CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
JAKE
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It doesn’t take long before Caylee falls asleep on my chest. The TV show flickers in the darkness, the sound so low I have no idea what’s going on.
Yet, I keep staring at it.
Truth is, I’m focused on the softness of Caylee’s body, the fact she’s safe in my arms, and the gentle beating of her heart.
It’s all that matters.
She is all that matters.
I think I knew this from the very beginning, but it took almost losing her—really losing her—to sink in.
I know how it feels to lose someone, and how permanent it is. My sister and my cousin, when she disappeared. I know how regret lives in the crevices of your mind every day and every night.
I’m so fucking grateful we caught the van and still have Caylee here with us tonight. So much so I could almost cry. Something I’ve done maybe three times in my life.
I sniff.
If I’m going to keep her, I need to work out my own problems.
My family is a giant disaster. Losing Becca was as a result of my father’s drinking, and we all use it as an excuse for our problems.
It’s not.
We can’t keep lying to ourselves.
And if they won’t stop, then it’s over to me.
I’ve paid for Dad to have therapy, and he won’t go. Mom doesn’t help with her those fucking shrinks make things worse comments.
Christ.
She’s just as complicit. Mom was the adult in those days and let him take us kids in the car while drunk. She never took me back to the cops and told them I lied.
She never told anyone that he was guilty.
Mom knew.
She has let me carry the burden for the rest of my life, manipulating me with all her comments about the shame we have as a family. How I can’t tell a soul.
Well, fuck that.
That’s not love.
Maybe I don’t know what love is, but as I gaze down at the woman on my chest and tighten my arms around her, I think this might be fucking close.
I would die for her.
I wouldn’t shame her or manipulate her.
I want her to know she’s safe and can rely on me.
I just don’t know how to stop getting in the car and making sure my father doesn’t kill someone else. How to say no to my mother when she calls, telling me that I have to help that damn drunk.
I don’t know how to do both.
Brrrbb, brrrbbb, brrrbbb.
Unfucking-believable. I lean forward despite the fact I know who is calling, trying not to disturb Caylee.
Brrr, brrr, brrr.
Vibrating on the glass, it makes a lot of noise, so I nudge it with my foot, which makes it worse.
Caylee stirs.
Fuck.
I run my hand over her hair, willing the phone to go silent while fighting the urge to answer it. Dad is out there drunk. It’s my job to help him. To stop him getting in the car. To protect anyone from getting killed.
Like he killed Becca.
The phone finally stops.
The relief I was expecting doesn’t come. Caylee is safe, but I’ve let my family down.
Someone could die.
Heart thumping, my muscles tense, I realize I’m at a crossroads in life.
Caylee.
Or my family.
Bile works its way into my throat, years of guilt in my mother’s voice, now inside my head making me feel like a failure. I’m a terrible son. I don’t love them.
How could I do this?
Then, a butterfly appears on the screen, and I have no fucking idea why. I thought we were watching an action movie. I’m not a spiritual man but when I hear my Becca’s voice in my head, I go still.
Mom and Dad are adults, Jake. You have to let them learn the consequences of their behavior.
What the hell?
Becca.
Stay with your girl.
The butterfly disappears, a park scene replaces it and the subtitles start rolling.
I dip my eyes to Caylee and then glance around the room. Did I just imagine that?
Fuck, I must be exhausted.
Rubbing my face, I glance at my watch. It’s after eleven.
Then the phone starts up again, vibrating loudly.
You have a choice. Be wise, brother mine.
Caylee stirs, half sitting up, and stares at the phone. Sad eyes lift to mine, then dart away as she climbs off the sofa.
“Caylee, wait.” I reach for her but miss.
“It’s fine. Just go.”
Climbing to my feet, I cross the room and cut her off as she heads down the hall.
I’ve made my decision. Whether my sister’s voice was just my imagination or divine intervention, I’ll never know, but she’s right. My parents are adults, not goddamn children. They have used me as a crutch for years, and I let them.
Dad killed Becca.
I might have lied, but I was a stupid child. I’ll have to live with that forever, but that doesn’t mean I open the bottle and put it to my father’s lips each day.
He does that.
Not me.
“I’m not leaving, Caylee.” I grab her shoulders. “I’m staying here. With you.”
She glances back at the phone, which is still vibrating, then with such sadness it almost breaks my heart she says, “You should. Whoever it is, you should take it.”
“What are you saying?” I swallow.
Her palm lands on my pec as she shakes her head.
“I can’t do this, Jake. I can’t worry when you’ll stay or go.”
I just told her.
Why doesn’t she believe me?
“I’m not doing that anymore,” I say firmly. “Please trust me. I won’t.”
It won’t be easy. I know it’s not as simple as just ignoring it tonight. But when I make a decision, I am bullheaded and stick to it.
That, and I’ve seen the situation in a different light. One I’ve been ignoring my entire life.
And now, I have a reason to look at it right in the damn eye.
Caylee.
“I know you think you mean it, but it’s only because of what happened today. I’m talking long term Jake.” She touches my face. “You want to take things slow. You have...priorities. I want to get married. Kids. I want a man who at least can sleep in my bed an entire night.”
Ouch.
I deserve that.
“You’re right. Nearly losing you today made me realize what’s important. You.”
Her fingers reach and brush over my rough jaw. “I know you think you will but after the shock wears off in a week or two, you’ll answer that phone. You’ll pick up your keys. You’ll head out the door. And you’ll break my heart.”
Is she right?
No.
Caylee doesn’t know my past. She doesn’t understand the shift I’ve had, and until she does, she won’t.
“Give me a chance,” I plead.
“Tell me who the caller is,” she asks on cue.
My mother’s threats start up inside my head. You keep what happens in our family behind these doors.
The images from Thanksgiving with my father passed out on the sofa and Mom losing her shit flash in front of my eyes. I don’t want Caylee to see any of that.
Shame keeps the words from leaving my lips.
What can I tell her?
That we all killed my sister? That every time I drive my father home, I feel like I’m saving a life—but it’s never enough.
It’s never enough.
You have to let them learn the consequences of their behavior.
“Go home, Jake.” Caylee starts to go around me, and I stop her.
“It’s my mother.”
She stops while my body goes into fight-or-flight mode, as if a lion is about to attack me. Instead, it’s my psyche. I’m breaking our family vow.
“Why?”
Such a small question.
The answer is so much bigger.
“Does he have dementia?”
It would be so easy to lie and say yes. It’s a horrible disease but a lot better (for me) than saying he’s an alcoholic with no desire to stop.
“No,” I shake my head and lean back against the doorjamb. “No, he doesn’t.”
Caylee wraps her arms around herself and waits for me to share more. Once I do, it’s over. She may never want to be with me. Not because I’m hiding something...but because I’m me.
The son of a murderer.
“He’s an alcoholic.”
I feel like I’m giving away state secrets, that SEAL Team Six is about to rappel down out of a Seahawk chopper. Or the FBI will burst through the doors with my mom wearing her dressing gown, looking furious.
“I’m sorry.” Caylee unwraps her arms and drops a hand on my arm.
Shaking my head, feeling like an enormous traitor, I take her hand and pull her closer. “I’ve never told a soul. It’s our dirty family secret.”
“Hey.” She rubs my arm, and suddenly I can’t shut up.
“He goes out and drives. She can’t stop him; hell, I can’t stop him.” I rub my forehead, almost back in my family home with it happening. “He killed my sister when we were kids.”
“Jesus, Jake.” Caylee gasps. “On purpose?”
“Drunk driving. He never got charged...because I lied to the police. I told them the bottle broke in the accident, and the other driver was also drunk. So, he got off.”
She licks her lips, her eyes roaming my face.
“How old were you?”
“I’d just turned fourteen.”
“Had he been drinking a long time?”
I nod, dropping my eyes.
I know where she’s going with this. It’s not my fault. I was a kid. Alcoholism is a disease.
Blah, blah, blah.
It’s not untrue, but I’ve been made to feel like it is my fault by the two people I should have been able to trust. It’s going to take some time to undo all that bullshit.
“Who have you talked to?” she asks instead.
I lift my eyes.
“No one,” I reply in a soft, gruff voice. “I was told not to. Ever.”
“Including me,” she almost whispers.
“Yeah.”
“Oh, Jake.” Tears slip down her face, and I see it now. I see what I’ve been missing. This woman loves me.
And I love her...so fucking much.
Caylee wraps her arms around me, and I close my eyes, feeling like the little boy in me has finally, for the first time in my life, been heard.
Been embraced.
For me.
The me I don’t have to hide anymore.
“It’s okay,” I rasp into her hair.
“It’s not. Your parents should’ve done better. Not asked you to cover up for their crimes. You were a kid.”
I watch as Caylee gets angry on my behalf, and I’m not going to lie, I like it. I want to kiss her until she can’t breathe.
I want to lift her off her feet, drag her down to the bedroom and fuck her so damn hard she never questions if I am her man.
I am.
I want so badly for this beautiful, incredible woman to know that in every cell in her body.
But I can’t. She has been through a terrifying trauma today. But man, if she hadn’t...
The phone starts buzzing again, and we both glance over.
“I am not leaving.” I reinforce as firmly as I can without shouting.
“What will happen if you don’t?”
The worry in her eyes makes me love her even more.
“I don’t know. I’ve spent over fifteen years picking up after them. Choosing to clean up their mess. But I’m not doing that anymore. I choose you, Caylee Zimbardo.” I cup her face. “I love you. I fucking love you.”
“Jake...” Her voice breaks, and another tear slides down her face.
“So, I’m staying here with you, and I’ll work out the rest.”
“Let’s go together,” she whispers, placing a hand on my cheek.
My eyes press closed as I take in the enormity of what she’s offering. Jesus fucking Christ. This woman is a saint.
I don’t deserve her.
But I’m keeping her.
There’s also no way I’m letting her leave this house after what she’s been through.
“No.” I open my eyes. “Let’s go to bed.”