Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 91862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Finally, when they’re gone, I step out of Braden’s arms, but then nearly fall. He steadies me quickly.
“You okay?”
“No,” I say. “Not even a little bit.”
“You seemed so calm.”
“It was an act, Braden. They had me cornered. I didn’t know what to do. I’m so glad you showed up.”
“I had a feeling Beau wouldn’t take this lying down. But I underestimated him. I figured he’d come directly to me.”
“Why? He’s obviously been exploiting women for years.”
“Not just women. He uses the drugs to get what he wants in business as well.”
“He’s a coward.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Braden says. “I won’t make this mistake again. He found my Achilles’ heel. I’m so sorry to put you through this, Skye.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“I know you will. You’re strong. The strongest woman I’ve ever known. Well, you’re tied, anyway.”
“Oh? Tied with whom.”
He exhales slowly. “With my mother, Skye. You’re tied with my mother.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Back at Braden’s place, he pours a bourbon for each of us.
I take a sip, letting the smoky liquor burn my throat. It’s a good burn. A burn I need at the moment.
My heart is still thumping from having a gun pointed at me.
I always thought I could imagine what that might feel like. I was wrong. It’s terror. Sheer terror. Your life doesn’t flash before your eyes. All you see is fear. Fear with its ugly black-and-red head, laughing at you in a satanic, mocking way.
I don’t want to experience that again any time soon. Like ever.
“I’ll always protect you,” Braden says.
“I know.” And I believe him. I know he’ll always try. And I know doubly that if he ever failed, he’d never forgive himself.
And with that thought, I know something about his mother.
“You blame yourself,” I murmur. “Not just for feeling repulsed by her scars when you were a little boy. You blame yourself for her death.”
“Yes. I do. I always will.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” I don’t know what happened, but already I know it wasn’t his fault. Braden was six years old. Braden could never be at fault. I know that as well as I know my own name, Skye Margaret Manning.
“She survived the fire,” I say. “She was strong.”
“She was. She made sure Ben and I got to safety.”
“Any mother would save her child first.”
“I know. But she was never the same. Even though she was still beautiful.”
“I’m sure she was, if she was your mother.”
He simply nods.
“You don’t have to tell me, Braden.”
“No. I want to. It’s time.” He shakes his head. “I’ve never told this story to anyone.”
I smile. “Then I’m honored.”
“I haven’t even told my therapist.”
“I’m doubly honored.”
He draws in a deep breath. “She and my father stayed together, and he did get sober. He tried, but he wasn’t cut out for marriage, really. In his way, my father loved her.”
I nod.
“But she was never the same after the fire. She fell into depression.”
Oh God. I know where this is heading, and I don’t want to hear any more.
But as he continues, I widen my eyes. This path leads to an unexpected place.
“We kept her going. Ben and I.”
“She loved you very much.”
“She did. And she loved Dad, for all his faults.”
“You love him, too, don’t you?”
“In my way. But I’ve never forgiven him for what he cost me.”
“Your mother?”
“Yes.”
He stays silent as time seems to suspend itself. I don’t push. If he’s done talking, that’s okay. Oh, I’m wildly curious, but it can keep. Braden and I have all the time in the world.
“She got sick,” he finally says. “One of the burn wounds never healed properly, and it got infected. She developed a bad strep bacterial strain. The one they call the flesh-eating bacteria.”
“Oh my God. Streptococcus A.”
“That’s the one. I had just started high school, and Ben had just started middle school.”
“And you lost your mother.”
He nods, his eyes heavy-lidded. Still, no moisture pools in them. Braden doesn’t cry. I have the feeling he hasn’t cried since that day.
If he even did then.
“Why is this so difficult for you to talk about?” I ask. “It’s not your fault.”
“It is.”
“Braden, it’s not. Blame your father if you want. I at least get that. But not yourself.”
“You don’t understand, Skye. That day… That day of the fire…”
“What? What happened the day of the fire?”
“I didn’t want to leave my room,” he says. “I didn’t want to leave my precious comic books to get burned into ashes. She’s yelling at me to get out. She’s got Ben in her arms, and she doesn’t have an extra arm for me. So she finally leaves, gets Ben to safety, and then she comes back for me. She lifts me up and I drop the handful of comic books. I yelled at her, Skye. I told her…”
“It’s all right. You told her what?”
“I told her I hated her for making me leave my comic books.”