Chapter 41
Dalton
Devolin was a mess.
Even with my years of training and experience in the army, losing a charge or a client was always a tough pill to swallow. It was hard for me to remain detatched from the entire situation this time, however. Where every case was a job to me, the Wentworth case hadn’t ended that way. Normally, I would close a file and move on, usually never hearing from my clients again until they needed something else. This time, I was privy to the aftermath, and I didn’t like it.
Not for me.
Not for Devolin.
Losing a family member wasn’t an easy thing to get past. When you lost a relative because of something you were involved in however, it left a mark. A dark one. A stain that may fade, but never truly disappears, even after a lifetime.
Believe me, I know.
Call me crazy, but that commonality with her made me want to share.
“I was seven when my mother died,” I whispered against Devolin’s hair.
We were cocooned under the fleece throw on her couch. She’d been quiet. Dejected even, and I wanted to bring her back to the here and now. Get her out of her head.
My words apparently worked.
Shifting so she could push herself up, I was met with a sympathetic gaze studying my face.
“She was sick,” I proceeded. “She suffered from seizures.”
“She was epileptic?”
I nodded. “They started after I was born. Dad stayed with us, working from home most of the time, back then,” I explained. “She was diagnosed with postpartum preeclampsia a day after giving birth. The seizures started a few weeks after we got home. By the time I was three, the doctor had diagnosed her with epilepsy. The preeclampsia caused too much damage to her nervous system.”
Devolin’s hand cupped my cheek. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I need you to know that you’re not alone in your guilt,” I told her. “I know how you feel, believing that you could have done something to stop what happened, but not doing it. Even when the truth of the matter is, that there wasn’t anything to be done.”
Devolin forced me to my back, crawling over my body, her hands grabbing each side of my head. She stared me down.
“Kip, you were seven!”
“Young enough to be selfish, but old enough to know better,” I muttered. When Devolin’s brows furrowed, I kept talking. “Mom’s seizures were almost nonexistent by then. She was on medication and it worked for her. She’d only had one seizure that year, and it was July.
“I was outside, playing with a friend when we decided to climb the old willow in my yard. I’d done it dozens of times that summer.” Licking my lips, I geared up for what came next. “Dad warned me to stay out of the thing after a bad storm. I didn’t listen. I never listened. I guess boys will be boys, right?” She nodded, one corner of her mouth tilting up. “I should have listened, sweetheart,” I whispered. “I climbed that thing like I always did, but something went wrong. The branch I was standing on snapped while I shuffled back to make room for the other kid. I fell about ten feet, but it was enough to snap my upper arm.”
“Kip—”
“Steve, that’s the kid’s name, ran to find my mom. I remember the panic in her eyes as she cleared the broken branches away from me. She wasn’t thinking clearly and ushered me to the car. She wasn’t supposed to drive, but I didn’t know this. Everywhere I went, my parents were always with me. But Dad was out of town on business that day.” I closed my eyes so I could tell her the rest. “I don’t know how much you know about how seizures are triggered with epilepsy, but an emotionally charged state…stress…can bring one on.” It had.
Devolin’s grip on my face tightened as she braced. “We were a block away from the hospital when the seizure hit. She ran a light, the car coming from our left smashing into us.”
“Oh, Kip,” she whispered, her voice shaking.
“It was my fault, Dev.” I finally opened my eyes. “She died because of something I did. Fuck, she died because of something I didn’t do.”
“No! No, Kip.” She shook her head vehemently. “You were just a kid. You can’t—”
“Old enough to know better, remember?” I held her gaze. “But you’re right, I was just a kid. I didn’t know everything like I do now, and even though I do, it doesn’t change the fact that I carry that guilt with me every day.”
A silent tear escaped Devolin’s eye and I reached up, catching it with my thumb.
“So what are you saying?” she asked. “That I’m entitled to feel guilt?”
My eyes searched hers and I nodded. “That, and the fact no matter what we did or didn’t do, it most likely wouldn’t have changed the outcome. It took me years and the army to come to terms with that, Dev.” Another tear trickled down her cheek. “We can only do our best, and ask for help when we need it. Then we need to deal with the outcome.”
Her lips quirked up. “We can only control our actions, not everyone’s reactions.”
I nodded, my lips tugging upward. “Yeah. Basically, it doesn’t matter what we ended up doing for Nadia, Max, and Scott. You couldn’t control what they ended up doing. When someone wants something bad enough, especially a bad someone, they’ll take every measure to get what they want. Had Ortiz missed his opportunity to get to them, he’d have found it some other way, some other time. Criminals like Enrique Ortiz are resourceful and patient.”
“Yeah.” She swallowed hard, one hand moving to my chest, above my heart, and the other, to skim her fingertips over my lips. “I’m so sorry about your mom, baby,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry about Max, Scott, and Nadia.” Wrapping a hand around the back of her head, I leaned up to kiss her forehead before pulling her into my chest where she started sobbing.