Chapter Twenty-three
As Candy sat on the floor of her office with a man who enticed her too much, emotions she didn’t want to deal with bubbled inside her, ready to explode like a volcano. It had taken her a long time to suppress the tumultuous disaster her life was, to push it down so far inside, it would never see the light of day. Apparently, that wasn’t enough.
Here she was pouring her heart out to a man she didn’t know, but was highly attracted to. There was something about him that made her want to trust him. Believe in him. Talking to him was so easy, too easy. Like they had been best friends for years. Mates.
Thinking back to when her mother died made her want to curl into a ball and cry until the pain was gone. But that wouldn’t happen. She hadn’t cried since she was twelve. The ache would forever be there, ready to eat her alive when helpless against it. Solution: don’t be vulnerable. She sat up straighter and yanked down her white T-shirt.
“You didn’t really kill your mother. Did you?” The way he asked sounded funny in her ears. Like he didn’t believe she would do that. Then again, maybe he would. She laughed, releasing some pent-up emotion.
“No, I didn’t,” she confirmed. “The drunk prick did. But I was the cause of it.” She took herself back to that awful day. She would finally tell someone the horrible truth of the moment that had changed her young life.
“I had come home from school angry because my favorite teacher was going on maternity leave and would be gone for a few months. Her substitute was a grouchy old man who liked to call you out in front of the class to ‘teach you a lesson.’
“When I came through the kitchen door, Mom was cooking dinner. Spaghetti with hot dogs cut up in it. My favorite, but it didn’t cheer me up. I stomped over the linoleum toward the other room. I told my mom I was mad at Mrs. Carpenter and wasn’t going back to school, ever. She smiled and asked me how I had arrived at that conclusion. I had reached the stairs in the living room at the point and hollered back to her, ‘She’s leaving because she’s pregnant.’
“My father popped up from his recliner, nearly empty bottle of Jack clutched in his hand. I knew right away I shouldn’t have yelled. He looked around confused, like he’d never been in the house before. ‘Who’s pregnant?’ he stammered, holding on to the back of the stained recliner for support. His expression turned to the mean hate I knew meant trouble.
“He staggered toward the kitchen. ‘The bitch ain’t ever leaving me.’ I ran after him when he burst through the swinging door into the kitchen. I pulled on his arm, telling him it was a mistake. My teacher was pregnant and leaving, not Mom. He didn’t hear me. He had an excuse to rant and rave and he was going to take it.
“Mom was holding dinner plates in her hand when Dad tromped in. Before she could react, he bashed his glass whiskey bottle into her head. She crashed to the floor and the plates fell from her hands. It was so loud with my father screaming at my mother that he didn’t want any more twat waffles to feed, Mom screeching back, and the dishes smashing into pieces. I wanted to cover my ears, block it all out.
“Then my dad did the unthinkable: he kicked Mom in the stomach, over and over, saying he would beat her until she miscarried, and if she ever thought about leaving him, he’d kill her.” A sob choked her throat. The image of her mother on the floor, bloody and beaten, tore at her. It was her fault. A single tear slid down her cheek.
Suddenly, a warm blanket was wrapped around her, holding her tightly against a hot body. Josh had scooted behind her and enveloped her with his silent strength. With his comforting touch, she felt stronger, able to get through this nightmare he’d asked her to relive. Only for him. She wouldn’t do it for anyone else.
“I hit and pulled on Dad’s arm, screaming at him to stop. It was all a mistake. My mistake. He laid his hand on the top of my head and shoved me against the wall, hard enough to crack the wallpapered surface.”
She snuggled back into his warmth. She’d never felt anything so good, so relaxing. She let out a breath and let him gently rock her.
Josh asked her, “What happened after that? Did the police arrest him?”
She laughed, but it sounded angry and hate-filled even to her ears. “You’d think that would be the case. That’s when I learned something about my father I’d never forget. Just how much of a motherfucking piece of shit he was.” Her hands fisted and she brought them down hard on her thighs. The momentary pain felt good. For the tiniest sliver of a second, it took her mind off the agony inside her. She did it again. Another small repose.
Josh grabbed her fists from behind where he’d snuggled up to her. He whispered soothing sounds, gently swaying side to side. With an incredible sense of peace in her heart overcoming the pain, she relaxed into him. This man’s touch, his closeness, his protective cocoon around her was like nothing she’d ever experienced. She didn’t know this . . . this . . . bliss existed.
Josh asked, “Is there more you want to tell me?” She nodded. She wanted to tell him everything. She wanted him to make all the ache go away, all the burden of knowing her mother was killed because of her carelessness.
She took in a deep breath. “After he pushed me into the wall, the next thing I remembered was waking in my bed to sirens and red lights flashing through my bedroom windows.
“In the twin bed beside mine, my younger sister and brother slept, holding on to each other for dear life, it seemed. I had always protected them when our parents fought, but I wasn’t there for them this time. I was a part of the battle, a casualty.
“I sneaked downstairs to see what was happening. It was nighttime. Hours had passed. Police cars were parked in the driveway and along the street, their emergency lights giving the dark room a surreal feel. I went to the kitchen to see Mom, to make sure the police had her safe. What an idiot child I was back then.
“I walked in and saw a white blanket over a lump on the floor. At the bottom of the blanket, my mom’s feet stuck out. They, too, were bloody.
“Someone called my name, probably my bastard father. I looked up and saw him sitting at the breakfast table, crying. I—I was so shocked that I couldn’t move. I just stared at him, not recognizing the man. My father was dressed in a suit with his tie loosened around his neck. His hair was combed back and his black shoes shined. He looked like any respectable father coming home from work.
“One of the officers knelt in front of me. His eyes were friendly, unlike my father’s. He asked me if I’d seen the intruder who had come into the house, hurt my mother, and took off with her purse.
“At first, I didn’t understand what he was saying. That wasn’t what happened. My eyes caught my dad’s, glaring hatred at me. I knew at that moment he would get away with my mother’s murder. Blaming it on someone who came in the unlocked door to steal money—during the daytime, when people were out and about.”
She came back to the present to find herself in the hold of a man she truly desired to be with. Inhaling deeply, she took his scent into her, calming her, bringing her comfort.
Josh said, “That’s what we call scenting.”
“What?” she replied. “Breathing in your smell?”
“That’s part of it. For a shifter, our ability to smell the slightest molecule of a scent keeps us alive in dangerous territory.”
She nodded. “I can see that.” They sat quietly, the rocking motion lulling her into contentment. The pain in her heart subsided, almost to the point she could bear it. Where did it go? She didn’t understand.
“You know,” Josh said, “they say when you tell someone about something you’ve kept inside a long time, you’re sharing your heart, and you and that person will always be connected through that sharing. You’ve given me half your pain so you are not burdened alone anymore. I will carry it for you as our connection grows stronger. As your mate, I will do everything in my power to make you happy.”
She twisted around in his hold to see his face. The fire lit one side, keeping the other in darkness. But she only needed half to see he meant what he said. Even though she’d never seen it after her mother died, she knew the look in his eyes was love, directed at her.
She snaked her hand behind his neck and pulled him to her. She wanted this kiss more than anything. That damn cliché about wanting him more than her next breath was true. A laugh almost burst through with that thought, but the touch of his lips on hers sent every logical piece of her scurrying away.