Page 58 of Studfinder

My blood runs cold. I have no comfort for him. “You’re sorry?” I bellow, slapping a hand to the linoleum flooring. Nolan’s fragile body shudders.

“I was so messed up. Hurt and on drugs at the hospital. Then you were gone, convicted, and I didn’t know what to do. Rory told me how he thought it was his fault, and you told him not to tell anyone. I said the same thing. I couldn’t have my son go to jail for something I’d done. And then I couldn’t admit it myself because I couldn’t leave my son without a father. I couldn’t do to him what had been done to us.”

His body shakes harder, the tears falling faster. I don’t even know what to say. I’m vibrating with confusion and anger, hurt and betrayal. My own brother. Sadly, I knew Nolan justified his actions in his head. It was never his fault. He had his reasons. He had his convictions, but this time, I had enough.

Scrambling up off the floor, I stumbled in my dress shoes. I was still wearing my shirt, rolled to the elbows, but my tie was loosened. My coat had been removed hours ago. Fumbling through the hallway, I attempt to climb the stairs, tripping on them and banging my knees on the risers. I wasn’t drunk. In fact, every drink I’d had earlier turned to ice in my veins.

My own brother.

The little boy I’d become a father figure to.

The child I’d protected from bullies.

The teenager I’d moved home for.

The man for whom I’d given up my life.

Stumbling up the stairs, I find my truck keys in my room and slip back down the steps. My legs hardly hold me. My knees give out once, and I fall to the steps again, slamming my ass this time on the hardwood. My heart races too fast. My ears ring.

I owed my brother nothing, and I’d be damned if I lost one more thing because of him.

23

Rita

A sharp rattling on my front door wakes me from a fitful sleep. My room is pitch black, and it takes me a second to gather my wits. Throwing off the blanket, I can’t imagine who would be at the house this late and assume it’s either an animal bumping against the door or someone trying to break in. After grabbing the baseball bat I keep under the bed, I head down the hallway. I’m not afraid to use this thing. I’m certain I could get in one good swing although my hands sweat along the handle. As I press myself against the wall of the staircase, lowering for the first floor like I’m the one sneaking into my home, I see that a forehead rests against the frosted glass while knuckles wrap on the wood as if separate from the body, creating such a ruckus.

Tiptoeing down the staircase, I feel goose bumps scatter over my flesh. I’m only wearing a low-cut T-shirt nightdress which hits at my kneecaps. Not the best body armor, but then again, an intruder wouldn’t be knocking on the door. Still, the bat remains raised as I reach the front door, and call out, “Who’s there?”

“Sweet.” Sounding strained and off, I’m almost surprised I heard his voice through the glass. Quickly, I set the bat to the side of the door and release the locks. Once the door is opened, the man on my front porch hardly looks like Jake. He sways. His shirt is wrinkled. His tie disheveled. An overwhelming hint of cinnamon wafts between us. Gum is the first attempt to hide alcohol on someone’s breath.

“Are you drunk?” I snap. Jake does not confess to having a problem. He’s told me all the ways he’s been accused of having an issue but remains adamant he does not. I know all about closet drinking, thinking you’re fooling others when you aren’t. I’m also not convinced Jake really does suffer from alcohol addiction as I had.

“I’ll admit I’ve been drinking.” His voice remains controlled, but his hands reach for the doorframe as if he’ll pitch forward if he doesn’t hold on to something. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

The low tenor of his tone has me reaching for his tie and tugging him forward. He stumbles into the entryway, and I close the door behind him.

“Sweet,” he whispers, but it isn’t a drunken slur or even a seductive taunt. The sound is a broken man.

“What happened?” Before I’ve even finished my question, his arms are around me, dragging me to him and pressing my body against his. His arms wrap around my back, and he holds me like he doesn’t ever want to let go. Hesitantly, my hands come to his lower back. His weight falls against me, and I can hardly hold him up.

“Let’s sit down,” I state, but Jake twists his head which lays in the crook of my neck. Gently pushing at him, I separate us enough to lead him into the front room while holding his hand. As we near the couch, Jake reaches for my waist, slipping his arms around me again. We lower as one before he tips back. My hands rest on his biceps, pressing at him to release me, but he isn’t letting go. As we flatten to the couch, my legs twist awkwardly beside his hip, dangling off the furniture while his upper body holds mine down. He scoots so his ear lands near my heart. With his arms still snug around my back, and my spine arching over them under me, I feel Jake shudder. A strange vibe rolls off him.

Slowly, I relax from the temporary fear of him and give in to the presence of his body blanketing mine. My hands slide up his arm, and my fingers massage the back of his head.

“What happened, handsome?” I ask, keeping my voice low. Skittish of his reaction, I remain still other than my racing heart and stroking fingers. Jake only shakes his head against my chest, and then I feel the tremble of his body. The definitive sound of a sob and the utter collapse of this man. His arms tighten as his face presses into my skin, and he cries.

“Oh my, honey,” I say, staying quiet and tender as I rub the back of his head and stroke my other hand over his upper back. Without additional words, I let him cry out whatever has upset him. My heart rips in half and half again, knowing whatever has broken such a strong man had to be something bad. Something very bad.

Time slows as Jake cries against me until his body relaxes. His weight turns heavy, and I assume he’s fallen asleep. Still stroking his head and rubbing up his back, I lean forward and press a kiss to the top of his head.

“I’m sorry.” His hoarse voice startles me.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” I don’t speak louder than a whisper as if I’d disturb the remainder of the empty house.

“At the graduation. I overreacted.”

Ah, the moment where he was calling me out for thinking he wasn’t good enough. I didn’t wish to get into the altercation I’d already had with his brother, who accused me of being friends with the enemy as he called Parker. I can’t say I’d call Parker the enemy as she was only doing her job, which involved proving Jake’s guilt. However, I had to agree with Nolan a little bit. If Parker believed Jake was innocent, she should have requested an audience with the judge to discuss her suspicions.