Page 47 of Forsaking All Others

“License confirmed it, as well as the owner of the trucking company but of course you’ll be able to identify the body yourself.” His eyes dart back to Holly. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“No,” Holly cries, scrambling out of my arms. I loosen my hold on her and let her go. “It can’t be…he…he’s Colt.” She pushes up onto her feet and turns to me, tears streaming down her face. “He’s safe, clean, the straight and narrow guy who does everything by the book. Things like this don’t happen to men like him.”

I flinchat those words and pull myself up off the ground.

“Holly…baby…” My voice fades and a swipe a hand over my face. I don’t even know what the fuck to say to her right now. How do you console the woman you love when every ounce of grief she’s feeling is your doing?

“Ma’am, I know this a terrible shock, but we have some questions.”

My eyes flit and narrow on the officer.

“You’re kidding me, right?” I growl. “You just told her her husband is dead.”

He looks at his partner and then back at me.

“I’m sorry who are you?”

Before I can answer, Leftie intervenes.

“Listen Officer, Holly here has been in the hospital all day with her little boy,” he says, jutting a thumb over his shoulder. “We need to get him inside the house and break the news to her other two children that their stepfather isn’t coming home. Your questions can wait.”

“It’s okay, Leftie,” Holly croaks. “I’ll answer whatever questions you have, but he’s right, I need to bring my son inside.”

“Of course, Ma’am.”

Holly turns to me, tears streaking her face and I see the pain in her eyes. I see the fear and the uncertainty. The questions—all the fucking questions I’ll have to lie through my teeth to answer.

“I’ve got him,” I say hoarsely. “You go inside with Leftie and I’ll get Theo.”

Her lower lip quivers as more tears fall down her cheeks as she nods. Leftie comes to her side, throwing an arm around her shoulders and his eyes find mine. With a jerk of his head, he spins Holly toward the house, and I drag in a deep breath, watching as the old man helps my ex-wife up the stairs. The two officers move to their cruiser, giving us time to get situated and I turn to Holly’s car. My chest tightens as my hand closes over the door handle and my eyes lock on the sleeping boy I tucked into his car seat. The little boy who no longer has a father because of me.

I’m about to open the door when the distinct sound of a motorcycle engine fills my ears. My hand stills on the handle and I tear my gaze away from Theo just as Ghost turns and pulls into the driveway, parking behind my bike. He quickly dismounts, ripping his helmet from his head as he stalks toward me. My hand tightens around the handle and I bring my eyes back to Theo.

The boy went through it today.

Got poked and prodded for hours.

His first dose of how unfair life truly is and now, instead of recuperating from all that. Instead of his faith and innocence being restored, he’s about to get his first dose of tragedy.

Ghost lays one hand on my shoulder and pries my fingers from the door handle with the other. I pull my hand away and take a step back, my eyes still focused on Theo through the window.

Theo’s my brother, dad. Just like Shep.

My daughter’s voice rings on a continuous loop inside my head. She’s not a naïve little kid who hangs on her daddy’s word anymore. She’s growing into a young woman with a curious mind. If she finds out I was responsible for this, she’s going to hate me too. I cup the back of my neck and scrub a hand over my face. There are forgivable offenses, things you turn a blind eye to, but killing my children’s stepfather, leaving their brother without a father—that isn’t one of them.

I turn my head and my gaze locks with Ghost’s. The truth is written in his bloodshot eyes and yet, I still plead for him to tell me otherwise.

“Tell me I’m not responsible for this little boy losing his father. Tell me I didn’t get Holly’s husband killed.”

He remains silent and for the first time in my life, I wish I was a man of faith. A man who believes in something other than Hell.

Before I sent Parrish packing, he gave me some advice. He told me it’s never too late to fold my hands and pray, but that I shouldn’t pray for an easier life. God made man, he said. He made us flawed and he did that so we’d always come back to him.

I thought it was the whiskey talking but then he patted me on the back and in that dark and twisted way of his he told me God was going to bring me to my knees. Make it right with the man upstairs, he said. Ask him to make you better. That’s when he’ll give you the powers equal to your tasks and the miracles will start coming.

Maybe this is God bringing me to my knees.

“You can’t say it, can you?” I rasp.

---