Page 69 of Quiet Rage
Kellen frowns. “I didn’t touch her. My father sent someone up to my room, but nothing happened. I let her sleep on the floorso she wouldn’t have to go to the brothel to work. That’s all.” He leans forward a little. “I don’t want anyone else. I just want you.”
My mouth opens but before I can get a single word past my lips, the door flies open, and my parents come rushing in the room.
“Oh my god, Tamson,” my mother cries out when she sees me. She dashes to the bed, where she throws her arms around me. “I’m so glad you're okay. We were so worried.”
“I’m sorry,” I apologize, but I’m not sure if she can hear me over her sobbing. The guilt I felt earlier rushes back tenfold. How could I have put them through this?
“Honey, give her some room,” my father says from the foot of the bed.
Mom peels herself away from me, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand, while Dad stands awkwardly across from me. I look up into his face, finding him wearing a pained expression. I would give anything to take that pain away.
Kellen gets up from his chair, and both of my parents flinch. “I have to go,” he announces, before turning to my father. “After Tamson is released, I want you to go home and start packing. I’m getting you out of town.”
Dads eyes go wide, but he manages to nod.
“What about you?” At my question, Kellen turns back towards me. “What if your father finds out you are helping us?”
“He won’t. I’ll be careful,” he assures me. “Don’t worry about me, just worry about getting better.” Kellen’s eyes linger on me for another moment, like he is unsure of what to do, before he leans over and presses his lips to my forehead. “Goodbye, dragonfly.”He straightens back up and walks around the bed, leaving the room without looking back.
The door shuts behind him. I know I should be relieved he is gone, but all I feel is sadness. Did he really mean it? Is this goodbye?
Chapter 31
Kellen
It’s for the best.I did everything I could for her, but I am the last obstacle standing in the way of her ultimate happiness and safety.
Amazing what can go through a guy’s head while he’s sitting around, waiting for the person who matters more than anything to him to have their stomach pumped. There are all kinds of thoughts and ideas that can run through a mind under that kind of stress.
There’s a lot of guilt that comes with it. Self-hatred, too.
I did that to her. I might as well have poured those pills down her throat. Everything that’s going wrong in her life from the day we met has been on me.
And there was really nothing I could’ve done about it. That’s the worst part. If I’d said no, Dad would’ve found somebody else to do his dirty work. And somebody else wouldn’t have fallen for her like I did. He could’ve had Dante do it from the beginning, and as bad off as Tamson is now—in the hospital, after her closecall—there is no way to know for sure she would be alive today if I’d left the job up to anybody else.
Because I am what’s wrong with her life. I’m the reason for her destruction. That’s why I’m removing myself from the equation now that I know she’s going to be all right.
For once, she’s not the only thing on my mind as I roll up the driveway. I’m like the lead actor at the end of an action movie. I feel like somebody kicked the shit out of me, like I’ve lost everything I ever thought was important. Somehow, I need to find it in me to pull together the strength for one more fight. The biggest fight. The one everything hinges on.
It’s a fight that’s been brewing for eleven years, ever since the day I lost Mom. As much as I hate looking back, I force myself to sit with the memories after I park in front of the house. It’s quiet, peaceful, lit in its normal way by lights shining upward, highlighting the immaculate grounds, the shining windows, the manicured topiaries. Nobody would guess a killer lives behind those walls.
But did he kill his wife? Was she acting strange in the days before she died? There I was, eight years old, with my head firmly up my ass. All I cared about was my video games. She could’ve marched a fifty-piece band through the house with a banner in front of them that saidYour dad is a murderer,and I would’ve gone back to whatever I was playing. I was that oblivious.
So maybe she was planning to take me away. I have a hard time believing she never knew anything about what Dad did, how he made his money. Maybe back then, he actually tried to hide it. Now, what’s the point? There’s no reason to.
I know what I’m doing. I’m stalling. I need to know if Dante was telling the truth, but this is the kind of pivotal moment I can’t pretend never happened. There won’t be any way to forget whatever it is he tells me.
I can’t let it go, though. I need to know, either way. For Mom. For me.
Slowly walking up the front steps, I think of her. Making Christmas cookies together in the kitchen. The way she beamed with pride and love, crouching next to me while I sat in front of my birthday cake with all the candles lit.
I only got up to eight before she was taken away from me. Eight candles, that’s it.
Her sweet voice used to sing all of her favorite songs from when she was a kid, sort of off-key but with plenty of enthusiasm. She used to say that made up for her lack of talent. And then she would sing louder, and I would sing with her, until the car was filled with our voices and laughter.
All this time, I believed a story someone told me about how I lost her. I tried to put the past behind me because it hurt too damn much. That was wrong.
I’m sorry, Mom. It’s not that I don’t love you.
