Page 68 of Savagely Scarred

Without hesitation I blurt out, “I’m worried about Will.”

He gives me an understanding nod. “Us too. Believe it or not though, he used to be worse before you came along. He’d go into hiding every June and we couldn’t reach him. Kara would find him hungover surrounded by enough empty beer bottles to start a liquor store.”

I frown, looking at my lotus ring. “I always just assumed he took vacation at the same time every year.” My head lifts to look at John. “Why does he keep his father’s death from people?”

A question that’s been eating at me since he told me last week. I’ve known Sage for almost four years now and not once did it come up in conversations.

“Guilt. Shame. Embarrassment. The guilt is what tears him apart. Always has. I think deep down he knows it wasn’t his fault, but he’s stubborn and refuses to let it go.”

“He always says ‘my parents’ so I never knew until recently.”

“I guess he likes me then.” He smiles. “I’ve been with Kara since he was ten years old. Never asked him to call me Dad. Wasn’t my place or title. But I raised him like he was mine all the same.”

“I can see you in him. So, I’d say you did a pretty great job.”

He hums with satisfaction. “Don’t tell him, but you’re my favorite now.”

We both laugh and clink our glasses together. I feel lighter than I have in weeks. The last ounce of fear drains from my soul as we continue to banter back and forth. I miss my family terribly, but being here helps to fill that void in my heart.

“If you’re asking Liv to help cook, you better have the fire extinguisher ready.”

I throw the dish towel at Sage. “That”—I point—“was the cat’s fault!”

He’s still laughing when his mom shoves him towards the doorway. “Get out of my kitchen you heathen. I’ll shove this wooden spoon so far up your arse you’ll be able to feed yourself with it.”

He leaves the room with a salute and a shit eating grin. I giggle because his mom’s accent gets thicker when she’s angry. I love it. Maybe that’s why he provokes her so much.

“Why doesn’t Will have your accent?” I add butter and milk into the pot and continue to whip the potatoes with the beater.

“Eejit children.” She spreads the meat and vegetable mixture in a baking dish. “Lots of lucky charm jokes.”

“Kids are cruel.”

“Especially one in particular. He was such a little shite. I’ll show you his yearbook after we get this in the oven.”

She tastes my mashed potatoes after I finish mixing them and nods in approval before spreading them on top of the meat.

“Perfect,” she states and my heart fills with pride. “If there’s one thing I can teach you while you’re here, it’s how to make his favorite dish. Just make sure you use beef instead of lamb. He has a thing about baby animals.”

“Noted.” I grimace. I wouldn’t eat them either, but I’ll keep that to myself. "I always thought baked ziti was his favorite since he makes it all the time."

Kara grins. "The ziti was my mother's recipe. I think he makes it because it reminds him of her, not because he likes it better. He begged for my shepherd's pie once a week."

She puts the pan into the oven and sets a timer for fifteen minutes. Just long enough to brown the potatoes and melt the cheese that she sprinkled on top.

“Come.” She motions me to follow her.

We enter the living room and Sage is sprawled out onto the couch, half asleep while watching a hockey game. John is snoring in the recliner next to him. Kara pulls a book from one of the built-in bookshelves that surround the TV. We sit on the loveseat across from Sage, and she flips through the pages.

“Oh God, not my yearbook,” he groans, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“Shush you.” She leans into me and whispers, “I’ll save his baby pictures for later.”

We spend a few minutes going through the book, and she points him out in random photos. She shows me one of him in his baseball uniform and I smile, trying to picture his little legs running down the ballfield.

“Ah! Here we are. His second-grade class.” She hands me the book.

Rows of pictures fill the page, and I scan the list of names in each one until I find his. He’s the last boy in that row. Big green eyes and a goofy grin—complete with missing front teeth. My smile stretches until Kara’s finger lands on the row below his.