Forbidden Temptations (Tempted Series Book 2) (44 page)

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Authors: Janine Infante Bosco

BOOK: Forbidden Temptations (Tempted Series Book 2)
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I leaned back in my chair, watched her boyfriend wrap a steady arm around her waist as she kneeled before our son, and sang him a lullaby. I blinked, tears falling from the corners of my eyes as her voice traveled through the quiet chapel.

Sleep, baby, sleep

Your daddy’s away

Sleep, baby, sleep

And mommy will pray

I wiped away my tears with the back of my hand as her voice hitched and she sobbed. I hated seeing her cry, always did. We were one another’s first love. I watched her turn from a girl to a woman and then made her a mama. We were twenty years old when our daughter, Lacey, was born, twenty-one when we married, and twenty-two when Jack Jr. was born. Twenty-three was the year it all fell apart and twenty-four was the year it ended. Now, twenty-five, and we’re burying our baby, both of us dead inside.

She leaned over the coffin, peppering Jack’s face with kisses as she cried and pleaded with him to take her with him. Her boyfriend wrapped his arms around her, prying her away from the coffin. She turned in his arms, buried her face against his chest, and let at out anguished cry that tore through my heart. She lifted her head, her eyes met mine, and she stilled.

“This is all your fault!” She shrieked. “My baby is in that box because of you!” She slapped her boyfriend’s hands away and stepped closer her green eyes lifeless as they pierced me.

She used to look at me lovingly.

She used to look at me sympathetically.

She glared at me with hatred.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

And I was. Because she was right. Jack was dead because I was too proud to accept the things I couldn’t control. My son paid the price because I was too ashamed to get help.

The demons in my head stole my son.

But I allowed them to.

*****

He was a fucking Fed, a fucking federal agent out to destroy me. If that wasn’t a slap in the fucking face, nothing was. I gave him everything. I tried my best to do right by him. And this is how he repaid me? I put that spoiled prick through school, busted my ass so he could get a head in life.

“Daddy, what are you doing?” Lacey asked, scared.

I lifted my arms above my head and swung the hammer against the sheetrock.

“Go inside, Lacey,” I muttered, dropping the hammer at my feet and stuck my arm in the gaping hole. I pulled at the sheetrock with my free hand, widening the hole.

Where the fuck was it? Where did that bastard put the fucking bug?

“Daddy, you’re scaring me!” She cried.

I was sure it was there. I just needed to find it.

He wasn’t going to bring me down. No fucking way.

“Jack?” She sniffled, wiping at her eyes with the sleeves of her shirt. “Daddy, I don’t know where Jack is.”

I lifted the hammer over my head and took another swing this time a different wall. I beat the sheetrock again and again until the hole was wide enough for me to stick my head inside. I felt out of control as if I was grasping at straws but I was so sure he played me. I didn’t just imagine it. Did I?

I was fucking desperate.

I needed to know I wasn’t crazy.

My brother was a fed.

I was an outlaw.

He was out to get me.

I slid down the wall, my body falling to the floor and pulled my knees to my chest.

I wasn’t crazy. I wasn’t.

“Daddy!” Lacey screamed her shrill voice pulled me away from my manic state, forcing me into reality. “Come quick!” She sobbed.

I lifted my head and scanned the room for my daughter.

“Lacey?” I called out.

She didn’t answer me.

Tires screeched across the asphalt, a crash sounded and then there was silence.

I stood, slowly walked towards the front door, and noticed it was wide open. My steps quickened, my heart raced and then it crashed the moment I stepped foot outside. My daughter stood frozen at the curb, staring in shock at my two-year old son that laid perfectly still in the middle of the street.

I ran down the porch steps, split in two, not knowing which child to tend to first. I tripped over the curb, fell to my knees, and crawled to my son.

I frantically checked for a pulse.

Nothing.

“No, no, no,” I whispered hysterically, searching around for help. The car that had hit my son crashed into the stop sign, the driver confined to the car. I looked back towards my daughter.

“Lacey, call 911!”

She didn’t move. She was in shock. She just watched her baby brother get hit by a car.

She watched him die.

I closed my eyes and gathered my boy in my arms, rocking him softly; I stared up at the heavens and screamed for help.

Please God, hear me. Hear my cry for help.

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