Page 1 of Tangled Desires

PROLOGUE

LYRIC

One Month Earlier

Please take care of your father, Lyric. He’ll need you when I’m gone, and don’t forget I’ll carry you with me always. I love you, sweet girl.

Those were my mom's last words before she left this side of the earth twelve years ago. The same thoughts I’ve kept at the forefront of my brain and have never let go, not even when things got worse. I stayed true to her words, promising to take care of my dad, her husband, until his final breath.

I never thought in a million years that at the age of twenty-one, I’d be called home from college to hear the news of my mom having cancer. My parents told me I could go back, visit more throughout the semester, and then change universities when the school year ended. I squashed that idea like a bug beneath my shoe, transferring in the middle of spring semester and never looking back. My thenboyfriend said we could make it work, insisting that a long-distance relationship didn’t mean we’d lose touch. I remained cautiously optimistic.

Then, like the saying goes, life happened, or rather shit happened. A domino effect as disappointment sank in, when a random phone number sent me a text message with an image of him in bed with another girl. I knew everything he said was in the heat of the moment. We were young, and I had more responsibility than most peers my age. I didn’t blame him.

He’d call me in the beginning, I’d call him back when I got a minute, and the conversations would last a minute or two here and there. I’d undoubtedly be needed by my mom or dad, and, well, he’d be heading to class, football practice, or a party, so we drifted apart. I never dated again once my mom passed away after her long and drawn-out battle, trying her hardest to keep going. She was a fighter, trying every chemotherapy and radiation therapy she could, even going as far to be a part of any research trial she’d qualify as a candidate for, but nothing helped. Two years later, we reluctantly said our goodbyes, and I’ve kept my promise that I would take care of my father, the love of her life, ever since.

Of course, I had no idea what that would entail until I started really noticing things about my dad. He’d forget a few things here and there. Mainly his keys when walking out the door to work on the base, or I’d notice a couple of other things here and there. His uniform would be messed up when he’d never once allowed himself or anyone else under his command look slightly disheveled. Then his doctor’s office called to confirm an appointment, and when Imentioned it to my father, he said he had forgotten. I understood the sentiment entirely. We’d been through a lot at the end with Mom, hospice coming and going at all hours of the day during her final days.

We both stayed by her side until I heard Mom say something to Dad. That’s when realization hit that they needed alone time together. I excused myself, swallowing back the lump in the back of my throat and blinking the tears away, only allowing myself to fall to pieces once I cleared the room. I ran to the bathroom and closed the door as quietly as possible, then my back slid down the wall, and my hand covered my mouth. I found a hand towel to muffle the sobbing and allowed the emotions to take over.

We buried her three days later, my dad in his dress blues sitting beside me, holding my hand, and while he maintained a brave face, I couldn’t help the tears sliding down my cheeks, unable to keep up with them. There weren’t enough tissues to combat the tears from losing my mother. My mind went into overdrive, thinking about all the moments that had been stolen from her and, selfishly, myself.

Now, here I am, standing next to my mother’s grave, where my father is in his final resting place beside her. The doctor’s appointment after Mom’s funeral hit me in the gut yet again. His general physician brought up my mother’s concerns, which had me at a loss for words.

My father was showing signs of early-onset dementia. My big, strong father, Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps, would need to see a neurologist, which resulted in doctor after doctor. Test after test would be run, and we’d eventually receive the diagnosis Mom had been trying to findbefore she became so sick that she couldn’t keep up. The downfall of everything was being kept in the dark. I know they were trying to overcome obstacles and thinking that everything would be okay. You know, like Mom going into remission and Dad not being diagnosed with frontotemporal dementia.

Any thought of me returning to school went out the window. Instead, I doubled down and became a caretaker again because while Dad did what he could with Mom, he still had a job at the end of the day, but he’d have to let the Marine Corps know. Another hit yet again.

I did what I did best and read through every public forum available about how things could and would potentially go. He was honorably discharged with full medical benefits. As if the blows weren’t enough from losing Mom, I had to watch my dad slowly decline, too. He was confused at first, wondering why he no longer had to be out the door after drinking his coffee at four o’clock in the morning, and I’d remind him. He’d look lost for a moment, become quiet, blink a few times, then sit down in his chair.

For years, I watched this disease ravage my father, and before that, I watched my mom do the same. Over a decade, I was there for them, and I’d do it for ten more decades if it meant getting to spend as much time as I could with them.

The only problem I have now is how to go on. How do I live for myself after living and breathing for them? I’m thirty-five years old and have to learn to live for myself. The only problem with that is, how does one do that? The minimal work experience and a college degree that luckily, I was able to finish online, leave me with little options as faras work goes, let alone getting out there again to make friendships.

A memory appears out of nowhere, pulling me in. It’s one I’ve tried to forget, but it calls me like the tide calls to the moon. A time and place where I could get lost in the feel of his arms, the lure of his kisses, and tell him about everything.

Jagger Steele.

My one and only love from a time long ago. Except I lost him, just like I’ve lost my parents.

I’m numb inside, the rain falling like sheets of ice around us during the burial service. It doesn’t matter that there are tents set up on the lawn for us to sit under; the cold has settled deep in my bones, and the pain is splintering my heart in two. Unlike Mom’s service, where the sun shone, the trees swayed, and a bird chirped here and there, Dad’s is cold and desolate, exactly how I’m feeling.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Skye.” I’m standing off to the side, receiving condolence after condolence. In true Marine Corps style, he had the military sendoff of all sendoffs.

“Thank you.” I take the offered hand or place mine on top of theirs as they pat the side of my arm or whatever.

“Call if you need anything.” A broken promise here, another one there. I heard the same song and dance at my mother’s funeral. They’ll be here for the first week, maybe two, before they fade away into the background.

“I will,” I tell Marge, my parents’ neighbor. My parents finally quit moving around when Dad received a higher rank. Mom found a cute three-bedroom, two-bathroomhouse in a quiet neighborhood, remodeled what needed updating, mainly the kitchen and bathroom, and they were both content to live their life for the rest of their years there. Nobody knew they’d succumb to cancer and dementia.

I stand, waiting for the line to die down, attempting not to snort at my use of the worddie.A morbid sense of humor probably isn’t the best to have at this point in time. I look around, seeing the soldiers standing at attention; they’ll stay here until I’m done hearing their condolences and will stay until I say my goodbyes. As much as I want to stay and stare at their headstones and the pile of dirt when they lay my dad to rest, I won’t. No, I can’t. I’m broken inside. A piece of me is missing and will always be gone. I’m the last living relative on the Skye side as well as my mom’s side. Both my mom and dad were only children. Their parents have been long gone, and as much as my parents tried for a second child, it never happened. Now, I’m here alone and feeling like an orphan while in my thirties.

“Naomi.” I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m able to let my guard down when she pulls me into her arms. Truth be told, this woman right here helped me through all of the travesties we’ve been through. She was mother’s best friend and traveled around the globe to be here with me.

“Lyric, my girl. I’m sorry I couldn’t come until now,” she says with a Parisian accent. My mother and Naomi grew up together, and they kept in touch when my parents met. My parents fell in love, got married, had a child, and moved more than most people ever have. Still, she and Naomi managed to talk once a week at least, if not more. When Mom got worse, she flew in and stayed with us until shepassed, or really until after the funeral. Naomi made me promise to keep in touch, and we have. Our phone calls helped keep me sane, and she insisted I take the help provided by my father’s insurance. I’d gone to work part-time; finding a flexible job as a receptionist at a dentist’s office really helped my mental health. I told them about the happenings in my home life knowing it would be a lot. The office manager told me in no uncertain circumstances that I was not to come in when Dad had a rough day.

True to their word, the first time I called them two months into my new employment, needing a day off, they understood and said my job would be there the next day. I finally turned in my notice when I wouldn’t be there for days on end when things got worse. I could have put Dad in an assisted living facility. Naomi even encouraged it, and it wasn’t until I spilled the beans about Mom’s last request that she finally understood why I wouldn’t.

“Stop, there would have been nothing for you to do,” I tell her. Much like what we went through with Mom, similar happened with Dad. They both passed peacefully with hospice sitting outside the room at home.

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