider pillow, placing it on her lap and getting up next to her. Now he could breathe in the scent of her skin and feel the warmth from her body. “Will this work?”
“It’s better.” Tipping her head to his shoulder, she shifted enough to ease into his side. “Much better.”
“For me, too.”
“We’ve shared a lot of secrets, haven’t we?”
“Yeah, and it means something important.” Did she sense that, too? “It’s like we have a pact or something, right? I trust
you; you trust me . . .” He left that hanging out there, waiting for confirmation.
Softly, she gave him what he needed. “I trust you.”
“So no more secrets.” The second he said it, he felt her go still with new apprehension. “Hey, I’m not asking you to bare
your soul or anything.” He needed her relaxed, not tensed up.
Damn it, he must have pushed her too much. She should have been asleep an hour ago. “Do you need anything?”
Faking a yawn, she closed her eyes. “No, I’m ready to sleep. How about you?”
Not a chance, but all he said was, “Can barely keep my eyes open.” He kissed her temple, then waited, listening to her breathe
until, finally, she really did fade out.
Kam looked at her face, pale in the dim evening light, her hair leaving shadows over her cheek that mingled with the bruising.
I could have lost her.
How could she have become so important to him when he had so many goals? Seeing her like this, battered but still gentle,
scared but concerned for a stray dog, loving her family and his and yet wanting privacy—with him—it touched him deep inside,
forcing an alignment of all the things he considered important.
Family, independence, proving he was nothing like his father . . . The shift had been creeping up on him, but the wreck had changed everything in minutes and now Glory topped his list.
In her sleep, she moved, flinched, and somehow cuddled closer to him. Using extra care, he rearranged her so that she didn’t
put undue stress on her shoulder, and so the pillow helped to cushion her ribs.
This, he thought, was where he was meant to be. With Glory. For sex in the dark—and against the wall. Morning coffee and silly
flirting. During easy times with his family, and when she needed him the most.
The next few weeks would be rough for her, but he’d be with her as often as possible, and when he had to work, his family
and Callie would fill in. Glory loved his family; he knew that now. What she didn’t yet understand was that they loved her
right back.