Page 135 of Always

That was my fear turned into matter. Fear with its ugly black-and-red head, laughing at me in a satanic, mocking way.

But I steadied myself. Got back to basics. Cold plunge. Forced meditation.

It saved me.

It saved Skye.

And I’ll do it all over again if I must.

But damn it, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure Skye is never put in harm’s way again.

“I’ll always protect you,” I say.

“I know.”

This is my fault. The words don’t make it past my throat. I should have been here with Skye. Instead, I chose to meet with three vigilantes so I could keep my own hands clean. Because Reardon and Ramirez got too close. Skye could have beenharmed. Tessa was harmed.

I wanted to punish men I had no right to punish. I’m not the law.

Never again.

I’m sure the Unholy Trinity would have wreaked their own kind of havoc on Beau, Peter, and Garrett, but I was thrilled to see Beau and Peter get shoved into an NYPD squad car, their hands cuffed, their rights being read.

As for Garrett, he’ll be arrested in Boston by morning on charges of rape, reckless endangerment, and administration of a controlled substance.

“You blame yourself,” she murmurs.

I lift my eyebrows.

“Not just for feeling repulsed by her scars when you were a little boy. You blame yourself for her death.”

Right. She’s talking about my mother. I told her she’s tied with my mother for being the strongest woman I know.

“Yes. I do,” I admit. “I always will.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” She strokes my arm.

If only her words were true. But Skye doesn’t know the whole story. No one does.

“She survived the fire,” Skye continues. “She was strong.”

“She was. She made sure Ben and I got to safety.”

“Any mother would save her child first.”

“I know. But she was never the same. Even though she was still beautiful.”

“I’m sure she was, if she was your mother.”

I simply nod. Once I got over the shock of my mother’s scarring, I realized her eyes still lit up when she smiled. Her face was different, marked by the fire that had taken so much, but she was still my mother. The woman who loved Ben and me with such a powerful force that she still got out of bed each day in spite of the depression that plagued her. Those lines,those marks—they didn’t change who she was. If anything, they reminded me of how strong she was. I told her that sometimes, when I saw her hesitate in front of the mirror. “You’re still beautiful, Mommy,” I’d whisper, and it was the truest thing I ever said.

But the guilt of how I treated her when I first saw her never went away completely.

“You don’t have to tell me, Braden.”

“No. I want to. It’s time.” I shake my head. “I’ve never told this story to anyone.”

She smiles. “Then I’m honored.”

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