Page 168 of Invisible String
Te amo. I love you so much,
Mom
Max liftsme into his arms as tears stream down my face, and the pain cuts deeper. A whirlwind of emotions churns inside me, leaving me burdened and unsure. Part of me understands it’s not my fault, yet the inability to recall them gnaws at me, leaving a hollow ache.
Although I’m Sol, I’m not. Who is Sol? I don’t know. I lived my life as Rainey. Rainey, who was told, is Scottish by my father. Let me correct myself. My adopted father. He also said the name Rainey means queen. Rain means freshness and renewal. I get it now, a fresh start and a renewal of my identity. The man holding me in his arms loves me. The boy I asked to kiss me, not once, but several times. The boy who was my first boyfriend, and I don’t remember—my handsome man, who’s had to keep so much buried.
The pain must have cut deep for me not to remember any of it. The pain we shared is one-sided.
“Want some water?” he mouths as he kisses my forehead.
“No, thanks. I’m just overwhelmed to see photos of myself and my parents after so many years of not knowing they even existed.”
“I know. It’s overwhelming. How about I put a movie on, and we can cuddle until you fall asleep?”
“I’d like that.”
Max gently undoes the comforter, lifting it with a soft rustle. I climb into bed, feeling the inviting warmth envelop me. His wide arms open like a protective cocoon, ready for me to curl into, offering a comforting embrace.
We lay like this for an hour. Me in his arms, watching a movie. I’m unsure what it is about. It’s done nothing to distract my overwhelmed mind.
“Max.” I sit up. “What if I can never give you peace?”
His brows scrunch up. “Rainey.”
“No, Max. I’ll never be able to give you peace. They were wrong. I’m your trigger. You’ll always look at me and remember how we met, how you lived throughout those years. With any other woman, you can look into their eyes and forget it all. Not with me?—”
Max cups my face, sitting up. “You are my peace. You calm me in ways no one can. You are the light in my heart. Those memories we have, I treasure, baby. They weren’t in good circumstances, but they are memories I lived for.”
“I’m not Sol.YourSol.” My lip trembles.
“You are?—”
I wave my hand up. “No, Max. I’m not her. She obviously died that day. I know nothing about her. I can’t be Sol for you. Hell, I’m Rainey fucking Collins. That was a lie too with fake pictures. So, no Max, I can’t be Sol, the girl you loved.”
“I love you.”
“You love Sol,” I shout louder than intended.
Max’s jaw clenches. “You are both, Rainey. Same damn heart, same damn soul. You might not remember who Sol is, but I do. I’m the only one who does. Your laugh, your smile, your sassiness, your straightforwardness, your love to dance. You love dogs, and you bite your lip when you’re nervous. You also do it when you want me to kiss you, and now that we’re adults, you do it when you’re turned on. You like to sleep on my chest because you feel safe. You’ve called me Maxi,” his voice goes low, “Rainey does all the things Sol does. I might not completely understand how you feel, but I know you. You’re uncomfortable with being in your own skin right now. You’re confused, hurt, and scared. Also, you’ve grown into a beautiful woman. You have different likes and interests now than when you were an eleven-year-old girl. That’s normal.” His soft lips brush mine. “I love you. If you changed your name to Wilma, I’d still love you.”
A small giggle leaves my lips. “Wilma?”
“Just saying. I love you. Tell me who in the fuck meets so many times in their life time? Tell me, how did I end up from Vegas to Carson City, in a stuck-up high school academy, and see my girl after so long, then seven years later at a cabin?”
“Then you left me,” I add. “I understand why you did. But I wish you hadn’t.”
“You wouldn’t have believed me then. I had no proof. Your dad and mom would have done everything to make you think I lied.”
I know it’s true. My dad didn’t want me to know according to the conversation I overheard. That’s something I will have to discuss with him.
“Then you found me,” I whisper.
“Maybe we should send that cock sucker Andrew a bouquet of black roses for taking you to the Underground. He thought it would push you away.”
It seems like yesterday, and here we are.
“I hate him.”
