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“Excuse me, Mr. I Don’t Call My Mom To Check In, I’m going to Hawaii next month.”
“Really?” I say, stunned.
My mother never takes days off. And she certainly doesn’t take vacations.
“Yep. I’m going with my, uh, friend.” She suddenly sounds uneasy. “His name is Paul.”
My jaw must hit the floor at the mention of her going on vacation with a dude. My mom hasn’t so much as gone on a date since my old man passed away. She said she never would either.
“Is this, like, a boyfriend?” I frown. “Or do you not call someone your boyfriend at your age?”
“My age?” she growls. “First off, rude. And second, no, boyfriend sounds … pathetic. We’ve been seeing each other for a month now. And you’d know this if you ever checked in.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sigh. “I get it. I get it. I’m sorry.” I smile. “But tell me about this Paul fella. What’s he like?” I stop. “Also, what’s his last name and Social?”
“Hudson William Hale,” she says, using my full name. My real name. “I know you are not trying to run a background check on my … friend right after the first time you’ve called me in twenty thousand years.”
“Gotta be safe, right?” I grin. “He could be a serial killer. Or a puppy slaughterer. Or a crackhead.”
“He is not!” She groans. “He’s a dentist, for Pete’s sake.”
“That might be worse. Dude has a thing for teeth. Gross,” I joke. “Hopefully, he at least gives you a discount on dental work.”
“Dear God, you are so much like your dad,” she huffs out before she laughs lightly. “Will you come meet him? Please?”
Walking toward the kitchen in this hotel room, I open the refrigerator door and grab a beer. “I will, I promise. Give me a few weeks, and I’ll come see you. Alllll the way in New Hampshire.”
“Hey, you’re the one who moved away from here,” she tosses back. “Just like your daddy. Couldn’t stand New England winters.” I can hear the sadness, even through the phone, and I somehow know she’s smiling. Or trying to. “He always wanted us to live in the South one day. For at least six months of the year.”
“That’s because he was a smart man,” I say lightly. “I promise, Ma, I’ll come see you soon. And I’ll get a chance to meet this boyfriend of yours.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she utters back. “Be safe, my baby boy. I love you.”
“Love you too,” I tell her and end the call before twisting the cap from my beer and taking a long swig.
My mother doesn’t know the full extent of what I do for work. She knows I’m in the FBI, and she knows I can’t talk about what I do, but I hate keeping secrets from her, especially when I spend most days putting my life on the line and wake up never knowing if I’ll even make it till tomorrow. But telling her all of that would scare the shit out of her. And she’s been through enough that I’d never want to add on to the things that make her sad.
She lost her husband, my dad, who was the love of her life, to a couple of thugs who thought he was someone else. And then she lost her daughter-in-law and soon-to-be grandchild when someone decided to drive drunk.
Cami, my wife, died while coming home from work. She was twenty-three years old and a registered nurse who had spent the entire night saving lives. And then, a mile from our home, a drunk driver killed her. All because he’d decided to get fucked up and drive home.
At age twenty-three, I became a widower. And I pledged that day that I would not so much as look at another woman. I couldn’t stand the thought of betraying my wife like that. She was the sweetest, best person I had ever known.
For six years, I was true to my word. I hadn’t even considered breaking that vow, and there wasn’t a single woman who tempted me to. I buried myself in work, put myself in stupid situations daily, and walked on the edge of death like it meant nothing.
And I guess that’s because it really didn’t mean anything. The person I loved was gone. I would never get a chance to meet my baby girl, hear her say her first word, or celebrate her birthdays, so what the fuck did it matter what happened to me? In some ways, I think I almost hoped something would happen. Because there were days the pain was so bad and brought me so much agony that dying sounded better than living through another day.
But then, one day, Dove showed up. Young—nine years younger than me. And in an impossible situation. Even though I wanted to look away from her, I couldn’t. I had gone six years without so much as kissing another woman’s lips, and then that night she tried to run away … she told me she hated me. She called me a monster. And something inside of me just snapped. I couldn’t help it. I kissed her. Her lips didn’t feel like Cami’s. She didn’t taste like her either. And that was when I remembered I was betraying my wife.
And now … well, now, I’m just so fucking lost. Because for the first time in years, I’m not reliving the day Cami passed away over and over again.
I’m reliving the moment I left Briar there to die, promising her she wouldn’t when I knew deep down that wasn’t something I could guarantee.
I’m reliving looking at the painful marks on her back and wanting nothing more than to just take her from that place. To make everything better. Only I couldn’t. Because doing that could have potentially ruined everything else I had worked so hard to do to nail Enzo’s and Marco’s asses.
So, I said goodbye to the second woman I had ever loved. Only this time, I probably won’t get the chance to even tell her how I feel. And she might die without ever knowing.
My hand works tirelessly in my sketchbook. I have no idea why. Who’s going to see this? Nobody. Yet here I am, trying to fill every page.
