Page 66 of Just This Once

I was seven when my mother left. Old enough to remember that she would hum and tickle my back to help me fall asleep, but young enough to not recall the actual tune. My mother’s name—Maryann—became a curse word, and we had each learned early on that the punishments for lamenting her absence were swift and harsh. My father never wanted children, but I assumed we became a way to keep my mother content. Eventually that wasn’t enough, and she left us all behind with the man who never wanted us in the first place.

My heart quickened. The room seemed to close in around me as I processed the possible implications of her driver’s license being in a box in a basement all this time. Long since expired. “Why would she leave these behind? And why are you just finding themnow?”

“I don’t know, Whip.” Bug shook her head, a mix of confusion and fear in her eyes. “I—I just don’t know.”

I pulled out the denim jacket and clutched it in my fist. “Is this hers?”

Bug only offered a sharp nod.

I flipped the driver’s license back into the box and stuffed the jacket on top before closing the cardboard flaps. “It doesn’t matter,” I said despite the growing sense of dread clawing at me.

I stood, and Bug bent for the box and shoved it into me. “Take it. I don’t want this in my house.” My aunt cleared her throat and dusted off her shirt. “I have a luncheon to go to—planning a carnival takes work, and I don’t want to be late.”

With her shoulders set and chin raised, Bug dared me to defy her.

Just like a King to sweep something under the rug.

Leaving the dim basement, unanswered questions hung in the air like shadows, and the weight of my family’s secrets pressed down on me, leaving me with an unsettling certainty that things were not entirely as they seemed. Bug knew something, and she was either too afraid or too loyal to my father to say anything. I just wasn’t sure which.

I turned to my aunt as we walked toward the front door. “I’ll text him and let him know I’m looking to talk.”

Bug shook her head and let out a soft sigh. “A child’s shoulders were never meant to bear the weight of his father’s choices. But you know your father. If it’s not on his terms, it won’t happen at all.”

I bit back the comment that maybe we’d all been bending to his will for too long. I knew it wasn’t Bug’s fault that she’d gotten caught up in my father’s business dealings—leaving would have meant abandoning us in the same way our mother had.

The cardboard box was heavy in my hands. I nodded goodbye to my aunt and tossed it in the cab of my truck. An unsettling ache curdled my stomach as I gave the box one last sidelong glance. Something about knowing my mother’s possessions were there, sitting in a forgotten box right next to me, made her more real than she’d ever been.

My thoughts rambled back to Emily, and I closed my eyes and laid my head against the seat of my truck. She had swept into Outtatowner with her perfect smile.

Perfect family.

Perfect life.

All I had was a family name and with it a box of tangled, thorny secrets that refused to stay buried.

TWENTY-FOUR

EMILY

I can’t even rememberthe last night I slept in my own apartment. Actually, that was a lie. It was weeks ago when Whip finally told me to stop sneaking around town and just leave some clothes at his place.

So much for casual.

Tightness still gripped my chest when I skirted questions from my mother about what I’d been up to, but otherwise Whip and I had been doing a clever job of keeping our relationship under wraps. If anyone noticed the absence of my car at the apartment, no one had said a thing.

Cocooned in his plush comforter, it felt like no one and nothing in the world could touch us. I stretched and reached for him, only to find his space in the bed empty. It was cool to the touch, so I shifted and gathered the blankets around me, hoping to steal their warmth. Lying on my back, I wiped the sleep from my eyes and stared up at the wood beams in the vaulted ceiling.

“Why have such a big house for one person?” It was a rambling, inside thought that tumbled from my lips.

For a moment it was quiet until I heard Whip answer from the bathroom. “I wanted to be sure my siblings had a place to stay if they ever needed it.”

Affection pierced my heart. “Do they ever stay?”

“No.” His clipped, one-syllable response was heartbreaking. I rolled to my belly and curled into his side of the bed. “Good morning.” Still groggy and feeling well used, I kept my eyes closed and smiled into Whip’s pillow.

“Morning.” The sleep in his voice made the syllables rough and cracked. I felt the bed dip under his weight before a light kiss brushed the top of my head. When he retreated just as quickly as he’d come, I blinked my eyes open.

Across the room, Whip’s back was to me as he was riffling through one of his drawers. He was already dressed for the day in slacks and a button-up shirt.

---