Page 6 of Beat of Love
“If I hadn’t come home—”
“Anaccident, son. I have never blamed you. Never will.”
Ma reached an arm toward Pa. “Jonathan, maybe we can talk about this later.”
“No, darlin’. Our son needs to know that in this home there is no place for condemnation. No matter what happened in the past, it is over. Done. The only way is forward.”
Rafferty’s hold onto the chair tightened as he fought back the surge of emotion. “How can you forgive me for putting you in that wheelchair, Pa? For destroying your life?”
“My life is not destroyed, son. Merely altered. There is nothin’ to forgive.”
With a ragged cry, he rushed forward. His father moved his wheelchair and held open his arms. Rafferty fell to his knees in front of the man who had dried his tears as a kid and pressed his face against his father’s lifeless legs. “I’m so sorry,” he said, over and over between body-wracking sobs.
And as his father’s hands stroked over his head, his shoulders, his back, and the man whispered, “I know, son, I know,” a sense of peace, ofrightness,settled over Rafferty.
He was home.
2
Brandy
Austin, Texas, early August
Several minutes into her journey, the ringtone rudely cut into Chris Stapleton singing about starting over. A quick glance at the device showed Preston Calling. Brandy-Lyn Powers pressed the accept button on her steering wheel. “Y’all miss your momma already?” she asked, smiling.
“We arenotstaying here,” her fourteen-year-old son ground out.
She banked her frustration. Preston was more melodramatic than his sisters combined and the angriest with his father. “Pres—” she started, but he cut her off.
“She’slivinghere,” he yelled.
The hell?Brandy pulled off the road, grateful she hadn’t yet left the luxury subdivision where her ex-husband now lived. With his new girlfriend, it seemed. The one he’d only informed them about two days ago.
He could’ve had the decency to warn the kids that she was shacking up with him, she thought bitterly. She inhaled a calming breath. “Wearedivorced,” she reminded him.
“There’s ababy, Mom. An eight-month-old baby.Hisbaby. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to do the math.”
A baby? “Say what?”
“Richard Springer is a lying, cheating son of a bitch,” he screamed, his anger reverberating in the close confines of the car. She lowered the volume.
“Preston,” a deeper voice sounded in the background.
It was the lying, cheating son of a bitch.
And the son of abitchpart was factual. Her — thankfully — former mother-in-law’s image appeared beside that word in the dictionary.
“Give me the phone,” Richard continued, his voice louder.
“No!”
“Darn it, son. Give me the phone!”
“Don’t call me that. I am no longer your son,cheater,” Preston spat. “Please come fetch us, Mom.” The call cut out.
She stared through the windshield, dumbfounded.
Richard had cheated while they were married?
