Becky
July 2013
I closed my eyes, drawing in huge gulps of air in rapid succession. My lungs felt like they were on fire, and my heart—it felt as if it was actually shattering. Fragments of pain pierced everywhere. I’d never experienced agony quite like it.
That was saying a lot. In my twenty-two years, I’d faced plenty of pain, both physical and emotional. My father had been an abusive drunk, my ex-boyfriend and the father of my child had nearly snuffed our lives out, and my brother had been locked in jail for my stupid mistake.
Yes, I’d felt a lot of pain. But losing Mom…it was a different kind of pain.
It was permanent. It was a void that I didn’t think would ever be filled.
“Oh God, Mom,” I sobbed into my hands, staring at the now-stripped bed where she had spent the better part of three months confined to. Her frail body was gone, the slight impression on the mattress the only remaining sign of her.
We weren’t the perfect family, but we were a family. We were finally doing right by each other. I felt like I didn’t get enough time with her, with my brothers. So much of our lives together was wasted, and it broke my heart that my son wasn’t going to see his Grammy anymore.
My shoulders shook as I leaned forward and cried. I wrapped my arms around my stomach, trying to hold myself together because I felt as if I were unravelling.
The sound of a car door slamming had me freeze for a moment. I straightened, blinking back my tears. A moment later, another car door slammed and I heard voices.
I wiped at my face, trying to dry my eyes and cheeks. Of course, I would have picked the exact moment that Tessa Armstrong returned with my son to have my emotional break down. I had the worst timing for these things.
Tessa had picked Aiden up this morning so I could help my older brother, Brock, with the funeral arrangements. Afterwards, I’d gone to the florist to order the flowers, called the caterer and planned the reception. I’d even had time to come into Mom’s bedroom to start stripping the bed.
And then I’d buckled.
It hit me. She was really, truly gone. She’d never sit at another Timbit soccer practice, or read another bedtime story to Aiden. She wouldn’t be sitting in the audience when I finally graduated from nursing school after years of helping me balance parenting with school and work.
I had cried plenty of times since Mom’s bleak diagnosis, but not like this. Not that god-awful, gut-wrenching wail of the mourning.
The front door opened and closed, and at the sound of feet thudding against the floor, I bolted out into the hallway, closing the door to Mom’s room behind me. I didn’t want Aiden to see Grammy’s empty bed and be reminded. “Hi buddy!” I said, pasting on a smile that I hoped conveyed happiness to my three-year-old.
The smile on Aiden’s face was genuine, and his eyes shone with excitement. “I rode a horse, Mommy!”
“Really?” I looked up to where my older brother’s girlfriend stood at the end of the hall, an anxious look on her face.
“I hope that’s alright,” she said, her brows creasing. “I had him wear the proper gear—helmets and pads and what not. I held the reins the whole time,” she added anxiously.
“It’s okay,” I paused, drawing in air slowly. The pain in my chest was still there, as well as the desire to cry, but I had a bath to draw and a child to get to bed. There was a routine, and routines couldn’t be broken.
I clung to the routine; thankful for it. The distraction and happiness my son provided helped me get through each minute. When he wasn’t around, it was harder for me not to fall apart. I needed to do things, I needed to feel useful.
“Let’s get the bath started and then you can tell me all about riding the horse, okay buddy?” I smiled. Aiden nodded and raced down the hallway to the bathroom. “Thanks again, Tessa,” I told her, grateful.
Tessa was a saving grace. She had come to me at the recommendation of my friend, Katie Armstrong. Katie was married to Tessa’s older brother, and had happened to toss my name out there when she found out Tessa was looking for a summer job and I was looking for a dependable babysitter.
She hadn’t been working for me for very long, but she’d swooped in and helped with Aiden every moment she could. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since my mother had passed, and yet she’d been with us practically the whole time.
It hadn’t bothered me that my older brother, Brock, was seeing her. In fact, I’d secretly been thrilled. Brock had come back for the first time in years because our mother was dying, but I was terrified he’d leave again once the funeral was over.
I couldn’t do this alone, and if there was a possibility that Brock would end up sticking around a little longer because of this girl, I was all for it. I didn’t want to lose him too, and I had no idea how I was supposed to handle Braden if he left. I didn’t even know where my younger brother was. He’d taken off shortly after the ambulance had left with Mom’s body. He wasn’t answering calls or texts.
As if I didn’t have enough on my plate. Funeral arrangements, trying to cope with my own suffocating grief, not to mention my son’s grief…and now I had to worry about my younger brother.
“It’s no problem,” Tessa assured me, drawing my attention back to our conversation. “If you need anything else, let me know. If you want, I can come over tomorrow morning and help with Aiden.”
“It’s alright,” I smiled, exhausted with the collected act but unable to quit it. “I can manage tomorrow. I think my family and I will want to be alone. No offence,” I added, wincing when I realized how that sounded. Tessa had only recently started dating Brock, and I hadn’t meant to exclude her, but I still didn’t know her all that well. This felt private.
“None taken.” Tessa gave me a small smile to show me that she understood, her eyes lined with understanding. Family was important to her too. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Call me if you need anything.”
I nodded, watching her go. I stood in the hallway for a moment before turning and walking down the hall to Aiden’s room. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor in his underwear, playing with his plastic dinosaurs.
“Alright, how about that bath?”
Aiden jumped up, racing away, his laughter echoing down the hallway. My heart swelled with love for him, for this precious boy that came out of a dark circumstance and made my world brighter.
I awoke with a start on the living room sofa. I’d fallen asleep while watching some cheesy movie on the Lifetime channel while the tears had silently slipped down my cheeks, coating them.
Bedtime had been a challenge. Before she got really sick, Mom had been the one to read Aiden his bedtime stories every night. Braden skipped parts of the story, just to get it over with because he hated reading, and I was always in a hurry. I had a heavy course load in my nursing program, and there was always an assignment to do or an exam to study for.
But Mom…she’d taken her time. Naturally, Aiden preferred her, and when it was time for bed, he’d quickly get ready before grabbing a book from his shelf and scurrying down the hallway, toward his Grammy’s room.
My heart broke at the sight of him the moment he remembered. His blue eyes filled with tears, and he dropped the arm that had gripped the book tightly to his chest with excitement just moments before.
“Mommy,” his jaw quivered, and I went to him, picking him up and cradling him to my chest.
When I finally calmed him down enough and started to read, I took my time and made all the characters have different voices. I did it as a way to remember her by, as a way to honour her and maybe ease the ache in Aiden’s heart—and my own—a little.
But after that…I’d needed a good cry fest. Anxiety twisted in the pit of my belly as I waited for Brock to call me and tell me that he’d found our younger brother, who was still missing. I knew I wouldn’t be able to relax until I heard Braden was okay.
Until that happened, all I could do was stared blindly at the television, not really seeing the movie I’d put on, my heart aching with each pulse.
At almost two in the morning, the front door flew open with a thud, smacking against the bench in the front hall. I pressed a hand to my racing heart as two men stumbled inside. One was leaning heavily against the other, wobbling on his feet.
The light from the glow of the television made it possible for me to see the outlines of the two stumbling men. My brothers, Brock and Braden.
“Oh my God, what happened?” I half whispered, half shouted as I raced over to them. The smell of liquor greeted my nostrils, and I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “He’s drunk.”
Brock said nothing as he dragged our brother to the sofa and dropped him down on it. He picked up Braden’s legs and placed them on the couch, grabbing a blanket off the back and throwing it over him. Braden was snoring before his head even hit the cushion.
Brock looked down at our brother for several moments, a solemn set to his jaw, and sighed. “He’ll be okay. He’ll have one hell of a hangover, but he’ll be at the wake. I’ll make sure of it. If he doesn’t go, he’ll regret it for the rest of his life.”
“Where was he? O’Riley’s?” I hedged, worry pressing down on me. It wasn’t uncommon for Braden to drink, but he was usually social about it. He drank to have a good time, not to forget. This was Braden drinking to forget, to numb the pain of Mom dying. This was bad, and my stomach felt heavy with dread.
Alcohol had ravaged our family once before, and I didn’t think I could survive watching my younger brother walk down the path our father had.
“Mommy?” Aiden’s tiny voice came from down the hallway, and I quickly went to him.
“I’m here,” I told him, scooping him up in my arms. I pressed a kiss to the soft skin on his forehead.
“Will you lay with me?” he asked, resting his head against my shoulder as I carried him.
“Of course,” I whispered, holding him a little closer the rest of the way.
I got us settled in his bed and he curled up beside me, facing me. His blue eyes bore into mine.
“I miss Grammy,” he whispered, curling up in my arms. “I don’t want her to be gone.” His little voice broke, and it shattered my heart. I hated seeing my baby boy hurting.
“I know, sweetie,” I told him, drawing him closer to me. I brought my hand up to brush his thick, dark hair out of his eyes. “Grammy didn’t want to go either, but she’ll always be in your heart. She’ll always be your guardian angel.”
“That’s not the same as her being here,” Aiden remarked sadly.
I said nothing—I had no response, he was right. It wasn’t the same, and I was struggling with that too.
I rubbed his back in a small, circular motion, and it wasn’t long until his breathing tapered off and he drifted back to sleep, his soft snores filling the darkened room.
Worry churned in my gut, a sorrow so deep I felt it in my bones. In a matter of months, my entire world had imploded in on itself—again.
Only this time, Mom was gone. She wouldn’t be there to help me rise from the ashes. I had to do it on my own, and I had to find the strength to help my son and my younger brother.
Closing my eyes at the onslaught of fresh tears, I prayed with all of my heart that my family would survive this.
I was numb.
I knew it was only temporary, the numbness, but I welcomed it never-the-less. It was a quick, bittersweet respite before I endured more agony.
In less than fourteen hours, we would be laying our mother to rest. I’d cried on and off all day, pasted a smile on and powered through the wake. Hands grasping mine, apologizes and condolences passing lips, my responses automatic, each face a blur.
I wasn’t sold on the idea of going out for drinks with Brock and Braden’s friends after the wake, especially not with Braden’s erratic behaviour lately, but Brock wanted me to get out of the house for a bit. We both knew Braden would go anyway, and Brock wanted to keep an eye on him.
Tessa had offered to stay with Aiden, along with Braden’s girlfriend and Tessa’s best friend, Elle. She was at a loss for how to help him too.
I couldn’t remember the last time I let loose, and I had a feeling it wasn’t going to happen on that particular night. After all, I was feeling raw, but I needed the change of scenery. Being at home right now hurt, it hurt because my mother was gone and I missed her more than anything. It hurt because I was fumbling through my own grief and blindly trying to hold everybody together.
“This is a bad idea,” I muttered the moment I walked into O’Riley’s with my brothers. I sent a wary glance to Braden as he immediately crossed over to the bar to order a drink. All day long he’d been sullen and angry, stealing sips of whiskey from a flask he’d kept in his pocket. My worry ran deep, unrelenting.
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Brock promised.
“I’m worried about you too,” I told him, frowning. I was worried about us all. I was worried about what would happen once this funeral was over. Would Brock go back to Alberta? Would he distance himself from us again? I couldn’t stand the idea of losing another family member in any sense.
“Don’t,” he ordered with a frown before two of his friends, Gordon Armstrong and Travis Channing, approached us to say hello.
Gordon and Travis had always been around when I was growing up, along with Grady McDonnell and Steve Winters, both of whom were hanging out by the bar with a couple of other people I recognized from around town.
After the arrest, Brock stopped talking to everyone in town, except for Mom, Braden and me. Even for us, it was irregular to hear from him. He’d hung out with them a few times since his return, but his budding romance with Tessa had caused tension between him and Gordon. Mom’s death seemed to have bridged that gap, and all seemed forgiven between them.
“Glad you could make it out,” Gordon said to us. He was another one of Tessa’s many brothers. Getting together for drinks had been his idea, his way of trying to infuse a little cheer into our dire situation.
“What’s your poison?” Travis added, his hazel eyes drinking me in as he smiled. I felt my heart stutter in my chest, tripping over itself in his presence.
When I was in high school, I had the biggest crush on Travis Channing. His hazel eyes were always so warm and friendly, always sparkling with elation. His dirty blond hair was always slightly messy, like he’d run his hand through it a billion times, or the wind had mussed it. He was the kind of guy that lived for the thrill of adventure.
He came from a family like ours—poor and struggling, only he didn’t have to grow up in a house shorn in darkness. Despite his circumstances—growing up in a trailer, fatherless, never having new clothes or the latest gadgets, Travis was inherently happy.
Sadness is drawn to happiness; sadness seeks out the light, hoping it will drive away the darkness, and so I was drawn to him, even then.
But Travis had always looked at me the same way the rest of Brock’s friends looked at me: like I was their honourary little sister.
“Oh I don’t know,” I looked away, blushing. The way he was smiling at me made me feel like a teenager again, and not at all like his honourary little sister. “I haven’t had anything to drink in a long time,” I admitted, immediately regretting my confession. How pathetic was I?
“You look like a Sex on the Beach kind of girl,” he responded with a charming smile. Brock slapped him on the back of the head, and Travis laughed. “I’m just saying, something fruity and tasty. I didn’t name the damn drink.”
I glared at Brock, annoyed at his interference. So what if Travis was flirting a little. It had been a long time since someone had flirted with me. It felt good and I didn’t want Brock to scare him away.
I craved this.
“That sounds good actually. I’d love to have Sex on the Beach,” I said to Travis, smiling as I accepted his outstretched arm and followed him to the bar. I shot Brock a warning glare, letting him know I wouldn’t tolerate any further intrusion. Travis paused when we reached the bar, tapping his fingers against the glossy surface.
“Sex on the Beach for the lovely lady and an Old Fashioned for me,” he said to the older man behind the bar before turning his attention to Grady and Steve, who nodded their heads at me and raised their beers in greeting.
“Evening, Becky. I’m sorry to hear about your mom passing. She was a sweet lady,” Mick O’Riley, the bartender and owner, said as he mixed our drinks.
“Thank you,” I murmured, unsurprised at the fondness in the old bartender’s voice. Mick had always been kind and warm to me, not that I’d spent much time in his bar.
He’d also been kind enough to offer up his bar to Brock for the reception, which saved me the trouble of hosting it at the house. O’Riley’s was a short walk away from the church where the funeral would take place.
I had dreaded the idea of hosting it at the house. Our tiny, three bedroom bungalow was cramped, and it needed a lot of work. I didn’t want people to focus on the old worn furniture or the roof that was in massive need of repair, or the water stains on the ceiling and walls from multiple leaks over the years.
I also sort of wanted to be able to leave if it got to be too much.
Maybe having the reception at the same bar our father had frequented when he was alive was in poor taste to some, but truthfully… a dark part of me was thankful for O’Riley’s. This bar had kept my dad entertained and out of the house.
“I’m honoured,” Mick said, flashing me a gentle smile as he slid the drink toward me. “Your mom was a sweet lady. She used to be friends with my daughter.”
“Really? I didn’t know you had a daughter,” I said with surprise, my hand wrapping around the highball glass.
“She died when she was nineteen,” Mick told me gruffly, and I could tell that the pain of losing her was still etched into every part of him. His eyes closed off, and he slid Travis his whiskey.
“Thanks, Mick,” Travis said. He had watched our exchange quietly and with interest. He looked at me with care, his hand coming up to rest on the small of my back.
Once we had our drinks in hand, Travis led the way to a relatively private booth, his large palm still pressed to my back. I tried to ignore the fact that one of my brothers was basically acting like a self-proclaimed bodyguard and the other was already attempting to drink his weight in alcohol—again.
I wanted to ascend from my sadness, to lose myself in a moment that was only for me.
Travis regarded me from across the table. “How are you holding up, Becs?” he asked. His eyes were gentle, and as always—I got the sense that I could really trust him.
“I’ve been better,” I confessed, drawing in a shaky breath. I didn’t want to talk about my grief, but he made me want to open up. I had to focus extra hard to keep my walls up around him.
My brothers had their girlfriends, and I had nobody. My closest friend was Katie and I hadn’t made time for her in months.
I’d been so preoccupied with my mom’s illness, school, and work, and she’d been busy settling in to married life and awaiting the arrival of her baby. The last thing I wanted to do was bother her with my grief, or discuss the heavy weight of my feelings over an impersonal message.
Katie and I hadn’t always been friends. We’d gone to the same high school, but she had been one of the popular girls while I had fallen somewhere in the middle. We both worked at her parent’s grocery store as part time cashiers, and we formed a quiet friendship, one where she’d smile at me in the halls and I’d smile back.
When I got pregnant and started to show, the rest of our classmates all stopped talking to me. All except Katie, she started going out of her way to talk to me. She fought even harder to be my friend, because she had sensed that I desperately needed one.
Over the years, we grew closer and closer, but when Mom got sick…I withdrew into myself, focusing only on my small world.
It was the only way I knew how to get through it.
Katie understood, but I still felt guilty for doing it…especially after I’d seen her round belly at the wake.
I’d heard she was pregnant, of course. She had told me herself six months ago when we met up for lunch. I’d happily congratulated her, but I wasn’t there for her the way I should have been.
“I’ll bet. Want to talk to about it?” Travis didn’t ask questions that he wasn’t interested in hearing the answers for, so I knew he was asking how I was because he truly cared, on some level. Maybe that would have been enough, but mentally, I slapped myself. Opening up to Travis Channing would be a mistake. He wasn’t the same boy he once was—he was a country singer now, and a famous one at that. We were worlds apart, and I couldn’t burden him with my sadness.
“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. I came here to forget about things for a little while.”
“Alright,” he smiled, the whites of his teeth bright against his thick lips. “And just how would you like to forget about them?”
His smile was easy, playful even, but his eyes smoldered and I couldn’t help but question the meaning behind his words. The way he was looking at me evoked tingles of awareness across every inch of my skin.
“I don’t know, tell me some stories about being a famous country singer,” I replied, feeling light headed. “Your life is far more interesting than mine.”
“I don’t buy that.” Travis shook his head, but he must have sensed my reluctance on the topic and obliged my request. I lost myself in his dazzling smile while he told me all about his adventures on the road, about the hilarious people he’d met. His stories intrigued me. His stories made me forget about things, for a little while.
With each sip of my beverage, I relaxed more and more. One drink turned into two, and two became three. My eyes traced his carelessly tousled dirty blond hair as we chatted. We drew closer and closer, our eyes never leaving each other’s faces and a powerful desire overcame me. I longed to taste his thick, kissable lips.
After three drinks and nearly an hour of conversation with Travis, I started to get antsy. My carnal urges were consuming my thought process, helped along by the alcohol in my system. I wasn’t kidding when I had told Travis I didn’t drink—I really didn’t, aside from a glass of wine during special occasions.
I wanted him. Desperately.
My first instinct was to run fast, but I knew that wasn’t exactly healthy. Still, I knew I needed a moment to collect my thoughts and my composure.
“Excuse me, I need to visit the ladies room,” I told him, instantly wishing I could retract that sentence. As if Travis needed—or wanted—to hear about my bathroom habits. But he smiled easily in response and nodded.
I darted quickly to the bathroom, relieved to see that it was empty. I used the restroom and washed my hands, studying my reflection in the mirror with uncertainty.
I had smooth skin, high cheek bones, a nose that wasn’t too big or thick for my face, and my blue eyes were framed by naturally thick long lashes.
I wasn’t ugly, and I knew that, but that knowledge didn’t make looking in the mirror any easier. I wore my sadness and my scars like a cloak, even though I tried not to. I could see it in the worry line between my eyebrows, and in the depths of my eyes.
But for the first time in a long time, I saw something else. A spark; the urge to be reckless and selfish.
Taking a deep breath, I made my way back to the table. Travis was sitting there, alone. It was almost a rare sight...him alone. He usually had a bunch of women circling him like vultures, or he was hanging out with his friends.
I sat down, a peculiar look on my face as I studied him, allowing myself to drift away in the possibility of one night with him.
If I was ever going to have a one-night stand, it had to be with someone who made me feel safe, and it couldn’t ever be serious. There was no way in hell I’d ever give my heart to another person again, not after Richie had destroyed it.
Plus, there was Aiden to think of. I didn’t want to be the kind of mother who brought all sorts of men home. I didn’t want him to get attached to anyone I saw. Again, a one-night stand made sense.
Travis seemed ideal because he was always on the road touring and had absolutely no desire to settle down any time soon. He seemed to enjoy casual sex, so I figured it was a no-brainer.
“What’s up?” he asked, tilting his head and trying to figure out the meaning behind my strange expression.
I bit my lip and forced my eyes away from his. “I was wondering if you wanted to go somewhere with me?”
“Where?” he asked, his eyes sparking with interest as he watched me.
“A hotel room.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. My cheeks heated with embarrassment at the astonished look on his face.
To my surprise, the astonishment faded pretty quickly, and Travis’s eyes smoldered as he stared at me. Tension crackled between us, making every fine hair on my arms stand up. That look melted all of the oxygen between us. It left me dizzy, a feeling akin to stepping off one of those twirl-a-whirl carnival rides.
“That’s a very enticing idea, Becs,” Travis drawled, pausing to take a heady sip of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving my face. I loved the way his lips shaped my nickname. He lowered his heady gaze to my lips, and my tongue darted out in response to the animalistic glint in his eyes. He shook his head, trying to snap out of whatever R-rated place his thoughts had taken him. I squirmed in my seat, squeezing my legs together to ease the ache between my thighs. “But you’re grieving. You aren’t thinking clearly.”
I froze. His words doused me as if they were cold water.
I hadn’t planned on him saying no. Travis was a known womanizer, I figured he’d go for some no strings attached sex in a heartbeat. Immediately, embarrassment washed over me. “You’re saying no?” I swallowed. I had no idea why I was asking for the clarification. I suppose I was shocked, and what he had said had taken a moment to sink in.
Travis leaned back against the booth and ran his hand across his stubble-free jaw. He studied me while he did this, like he was trying to figure out the easiest way to reject me without hurting my sensitive feelings. It got my hackles up, and I bristled.
“You know what? Forget about it,” I said, standing up hastily. My eyes prickled, but I refused to let him see me cry. That would only make this situation more embarrassing for me.
I drew in a quick breath, trying not to let the rejection maim me. What was I thinking? Travis was a chart-topping country singer. He had been with models and actresses. What on earth had given me the audacity to assume he’d want to have a one-night stand with a broken, single mom?
This was exactly why I didn’t drink, or give into reckless, spur of the moment whims.
Travis’s hand shot out and grabbed mine before I could move away from our table. “Becky, you just lost your mom,” his voice was gentle, and his eyes implored me to listen. “I don’t want you to make rash decisions right now, especially decisions you’re going to regret later.”
“What makes you think I’ll regret a one-night stand with you?” I deadpanned. “Unless you’re confessing that you are terrible at sex, which whatever. I don’t have much experience to go off here. Whether it’s with you or not, I’m going to have sex. I have to.”
I knew as soon as the words left my mouth that they were true.
“I’m not terrible at sex,” Travis retorted, arching a brow and smirking. “I just want to know why? Why now? Why the rush? Why me?” he added. The look that flitted across his face almost seemed…vulnerable.
“It’s just time, and you were here,” I answered, flushing a deeper shade of red. For a moment, he looked stricken. “I’m sorry I even said anything. Forget about it.” I pulled away from his touch and scanned the crowd for an escape.
I spotted Braden over at the bar, his lips locked on a girl that definitely wasn’t his girlfriend. Elle was back at my house helping Tessa watch Aiden. I stormed away from Travis without saying another word, intent on slapping the stupid off my younger brother. I needed to focus on his self-made problems so I didn’t fall apart.
Brock was attempting to pull Braden away from the blonde girl. “Brock is right, we’re going now,” I told him, grabbing his arm and trying to tug him away. He shoved me, and I stumbled, the air leaving my lungs as I was propelled backwards.
Travis caught me, his strong arms enveloping me for a moment before he helped me find my footing. I hadn’t even realized he’d followed me. I thought he was as eager as I had been to escape the awkwardness between us.
I tried to control my breathing. Seeing Braden like that scared me. In that moment, he seemed so much like our father.
“I’m not a kid! You can’t fucking tell me what to do,” he shouted angrily, acting every bit like a child.
Mick limped around the bar to confront Braden. “Hit the road, Miller. You’re cut off,” he said, his tired blue eyes flashing with anger. I’d never seen the quiet man respond to rowdy patrons like that. Then again, I didn’t spend a lot of time at O’Riley’s.
Braden still wasn’t having it. He glowered at Mick. “Oh, you know how to cut people off, huh? Could’ve fooled me,” he spat. “Maybe you should have tried cutting my old man off so he wouldn’t come home and beat his family. But, then how would your shitty bar stay open without his wallet, eh?”
“Braden, you’re making no sense. Let’s just go,” I pleaded, mortified. Every eye in the bar was on us, watching this altercation, hearing his words. The shame made me feel about two inches tall. I sent an apologetic look to Mick as Brock grabbed our little brother by his shirt collar and dragged him outside. “I really am sorry, Mick. If you’ve changed your mind about letting us have the reception here, I understand.”
“It’s okay,” Mick said. “I’ve been called worse. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Mick.” Relieved, but still ashamed, I gave him a tiny smile and went to follow my brothers outside. Whispers followed me, and I did my best to keep my breathing under control.
I almost made it to the old oak door that lead to the street, but before I could reach it, Travis stepped in front of me, blocking my path. He stood there, his head titled down to look at me, his fingers brushing across the back of my hand. I looked down at where his fingers touched my skin, and tried my best to ignore the tingles they evoked.
“What?” I half hissed, half whispered at him.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said, pulling his hand away like touching me had burned him.
“I’ll live,” I responded, stepping around him and following my siblings outside.
I was livid at my little brother. I knew it wasn’t any of my business, but I’d come to love Elle. She’d spent so much time with us and she had been a major help. Seeing her heartbroken expression when she noticed the lipstick on Braden’s mouth infuriated me. Braden loved her, that was obvious, but he was hurting and he wasn’t thinking clearly.
And he had shoved me. Braden hadn’t pushed me since we were kids, and having someone push me like that triggered memories that were better left buried. I knew if he’d been sober, he would have never done it, but that didn’t make it any easier to digest.
For a second night in a row, Braden was snoring loudly on the sofa, too intoxicated to get to his bed downstairs.
“He’ll be okay, Becky.” Brock sounded so sure.
“How do you know?” I asked, casting him a glance.
“He’s not like him,” Brock shook his head slightly. “He cares so much, almost too much. He just doesn’t know how to process it.”
“Well, I hope this isn’t how he decides to process Mom’s death. I can’t have him around Aiden if he’s going to be drunk and angry all the time. I can’t go back there, Brock.”
“I know.” I felt the weight of Brock’s heavy hand on my shoulder. He squeezed gently before releasing. “Get some sleep. I’ll be by in the morning to deal with him.”
Brock left and I got ready for bed. It took hours for me to fall asleep, between worrying about my little brother and beating myself up over the mortifying situation with Travis.
When I finally did sleep, the nightmares came.
My limbs were twisted up in my sheets as I thrashed about. Sweat coated my skin, and fear clenched around my heart like a vice.
I dreamt of him, of Richie. I dreamt of fingers around my neck, squeezing and cutting off my air supply. I woke up gasping for air, my hands scratching at my throat. My heart raced wildly, and the breaths I drew in didn’t seem to be enough to fill my starved lungs.
I hadn’t had a nightmare that intense in years.
“Mommy?” a little voice said. I turned my head, seeing Aiden’s silhouette at the side of my bed.
“Yes, baby?” My voice shook from the adrenaline of my nightmare.
“Can I sleep with you? I had a nightmare.”
“Of course,” I untangled my legs from my sheet and opened my arms. As soon as Aiden settled beside me, my heart started to return to its regular pace.
I laid there with him for another five hours, but I couldn’t sleep. My mind wouldn’t shut off. As if I didn’t have enough crap on my plate to deal with, but I couldn’t stop beating myself up over my stupid decision to basically ask Travis for a one-night stand. His refusal was a fresh wound that wouldn’t stop pulsing.
I mused that the nightmare could have come from my fear when Braden pushed me mixed with my attempt to force myself on Travis, and the rejection that followed.
Tears blurred my vision, and I blinked them away with frustration. I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself. The funeral was later that day, and I’d have to stand up and read my speech. I took comfort in the fact that our family wasn’t very well-liked around here. At least that meant there wouldn’t be a lot of people present.
Aiden was still snoring softly when I finally decided to give up on sleep. I slipped out of my bed and headed to the bathroom. The woman looking back at me had bags under her eyes and a sadness that seemed to seep out from every pore.
Sighing, I turned on the shower. I needed to wash away yesterday’s mistakes. I dreaded seeing Travis later, but I knew he’d be at the funeral. Even if years had passed since they last saw each other, Brock was one of his best friends, and I knew Travis well enough to know that he would be there for him. Travis was always there for his friends.
I just hoped that he would have the decency to keep my blunder to himself.
Slipping into my robe, I snuck back into my bedroom to dress before I went to the kitchen to make coffee. I tossed on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, knowing I’d have to give my son a bath before the funeral. I wouldn’t be able to get ready until after he was dressed, not unless I wanted to accessorize with bath water and soap.
Braden was still snoring on the couch, and the sound of the coffee percolating barely stirred him. I poured two mugs—one for me, and one for him. Braden liked his coffee black, while I had to cut mine with an obscene amount of cream and sugar to even tolerate it. I took a quick sip and left my mug on the counter before I walked into the living room.
Sitting on the edge of the coffee table, I poked my little brother sharply. He grumbled, swatting blindly at me with his arm. I pulled the mug away from his reach instinctively, my reflexes quicker than his.
“You need to wake up now,” I told him, my voice stern. “You need to shower and get ready.”
“I don’t want to. I’m not going,” Braden grumbled, rolling over so that he was facing the back of the couch. I sighed, glancing at the digital clock on the cable box.
“We have less than three hours before the funeral starts. We need to get ready,” I said, working to keep the patience in my voice. He ignored me, making no move to get up off the couch. He smelled like a liquor store, the scent reminding me of the night before. My brother had certainly made a giant mess for himself to clean up.
Elle had left our house shattered, after putting two and two together. His betrayal wouldn’t be easily forgiven.
I stood up at the sound of a key in the lock, my heart pounding as the door swung open. I relaxed upon seeing my older brother. Of course it was him—burglars didn’t unlock your front door with a key.
Brock walked in, already dressed in his suit for the funeral. His long hair was brushed and tucked behind his ears. His eyes landed on me, then dropped down to our sleeping brother.
He rolled his neck. “I’ll take it from here.”
I brought Braden’s mug back to the kitchen and watched from the service hatch as Brock lifted the coffee table, moving it out of the way and walked behind the couch. He gripped it from the bottom and lifted, and Braden fell with a thud to the floor.
“What the fuck!” he shouted, jumping up to glare at Brock.
“Keep your voice down, your nephew is sleeping,” Brock ordered, his expression hard. “Get your ass in the shower and get ready.”
“I’m not fucking going,” Braden scowled, anger coming off him in waves. His fists were clenched to his side. His blue eyes were bloodshot and crazed. I almost gasped—he looked so much like our father that it made me feel nauseous.
“We talked about this already Braden. I get that you’re hurting—we’re all hurting. But you’re not missing this bloody funeral.” Brock’s tone was final. Braden glowered at him, sizing him up as if he actually planned to fight him.
“I miss Grammy too.” Aiden’s little voice took us all by surprise, and we turned to look at him. He was standing in the narrow hallway, his eyes wide and fixed on Braden. “Mommy says we can say goodbye today. Grammy would be sad if you didn’t say bye, Uncle Braden.”
The anger in my brother’s expression broke, leaving undiluted grief. He drew in a shaky breath. He opened and closed his mouth several times, searching for a response that he didn’t have. The fight left his shoulders, and he wouldn’t meet any of our eyes as he passed us to head downstairs to his basement bedroom.
I pressed my fist against my heart, biting my lip to keep the tears from falling. Aiden’s gentle, empathetic nature never ceased to amaze me.
“Alright, Aiden, how about we get a bath running for you while your mom starts breakfast?”
“I want scrambled eggs and Mommy always leaves the shells in,” Aiden replied, rubbing at his eyes tiredly.
I flushed a deep shade of crimson. I didn’t intend to leave pieces of shells in the scrambled eggs, I just wasn’t a very good cook. Especially when it came to breakfast foods.
“Okay, I’ll make you scrambled eggs,” Brock grinned, his eyes sparkling with humour.
My embarrassment faded, and I allowed myself to feel this moment—to feel the hope in it. Our lives may have changed again, but my son was still smiling and cracking jokes. Sure, they were at my expense, but I’d take it.