Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Twenty-Four
Kash
So many goddamn voices. All the false laughter and pretend cheer. None of it was real. Watching them all, I’d started to become numb. It was the only way I’d managed to get through the past two days. I wasn’t a fucking actor, but both my brothers had missed their calling.
Tomorrow, however, was the last day of this. Christmas would come and go, and then my parents would leave for Texas, where Mom would begin her treatments. Forge had decided that he was staying at the house with me. I didn’t want him here. I wanted to be left alone.
“Kash.” My mother’s voice stopped me. I’d been trying to sneak away after the big family dinner.
“Yeah, Mom?” I asked, turning around.
I hadn’t noticed the weight loss when I first got home or the little things, like how she appeared almost frail. She was holding on to the banister at the moment, and her knuckles were white from her gripping it so hard. Had walking up the stairs been that hard for her? What else was she covering up for our sake?
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Nothing. I’m good,” I assured her, walking over for my peace of mind in case her legs gave out on her and pulling her into a hug. “I’m good,” I repeated again. “Just needed a little alone time.”
When I pulled back from hugging her, I didn’t let go of her arms. “If you want me down there though, I’ll go. We can head down now.”
She reached up and patted my cheek, as if I were still a little boy. “My beautiful boy,” she said with a soft sad smile. “You never could get away with a lie. Not the way your brothers could. Now, tell me, what has those blue eyes I love so full of sorrow?”
I winced, unable to help it. “Guess I can’t pretend it’s all okay. And I’m sorry. I’ll do better. Let’s go down and watch a Christmas movie.”
She shook her head. “You’re not getting out of this that easy,” she said. “I know you’re scared, and that’s okay. That fear flashes in your gaze every time you look my way. But that’s not what I’m talking about. You’re … lost. I thought getting to come home and stay would make you happy, but you still have that unsettled glint in them. As if you’re searching. What is it for? Hmm? Do you know?”
I squeezed her arms gently. “You don’t need to waste energy worrying over me. I’m happy that I get to stay.” I couldn’t call it home though.
Yes, this had once been my home. She was once my home. But I had grown up, and my home had changed.
“I will worry about you in this life and whatever comes after. It’s what mommas do. We want our children happy. And you’ve not been truly happy for a long time. But you were once.”
Yeah, I’d been happy once. I’d felt like the fucking king of the world.
“I’m happy to be here with you.” I told her.
She gave a frown that said she didn’t buy my bullshit. “Fine. Keep your secrets. But find what makes you happy and hold on to it. Fight for it.”
I nodded. I couldn’t tell her it wasn’t that easy. My “happy” had blocked my calls and texts. She had refused to talk to me. Asked me to let her go if I loved her. But how was I supposed to do that? I’d walked away four years ago because I thought she’d betrayed me. My hurt and rage had fueled me. With that stripped away, knowing it was me who had betrayed her, me who had shattered both our worlds, I was being eaten alive by the guilt, regret, and anguish.
“There it is again,” Mom said softly. “The dark shadows in your gaze. That’s what I don’t want to see.”
If I could make it go away, I would, but she was asking me the one thing I couldn’t do for her.
“Come on,” I said, linking her arm in mine. “Let’s go watch a holiday comedy. I want to hear you laugh. That’ll make me happy.”
Her hand covered mine, and she patted it. “All right. But I get to pick the movie,” she told me.
I sighed dramatically. “Fine. But just this once.”
Lying in bed, I stared at the time on my phone, waiting for midnight.
When it came, I texted out, Merry Christmas, Songbird. Then hit Send.
I was positive she’d blocked my number, and I could have used another phone, but she’d only block that one too. She wanted me out of her life. My immediate instinct was to do exactly what my mother had said to do—fight. But then I thought about all the pain I’d caused her, and I retreated. She was my home. My happy. But that didn’t mean I was hers. I’d destroyed everything else. What if I killed that too?