Maverick pushes on, the words spilling out of him now that he’s gotten going. “I want you both to know, I never wanted to tell you this, but I know now it wasn’t right to keep it from you. Leighton, well . . . she’s been here when I wasn’t. She knows you both better than I probably do now. She’s been my rock workin’ through this shit, but more important, my voice of reason. I pray I don’t cause you more pain with this knowledge. And maybe give you peace so you can put some shit behind you. I’ve had a lot of time to come to terms with this shit, but it’s because of her that I’ve been able to put it behind me and start to move on. You both deserve that in your life. I know now in order to move on you have to open your hearts and don’t let our fucked-up history repeat itself. Don’t live your lives with the anger we were taught.”
Quinn is openly sobbing now, her head pulled down into both of her hands. Clay moves to her side, pulling her to her feet before wrapping his arms around her. He looks at Maverick, the silence thick. My own heart is lodged high in my throat, but I don’t move. Whatever happens next will tell me everything. If I need to build a wall around my cowboy to protect him from heartache or if I break down like a baby while a family heals.
“Brother,” he grunts, his voice even deeper with the heaviness now weighing on him. “Get over here,” he commands with conviction, pulling an arm away from Quinn and stretching it wide.
I hurry to stand, almost tripping over Maverick’s big booted feet. I whip my head back, watching him climb from his seat, a sob catching my throat when I see one silent tear fall from his sad eyes. He walks past me, catching my hand and pulling me with him before falling into his brother’s arms. I give him a squeeze, my gaze holding Clay’s. He gives me a bleak smile before mouthing to me “thank you.” That was all it took for the floodgates to open wide. I press my forehead to Maverick’s shoulder, giving him whatever he needs by keeping me close during this moment.
Quinn gives a sniffle before lifting her head and wiping her face on Clay’s shirt. He looks down, some of the harshness leaving his face, and gasps at her. “Did you just wipe your snot on my shirt?”
“Shut up,” she hiccups, turning in his hold to face me. “I always knew you would bring my brother home.”
I jerk, letting go of Maverick’s hand and pulling her close. “I didn’t bring him home, Q. He showed me, just like I showed him, where his heart was meant to be. All I did was love him.”
Quinn smiles through her tears. “So, Maverick Mavericks, tell me about your father.” The heaviness parts. I can feel it like a fog dissipating around us. My beautiful best friend giving her brother the assurance he feared wouldn’t come, proving that nothing will ever change between them, and she did that by just being her.
30
MAVERICK
“Trouble” by Ray LaMontagne
“You payin’ for her care?” Clay questions, his rocking chair moving steadily as he gazes into the dark front yard.
“Yeah,” I exhale.
“You should let her rot.”
I move my gaze from the nothing I had been focusing on and look at Clay. Really look at him. He’s the picture of frustrated pain. A mask I’m all too familiar with wearing. We’ve been talking for hours, all of us, and I fucking hate that I’ve brought this to him, but I know deep down Leigh’s right. He’s never going to stand a chance at finding something like what I have with her if he doesn’t move on completely. All I can do is be here for him.
“Clayton.” He turns and gives me his attention. I suck in a breath. It’s like looking in the mirror. The rage and confusion all swirling around like a tornado inside of him, each one battling for dominance. “Talk to me,” I plead.
“What do you want me to say?” he roars, throwing his hands in the air.
“Start with what’s on your mind, big brother.” Quinn speaks from behind us, walking around our chairs to sit on the wooden porch, her back to the railings.
I hear movement behind me before Leighton’s hand slides from my shoulder to rest right above my heart. She doesn’t move, just keeps her hand there in silent support.
“I’m still tryin’ to wrap my head around that shit, Quinny. I knew she ran around on him. Everyone in town knew she ran around on him. I never, not fuckin’ once, thought all that sprintin’ she had been busy doin’ was the reason Dad . . .” He trails off and then clears his throat. “I never imagined Buford’s hate toward you was because of that shit, Mav. Blamin’ you for somethin’ so completely out of your control. Even now I can’t understand it. I gave him my forgiveness and fuck if now I feel like he didn’t deserve that kind of peace before he died.”
Fuck. “He’s still your father, Clay,” I say vehemently.
“He’s no father of mine.” The lethal power behind the words leave no room for argument. He needs time, I know that, and I’ll do whatever I can to help him through this.
I look down to my sister. She is just as angry as he is. She hides her hurt with laughter and jokes, but she feels deep.
“He was a terrible father,” Clay continues. “I refuse to justify his abuse. I couldn’t even before I knew all this shit, and nothing changes that. You were an innocent kid, Mav. You didn’t ask for any of that, but he punished you all the same. I gave him what I thought he needed to leave this earth with some peace. I struggled with that then, but it’s nothing compared to how I feel now. Mama should have been here. She should have shielded you. She was never fit to be a mother, though. That shit was clear in the little time she was here, but I can’t help the part of me that wants to blame her for all of this. The years you suffered because of her actions. The years we all lost with you because of them. I made excuses for her. Never once would I let myself believe that she actually wanted to leave us. I know better now and I fuckin’ hate her for it. Not sure who I hate most, her, him, or myself for not doin’ what I could to protect you.”
“Not your cross to bear, Clay. I mean that shit. Don’t for one second take that on.”
He looks at me, his features carved in stone, and I know he wants to fight me on it. “You were just a kid too, Clay,” I add, whether he wants to admit it or not. We might have been able to fight back physically, but Buford had done his damage on all of us and it was because of that fear he instilled that none of us fought back against his abuse.
“Do you think she even loved us?” Quinn questions, changing the subject and asking what all of us have probably wondered. Leigh’s hand twitches and I reach up to keep it against my heart. Needing her to keep me grounded.
“In her own way, Quinny. I think she did in her own way.” I push the words out even though I’m not even sure how many of them are true.
“How can you defend her?” Clay barks.
“How can I not? I know you’re angry, Clay. I get it—trust me, I do. You have to remember, I’ve had a lot of time to get to this point of acceptance. I hated her for a long time too but holding on to that was dragging me down. When I think back to the time that she was actually here, she didn’t act like he did. She smiled. She laughed and played with us. That woman is the one I choose to remember instead of the ghost of her that haunted the house long after she was gone. That woman is the one I cling to when I wake up shaking with the nightmare of what she became. I have to believe that she loved us, even if it was a tiny part of her.”