Page 87 of The Finish Line

I exhale, tapping the ash off my cigarette. “For years, I thought the boxes without a return address mailed to our doorstep were from friends and relatives of my parents. Boxes with hundreds and hundreds of dollars’ worth of clothes and gift cards, toys, shoes. But no one is that generous, are they, Diane?”

She sniffs, wiping her nose. “Delphine hated me, and I knew she would turn me away, but I just couldn’t let you go without. I know it doesn’t make up for what I did.”

“You made a mistake,” I say pointedly, as her eyes cloud with tears. “Those boxes saved us, sometimes for months at a time. I can safely say that act of kindness inspired me to pay it forward in a major way.”

A sob bursts from her as I take another drag of my cigarette, keeping just enough distance so she’s comfortable but standing close enough to catch her if she breaks, which seems possible. From the minute I met this woman, all I saw was agonizing guilt, and knowing she’s lived with it all these years only makes me want to convince her further to set herself free.

“You know, you and I have a lot in common,” I confess, “we both suffer from the horrible plague of survivor’s guilt.”

“I c-can never tell you how sorry I am for what happened.”

Tossing my cigarette, I grip her shoulders, seeing so much of the woman I love in the woman before me—certain that Cecelia inherited her heart. “It’s tragically ironic how well I know your pain because maybe if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to look at you now and tell you I forgave you a long time ago. It was an accident. I felt how deeply you regretted it the day we met. Your mistake changed my life in an irreparable way, but it also shaped me into the man I am today—for better or worse—a man who loves your daughter. It’s crazy that somehow, despite what you took away, both you and Roman gifted me the only person in the world capable of loving me in a way that fills me with so much peace. Cecelia is my home and my reason for trying to forgive myself, and she needs to be your reason too. From what I’ve gathered, you’ve punished yourself long enough, and it’s affected you and your relationship with your daughter. It’s not too late for either of us, Diane. Cecelia is making me believe it.”

A telltale sniff just behind the lattice has me grinning. “Come on out, Mon Trésor, I know you’ve been listening.”

Cecelia’s red-rimmed eyes meet mine and drift to her mother as she steps in front of her. “This is why you had so many jobs, and we still struggled?”

Diane nods. “I couldn’t let them go without, and I know you suffered for it.”

“Roman didn’t know?”

Diane shakes her head. “God, no, he would have been furious because it would seem like an admission of guilt. He was so paranoid. But I’m not sorry I did it. I’m only sorry you suffered.”

“Mom—” Cecelia’s voice lifts as she pulls her mother into her arms. “We did okay. God, I only wish you would have told me.”

They start to speak in hushed whispers as I turn and head back toward the house to give them privacy.

I don’t really believe words can heal as much as they hurt. But I so want to believe it’s not too late for us—that truly living again without that jagged ache is possible. More hope sparks as I glance back at the two of them and see mild relief in Diane’s expression a second before I close the back door.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Tobias

Tim set up their RV for the night, insisting they sleep in it, no doubt due to the drama that unfolded today. I helped him set up camp, and with Cecelia occupied with her mother, dashed away to check both phones.

Oz identified the asshole watching us and is digging further into his background at my order.

Tyler was able to execute my request for air coverage, and the ETA was a half hour.

And fuckwit’s superior ordered me to continue my watch and report. After a tension-relieving shower, I spent the rest of my day satisfied with bought time, intent on figuring out Antoine’s motives and intent.

I will have to utilize my time wisely to make more headway with Cecelia, and I plan to do just that as soon as our unexpected guests leave.

After dinner, we gathered around a makeshift campfire Tim and I managed to scrounge up outside their camper.

Cecelia, Diane, and I sip wine as Tim tosses back the beer he has stocked in his cooler. We are all a few drinks in when Diane speaks up, inevitably ending a day’s worth of progress.

“You haven’t mentioned Dominic,” she asks, looking between Cecelia and me. “Where is he now?”

I stop the glass halfway to my mouth as Cecelia’s expression falls, and she turns questioning eyes to mine. We’ve never been faced with the question together, and try as I might, it’s clear on both our faces.

Diane looks between us, her eyes budding with fear. “Please tell me he’s okay,” she pleads with me as Tim grips her hand in his.

“He died six years ago,” Cecelia speaks at the same time I do.

“I think it’s time you know the truth.” Cecelia’s gaze locks on mine as I finish. “The whole truth.”

“Tobias—”

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