Page 135 of The Thought of You

“You’re scared of love, and I think your father and I are to blame,” she says.

“What—how did you…”

“Like I told you before, I know a thing or two, honey.”

“Fine.” I tug on my jacket with one hand, bracing myself against the breeze. It’s chilly tonight, but the air feels good in my lungs. “Tell me why my issues are your fault.”

She heaves her legs onto the couch and crosses them, seemingly comfortable in her light layers. “We were your role models. Our marriage was your first introduction to love, and when it shattered, it was the only lens you’d ever view love through again.”

I gulp for the second time, and I fear it won’t be the last. She’s coming in hot with the punches tonight, isn’t she?

Rain clears her throat and toys with the stem of her glass, averting her gaze. Is she nervous? That can’t be right. She’s never skittish or shy. The woman parades around the country in a van, mostly without shoes.

She’s not afraid of anything.

Instantly, my guard shoots up.

“I’ve never told you this, but when you were almost eleven, I tried to convince your father to take me back. Our divorce hadn’t been finalized yet, and I went to him on hands and knees to beg him for forgiveness.”

“Really?” I whisper. I had no inkling of such a thing ever happening. Dad didn’t say anything, either, nor did I ever hear it from anyone else.

She nods. “I told him I’d made a huge mistake and that I was so sorry for my lapse in judgment. That I hated my life without him and us as a whole family.” She sips from her glass and blinks rapidly at the yellowing sky like she’s fighting tears. This is a side of Rain I’ve never witnessed before, and my heart clenches as it does for a kitten in a storm.

It’s not easy to experience a force of a woman like her crumbling this way.

With an unsteady, watery voice, she continues, “I was honest and raw, but it wasn’t enough. He said I was too dangerous, too unpredictable, and he couldn’t live in a constant state of caution over what I might do next. And he was right.” Her soft laugh holds devastating sadness that fills the air around us.

And although I don’t disagree with Dad, as I’ve often felt the same about the chaotic clouds of outlandish ideas floating around her, I’m sad to hear it from her perspective.

Rejection stings in all forms, especially when it comes to love. My mother made a mistake in driving Dad away, and when she apologized—when she bared her soul—he still said no.

I imagine such a wound doesn’t heal easily.

“I never got over him,” she confesses in a low, haunting whisper.

“You’re still in love with Dad?” I squeak.

She slowly nods, and my throat clogs with empathy and even more sadness for her.

All this time. All those guys. All this mumbo jumbo about marrying nature and living in the world as a free bird.

Has it all been lies? Cries for help? Madness?

For so many years, I’ve criticized her, when I should’ve been asking for what was really going on. Guilt reaches like a hand inside my chest and squeezes my cold, selfish heart.

“It’s why I bounce from guy to guy without another thought. No one’s ever measured up to your father.” Rain brushes her knuckles across my cheek. “I blew it with him, but you don’t have to make the same mistakes I did. I don’t want this curse for you.”

Curse.

That’s exactly what my situation sounds like, and the word covers me like a bad omen, chills racing up and down my arms.

A curse is exactly what I’ll fall victim to if I don’t make this right with Owen. I’ll be cursed to watch him from afar without being able to touch, kiss, or wrap my arms around him.

How can I never experience another one of his ass grabs?

There’s something I never thought I’d say, and here’s another—Owen Conrad somehow went from someone I couldn’t stand to the one person I don’t want to be without.

“Tell me what to do.” I lift my teary gaze to meet hers. “And please don’t tell me to perform some voodoo ritual and cut off more of my hair. What’s a normal thing to do in this situation?”

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