Truth was, it’d always been agony. Didn’t matter how he was stolen from the earth. He wasn’t here and somehow we had to learn to live with that reality.
Martin had thought himself untouchable. Out of reach. Above the law.
Knew in my heart it was Mark who’d finally knocked him down.
Martin being responsible for Mark’s death had compiled all that bitterness and hate. But somehow knowing Mark had stood up for Shea, that he’d dared to try and protect a girl he didn’t even know—the one who’d ended up becoming my entire life—eased something inside of me.
It filled me with a mournful gratefulness I’d honor my best friend with for all my days. Even though he’d been so damned lost, he’d always had something brilliant inside him. A light he’d never let shine. A goodness he’d never set free. A peace he’d never found.
Not until he found something good worth fighting for.
Guess he and I had a whole lot in common after all.
Even with the score of evidence that’d come down on Jennings, there hadn’t been enough of it to prosecute him for anything related to my brother.
But Austin was okay with that.
He just wanted to move on.
Grow.
Without a doubt, that’s what he was doing, the kid out there on his own figuring out who he wanted to be.
Once a month or so I’d receive a letter from him. Every time I read his pained words, they just about broke my heart in two. Yet at the same time, they somehow healed a part of it, too. So many of his internal struggles and newfound joys were scrawled across the pages as he openly bared his soul to me, exposing all his thoughts and worries and hopes.
Sometimes facing our pasts was more painful than letting old wounds lie. It was easier just to leave them buried by years of callus and scars that never quite healed. Because ripping off those scabs? It exposed what was seated deep, everything festered and compressed and ready to erupt.
But churning under that decay was a spirit poised to flourish.
Crazy that even though I hadn’t seen him since he walked out the door back in LA., hadn’t spoken to him in all that time other than through letters, I felt closer to him now than I ever had.
My eyes traveled to the newer pictures that had been added.
There was a huge canvas-style one of my family, taken on Shea’s and my second wedding day. It’d taken place in the old church where Shea’s grandma used to take her on Sunday mornings, in that special place where my girl had fallen in love with singing.
We were standing on the steps just outside the ornate wooden doors. I was wearing a dark suit and Kallie looked like a princess in her white, flowy dress with a ton of flowers woven in her curly hair.
And Shea…
Shea.
She was wearing a white silk strapless gown, hair twisted up on her head, pieces falling out and brushing her slender shoulders. Her belly was round with our boy and the happiness on her face was the most brilliant thing I’d ever seen.
So stunning it verged on devastating.
Didn’t matter how many times I looked at it...how many times I looked at her…the reaction was always the same.
Overpowering.
Connor fussed, and I made a shushing sound and bounced him softly. “Think we need to get your baby brother into bed. What do you think, Little Bug?”
We moved on toward his room. Kallie skipped along, glued to my side, voice a whisper. “I think we better. He’s gotta be so, so tired. Momma kept him up so long ’cause she knew you were gonna want kisses ’fore he went to sleep.”
I cast her a smile and proceeded to press a bunch of soft kisses to Connor’s face.
“Like that?”
“Yep, just like that.”
A nightlight glowed from within, the walls painted a muted blue, musical notes and lines of lullabies painted on the walls.
Fitting, yeah?
I lay my son in the center of his crib. A small cry rattled from him, and I spread his blankie over him, the one he always had to have.
He fisted the satin edges in his tiny hands and pressed it to his face, drawing his legs up around it like he was giving it a welcoming hug.