Oh God. I know where this is heading, and I don’t want to hear any more.
But as he continues, I widen my eyes. This path leads to an unexpected place.
“We kept her going. Ben and I.”
“She loved you very much.”
“She did. And she loved Dad, for all his faults.”
“You love him, too, don’t you?”
“In my way. But I’ve never forgiven him for what he cost me.”
“Your mother?”
“Yes.”
He stays silent as time seems to suspend itself. I don’t push. If he’s done talking, that’s okay. Oh, I’m wildly curious, but it can keep. Braden and I have all the time in the world.
“She got sick,” he finally says. “One of the burn wounds never healed properly, and it got infected. She developed a bad strep bacterial strain. The one they call the flesh-eating bacteria.”
“Oh my God. Streptococcus A.”
“That’s the one. I had just started high school, and Ben had just started middle school.”
“And you lost your mother.”
He nods, his eyes heavy-lidded. Still, no moisture pools in them. Braden doesn’t cry. I have the feeling he hasn’t cried since that day.
If he even did then.
“Why is this so difficult for you to talk about?” I ask. “It’s not your fault.”
“It is.”
“Braden, it’s not. Blame your father if you want. I at least get that. But not yourself.”
“You don’t understand, Skye. That day… That day of the fire…”
“What? What happened the day of the fire?”
“I didn’t want to leave my room,” he says. “I didn’t want to leave my precious comic books to get burned into ashes. She’s yelling at me to get out. She’s got Ben in her arms, and she doesn’t have an extra arm for me. So she finally leaves, gets Ben to safety, and then she comes back for me. She lifts me up and I drop the handful of comic books. I yelled at her, Skye. I told her…”
“It’s all right. You told her what?”
“I told her I hated her for making me leave my comic books.”
“Oh God…” I gulp.
“That’s right. She got me to safety, and then she went back in to get the comic books. But they were already ablaze, and that’s what…” He shakes his head.
“That’s what burned her,” I say monotonously. “The fire from your comic books.”
He doesn’t respond.
Finally, “Maybe. I don’t know if it was the comic books or not. But she went back in, and she got dragged out by a fireman with third-degree burns on the left side of her body.”
What can I say to him? It’s a horrific story. But he was a kid. Just a kid. And kids have silly ideas about what’s important. Surely he knows that.
Do I go to him? Take him in my arms? Kiss his lips? Embrace him?
“Tell me,” I finally say. “Tell me what you need right now.”
He takes a sip of his bourbon. “No one knows that story,” he says. “Not even Ben or my dad. She told him she went back in to get our baby books.”
“Have you considered that maybe that’s the truth?”
“No. She was in my bedroom when the fireman dragged her out.”
“So your father knows, then.”
“He knows she was in my bedroom. He assumed that’s where my baby book was. It wasn’t. The baby books were in a cedar chest in the living room underneath some quilts.”
“And Ben doesn’t know?”
“He was only three. He had no idea where the baby books were.”
“And you did.”
“Yeah. Sometimes Mom and I would look at them together. I liked looking at my first lock of hair.” He shakes his head. “I haven’t let myself think about this in so long.”
Again, I’m at a loss for what to do. But my hand, seemingly of its own accord, reaches out and touches Braden’s cheek. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not. It’s never been okay, and it never will be.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
“You now know more about me than anyone else,” Braden says to me. “Anyone.”
My shoulders weigh—in a good way—with the knowledge of his statement. “You can trust me, Braden. All of your secrets are safe with me.”
He rakes his fingers through his hair. “I do trust you. More than you know.”
“More than I know?” I lift my eyebrows. “How can—”
He shoots his bourbon down his throat and groans. Then he regards me. Sternly. “This can’t continue.”
My heart plummets. Whatever he’s getting at, it can’t be good. “What?” I ask softly, my voice cracking.
“Reardon found my weakness. I went to him, threatened him, and instead of going after me, he went after you, Skye. My Achilles’ heel.”
I rise to go toward him, but he stops me with a gesture.
I drop my ass back into my chair. “Everyone has an Achilles’ heel, Braden.”
“I don’t.” He pours himself another finger of bourbon. “I can’t.”
No. This isn’t happening. Not after everything we’ve been through to be together. Not after he trusted me with his most guarded secrets.
No, damn it! No!
“Don’t you see?” He slams his glass down on the table. “I can’t keep you safe.”
“But you did keep me safe.”
“Because of circumstance. What if the doorman hadn’t texted me?”
“But he did.”
“Damn it, Skye!” He stands and hurls the glass against the wall.
I cower against the crash, against the tiny clear shards that rain onto the carpet. My heart is at once still yet beating thunderously. I feel… I feel…
I gather my will to say what needs to be said.
“You told me in the cornfield that there was only one master of control between us,” I say, my lips trembling. “You. You, Braden. You’re in control, and you protected me.”
“What if I can’t the next time?”