Words spoken could be empty. They could also be full of lies.
When Reilly’s cheek pressed to the top of his head, he tightened his arms around her, pulling her into him even closer.
He had no idea how long he clung to her, but she never got tired and pulled away. As long as he was holding on, she remained holding on to him. There was something so goddamn healing about it.
Now he wished he’d held Sarah a lot more before he ran away. Once he left, she didn’t even have that. She had nothing.
He left her with nothing.
For fuck’s sake, he never should have left.
He should have stayed. For her. Then figured out a way to get them both out of that situation.
He fucked up. His fuck-up fucked her up even more. He was partly to blame.
Reilly cupped his face and lifted it to hers. She kissed him lightly and when she moved to pull away, he stopped her and took her mouth even deeper.
He wanted to hold her again, but while he was inside her. Not just to fuck her, but something more. Unfortunately, his head wasn’t there yet. He needed to get it there by smoothing out his jumbled thoughts first.
He ended the kiss and she pressed her forehead to his. “Wanna fuck you,” he whispered.
“Same,” she whispered back. “But that’s not going to happen if you get trashed.” She went to move away again and he let her go this time. “I’ll grab your pipe.”
“In a minute, help me figure this out. Sit.”
“There’s nowhere to sit. There’s only one chair.”
“My lap makes a good seat.”
She gave him a soft smile, wrapped an arm around his shoulders and settled on his lap. “Yes, you’re right, when nothing is poking me, it does.”
“Makes an even better seat when I’m hard.”
“When we’re both naked.”
“We’re both gonna be naked soon. Think I want you to ride my dick in this chair.”
“You think it can handle that action? It’s a cheap motel chair.”
He shrugged. “We break it, I’ll pay for it. Might be worth the cost.”
“Might not be worth the hurt if it breaks and we land hard on the ground.”
“We’ll figure it out. Need to figure this out first so I can try to put that shit outta my head… for now.”
“Do you think writing it down will help it make sense?”
“None of it will make fuckin’ sense.” But seeing it spelled out in front of him might help him wrap his head around it.
“True,” she murmured, her fingertips strumming the back of his neck.
That kind of touch shouldn’t make him hard, but it did. Despite his messed up head, he couldn’t ignore the fact he wanted her. More now than ever.
He curled his left hand around the pen so he could write one name on each rectangular sheet he tore free from the rest of the pad.
“I never realized you were a lefty before. Is Saylor?”
“Think so.”
“You don’t know?”
“She was still pretty young when I left, and I never paid attention if I saw her write.”
“How about when she colored with crayons? You should’ve noticed it then.”
He lifted his face to her in answer.
That was all it took for her cheeks to darken in anger. “You weren’t even allowed to color?”
If they wanted to do anything normal kids did, they had to do it away from the house, usually at school. Like when he got a chance to play baseball. He really wanted to play on a team, but that had been forbidden.
Once he had all the names written on the slips of papers, he lined them up along the counter. One name he omitted was John Schmidt since the bastard had no blood tie to him or Saylor. The man didn’t deserve one more thought.
He slid the paper with his grandfather’s name, Lorne, to the top edge of the counter. Under that he placed two more each with the names Rachel and Matthew. “Father, son and daughter.”
“That would be simple if those leaves on that family tree remained that way.”
“Yeah,” he murmured, moving both sheets with the names Michael and Sarah under his mother’s name. “This is what it should look like. Ain’t what it ended up bein’.”
He took the pen, drew an arrow from Sarah’s name to their mother’s name, then drew another arrow angled toward Matthew’s name, Sarah’s real father. He also drew an arrow pointing from his own birth name to Rachel. Then another arrow pointing up toward Lorne, Rev’s grandfather who also was his father.
He stared at those sheets, knowing he wasn’t finished. That more arrows needed to be drawn. But he couldn’t.
He fucking couldn’t. Instead, he took the pen and scribbled angrily over the names until the pen snapped and ink began to leak. “Fuckin’ motherfucker!” He threw the pen across the room and surged from the chair, forcing Reilly to her feet so she wouldn’t tumble to the carpet.
With his back turned to her and the counter, he scrubbed at his forehead.
Seeing it laid out before him didn’t make it better, it made it so much fucking worse. It was impossible to straighten out a crooked branch without breaking it.
And he was about to break.
“Grab your lighter,” she suggested from behind him.
Yeah, good idea since he really needed to get baked. He strode over to the nightstand, snagged his tin, pipe and lighter and when he turned, he saw her gathering the slips of paper from wherever they landed and stacking them together neatly.
She tipped her head toward the door. “Outside. Just bring the lighter.”
She headed out the door, leaving it open with an obvious expectation for him to follow. A few seconds later he forced himself outside, not bothering to close the door behind him. Most likely because she wasn’t wearing any shoes, she only went as far as the edge of the concrete sidewalk, where she squatted down and crumpled up the sheets of paper. Once it was in a ball, she held her hand up, not bothering to look behind her.
Once he placed the lighter in her hand, she flicked it until a flame ignited and she held it to one edge of the crumpled ball. A few second later it caught and began to burn.
When she rose, he stepped up to her and she moved to stand next to him, snaked an arm around his waist and leaned her head into his side. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.
She had been his rock these last few days. Solid and supportive. Understanding and, for the most part, patient. Having her lean against him while he held her felt… right. Like they did it all the time and it was normal between them.
He couldn’t imagine anyone else but her coming along on this trip.
Thank fuck she had insisted on coming along.
Thank fuck she was a pushy, stubborn smart-ass.
Thank fuck she understood how fucked up parents could be.
They stood watching the tiny fire until it burned out and nothing but ashes remained. A light April breeze eventually blew the flaky ash away and they watched it disappear.
“There,” she finally whispered. “Gone for good. Both of our evil pasts are now reduced to ashes. Never to be thought about again. Deal?”
Never to be thought about again.
Once again, she was right.
He needed to forget what he heard and never think about it again.
He needed to move forward and leave this all fucking behind him and never look back again. Never return. Whether physically or mentally.