Show Me How (It's Kind Of Personal Book 2) (25 page)

“He’s dead!”

“Holy shit,” I mutter. “This is insane.” The similarities between our stories are almost identical.

“What?” Her voice is full of more question than the word.

“I was you. Thirteen years ago.”

She sniffles and it draws me out of my dream-like thoughts.

“I never told you exactly what happened between Brandon and me.”

Instead of starting from the beginning, because she knows we were childhood friends, I start at the part I always left out.

“When I was seventeen years old, a man broke into my house. I was alone because my parents had skipped town and left me to fend for myself.”

Her tears have stopped, and now she’s leaning against the wall, watching me.

“My parents were druggies. They left town—left me—knowing they owed people money. A lot of it.”

“Jesus,” she mutters under her breath.

“So that night, I hid under my bed and called Brandon. He was gone, but I still called him first. He always made me feel safe . . . even when he didn’t know what he was protecting me from. Scott Smith would have killed me that night. I saw it in his eyes. He dragged me out from under my bed and he would have killed me.” My hand absently rubs the scar on my right arm.

“What happened?”

“Steve came.” She stares blankly, and I smile. “Brandon’s dad. He came and saved me, but Scott shot him in the process. Now he’s paralyzed. And it’s my fault.”

“No. You didn’t. There’s no way you could have . . .” She takes a breath and tries again. “It’s not your fault,” she whispers, and a light flashes in her eyes.

“Just like it wasn’t yours. It’s taken me a long time to get to the point where I could say it wasn’t my fault. I still live with the guilt, still question my decisions, but I know deep down I’m not to blame.”

She walks to the couch and pulls a pillow on top of her crossed legs. “I didn’t want to enable Chad. But I didn’t want him dead, either. I thought if I left him that it would be enough of a wake-up call for him to get his shit straightened out. I tried to tell him no when he asked for money, but the look on his face, so desperate, broke my heart. I wanted to help him . . . protect him in my own way. I gave him money, whatever I could so he could pay whoever he owed and not get murdered.”

I nod in understanding. “And that’s why I left.”

“You what?”

“After Steve was shot, I was afraid Scott Smith would somehow come after me. He threatened me that night, and I believed him. So I ran away. I left Brandon and lived for twelve years on my own. Starved with my own thoughts, pretending I did the right thing. I just . . .” I struggle for the words, not even believing I’m saying them. “I was scared all the time. Blamed myself. And when Brandon found me, I still did. I fought him. I cried a lot. Was in denial.”

“God, Mary. That’s crazy.”

“I know. He’s helped me grow so much. Given me everything. When we were in the alley, and he got shot at. That was a wake-up call. I thought I was doing okay . . . but when I saw the gun, I froze. It was a really shitty realization that I wasn’t as good as I thought I was.”

“Wow. I don’t even know what to say. You weren’t like that last night. You were so calm.”

I chuckle under my breath. “Yeah, well, it took a lot to get me to that point. I was scared, but I didn’t want to make any mistakes. Mistakes almost cost Steve his life.”

“What mistakes?”

“When I was hiding, I accidentally dropped the phone. That’s how Smith discovered my hiding place.”

“It was an accident.”

“Exactly. I know that now. Just like you will come to realize that nothing you did was your fault. Brandon’s put a lot of effort into helping me overcome my fears. And it paid off because I was able to do what he wanted last night. When I saw him, I wanted to scream. To run to him. But I didn’t.”

She starts crying again, and I let her. I don’t expect her to accept everything right now. It’ll take time. I’m still working on my own guilt, but talking to Kelsey and physically saying the words aloud make me realize they really are true. It feels like an invisible weight lifted off my shoulders . . . and I’m finally able to fly.

Chapter 23

Mary

“So, how are you feeling?” Elizabeth asks me.

“Umm. I’m all right.” I fidget with the water bottle she sets down and nervously take a small sip.

“Well, that’s good. I’m glad you were able to stop by.”

“Thanks for inviting me.”

We sit on the front porch looking at the empty street. It’s been a couple of months since the incident with Kelsey. Things with me have been going surprisingly great. I just finished my class and have a few months until I start again. Brandon and I are perfect. He’s simply amazing, just perfect in every way. There’s not a thing I would change about my life right now. It’s been a bumpy ride, but everything has worked out, and I’m so unbelievably grateful for that.

Betty and I talked the other day. It’d been way too long since we spoke to each other. She’s still having a blast on her cruises and vacations around the world. No a part of me misses my old life, but I do miss her.

“Mary?”

“Yeah?”

I look up and lock eyes with Elizabeth. Her lips tilt in a small smile, but her eyes are concerned, small creases around them.

“What’s bothering you?”

After taking a large drink, I turn on the porch step, cross my legs, and lean back on the railing. Shit. She knows. How does she know? I haven’t even talked to Brandon about it yet. “Nothing.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Nothing?”

“No. Absolutely nothing. I’m happy. Brandon and I are great. School was better than I could have imagined. There’s nothing wrong. Everything is great.”
God, I sound like a robot.

“That’s good, right?”

“Yes?”

Her laughter makes me smile.

“Why don’t you sound so sure of that?”

Something else has been festering. An odd sort of guilt. Almost like buyer’s remorse. You know you should take it back because that would be the right thing . . . but the part of you that wants the happiness from buying something you love wins out, so you keep it.

“I feel like I should be more upset. Like seeing a man get shot and killed in front of me should bother me more.”

“It doesn’t upset you?”

“Well, of course, the situation upsets me. But it doesn’t
bother
me. It doesn’t keep me up with nightmares. I don’t have flashbacks. Honestly, I don’t feel bad that he died . . . and it makes me feel like a horrible person.”

“Okay. Why do you think that is?” She sounds like more of a therapist now, sympathy in her tone, but understanding written all over her face.

Not able to hold still anymore, I stand and pace on the porch. “He would have killed me. Kelsey. Even Brandon. He would have killed any of us without a second glance. I think . . . I don’t even know. Shouldn’t I feel something?”

“Honey. I can’t tell you that. Everyone handles trauma differently. Each person deals with it in their own way.”

“So it’s not abnormal for me not to care? No.” I stop pacing and sit back down. “I care that a man is dead, I do. But with Scott Smith . . . with that incident, it changed my life. I carried the guilt around forever. It made me an angry, bitter, cynical, paranoid person. I constantly questioned what I could’ve done differently. I know the situations aren’t the same, but I feel like I learned so much from what happened all those years ago. This time I’ve decided not to let it rule my life. Does that make any sense at all?”

She puts a hand on my arm and gives a reassuring squeeze. “It does. There’s nothing wrong with accepting the circumstances given to you.”

“There’s not? It doesn’t make me a shitty person?”

“Not in the slightest. What matters is that you have come to terms with it. And if for some reason you suddenly feel different about it, talk to someone. Don’t hold it in.”

I take a deep breath and finish my water. “Okay. I will. Thank you. Now. What did you invite me over for?”

She gives her head a slight shake. “I thought you needed to get that off your chest.”

“Huh?”

“I knew something was bothering you at dinner last week.”

Dinners are another thing we’ve been doing, and I’m kicking myself in the ass for not doing it earlier because I was afraid of . . . something.

“How?”

“You’re like a daughter to me, Mary. Always have been and always will be. I know when you’re hurting.”

My heart smiles and I lean over and hug her. “Thank you.”

Tires squeak when a car pulls in the driveway, and Elizabeth’s face lights up when Steve is helped out of the car and into his wheelchair. He shakes hands with another older man and pushes himself up the ramp.

“Well, look at that. I bowled a two forty-six and I get to come home to two of the prettiest women on the planet.”

He leans down and places a kiss on the top of Elizabeth’s head.

“What a pleasant surprise. How are you, my dear?” He smiles at me, genuinely. No grudges, anger, or resentment. Not that there were before, but it took until this moment for me to notice them or the lack thereof. To realize that I have my family back.

“I’m good, Steve. Really, really good.”

* * *

“Hey!” I run to Brandon when he walks in the door and throw myself at him. “I actually took a crack at making food. It’s probably going to taste like ass, but I figure I have to start trying.”

“Really, now?” He kisses me and tosses his keys on the counter.

“Yeah, I figured I might as well start to really learn how.”

“It smells great.”

“Sit.” I pull his chair out and he raises an eyebrow at me. “Just sit.”

“You all right?”

“Yup. Great.”

I bring over the large plate and set it in the middle of the table.

“You made ribs?” he asks with a confused smile.

“Yup. Baby back ribs.”

I sit across from him and grab my napkin. “The spoon is on your side, can you give me some baby carrots, please?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks. Oh, shit. I forgot the bread. Can you grab it? It’s in the oven.”

He nods and heads over, holding up the lone roll. “Just this one?”

I suppress a laugh. “Yeah. Just the one bun. I’m cutting back on carbs.”

“Why the hell would you do that?”

I shrug and bite a carrot.

“Mary?”

“No reason really. It’s not like I can ever quit completely, but if I can cut back a little what’s the harm?”

He sits back down and starts eating. “This is really good.” When he licks the barbecue sauce off his thumb, I suppress a groan. My hormones are in overdrive right now, and it’s sweet torture not being the one his mouth is on. A change of subject is in order. Otherwise, I’ll just end up jumping his bones.

“What did you do today?” Thank God, he read my mind.

“Had lunch with your mom.”

“How did that go?”

“Really good, actually.”

I decide to leave out the details because I don’t want him worried about how I was feeling. After everything that had happened, he was almost annoying with his concern. I don’t think he believed me when I told him I was fine. A part of me didn’t either, but when my feelings stayed the same, I realized I really was . . . okay.

My eyes wander to his mouth again when he licks his lip to get some sauce off. Who in the hell knew eating ribs was so damn sexy? I clear my throat, trying to get the knot out of it, embarrassed I’m getting turned on watching him devour pork. “How was your day?”

“Good. Busy. Here, want some wine?” He grabs the bottle I have opened on the table and reaches over for my glass.

“Oh, no thanks. Water’s good.”

He tilts his head in confusion. “Since when do you turn down wine?”

I shrug again and pretend to wipe my mouth, waiting for the detective to start putting clues together. He pours himself a glass and rips a piece of bread off and freezes midway to his open mouth, then drops it back to the table. His eyes find mine then meticulously scan the table. Baby back ribs, baby carrots, a vase of baby’s breath. He looks at my glass of water then turns his head and stares at the oven for a second.

“Mary?” Finally, he meets my eyes again, scorching me with a kind of desire I’ve never seen from him before.

“Yes?”

“Is there something you’re trying to tell me?”

“What do you mean?” My voice raises an octave, and he pushes his chair back then squats in front of me.

A tight jaw and eyes that are pleading stare up at me, begging almost. “Mary?” His voice is soft, and it causes my throat to swell and eyes to fill with moisture.

“I’m pregnant,” I whisper.

He hangs his head, and I worry he’s mad. But when he looks at me and his own eyes are filled with unshed tears, I let out the breath I’ve been holding for two days. Forty-eight hours of torture. Hiding a secret I wanted to share but didn’t know how to. A secret I was afraid would ruin everything I . . . no
we,
have worked for this past year.

His thumbs wipe my eyes, he blinks away his tears without them falling, and he stands, pulling me into his arms.

“Christ, I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He holds me for a while, not saying anything, but his actions speak louder than any words ever could. He wants this. He’s happy about it. A family. Our family.

“We’re getting married.”

I jump at the sudden intrusion of silence and laugh. “Brand—”

“No. Don’t even try. We were going to anyway.”

“We were?” I tease.

“Now’s not the time to fuck with me, babe. I have a ring already, but it was just never the right time. I needed to make sure you were okay and doing it for the right reasons. The last thing I wanted to do was pressure you, so I was trying to wait for the right moment. Hold on.”

He jogs to the dresser and opens his underwear drawer. His hand disappears, and a second later he walks toward me with a square black box. I don’t have a chance to process anything, because he drops to one knee and slides a ring on my finger.

“Marry me?”

I look down at my hand and the beautiful diamond band that now adorns it. A dream I’ve had my whole life is coming true this second. A moment I never thought would happen. A fantasy fulfilled.