Walk the Edge
Page 91

“That’s not true.” Dad’s expression turns into a plea. “Maybe it was, but I’ve been watching you. Over the past few weeks it’s like seeing you reborn. The boy who loved his mother. The boy who laughed when his mother laughed, I’ve seen him.”
I’m shaking my head. “It’s not me. It’s being around Breanna. She loves me, but I’m still dying.” Every second of every day, I’m still withering.
“This girl may love you, but you had to alter something inside you for the changes we’re seeing. Someone’s love can only hold together broken pieces for so long. The glue, that’s you—and I’ve been witnessing you piece yourself back together.”
It sure as hell doesn’t feel like I’m on the mend. “You’re wrong.”
“I’m not, because I’ve loved you and so have half the people in this club and we’ve never been enough. She might love you, but you’re happy because you’re loving her back.”
“I’ve loved you back.”
“You haven’t,” he says with finality. “Not fully. You can’t fully love someone unless you trust them and you have never trusted any of us.”
He leaves it unsaid that I somehow found a way to trust Breanna, but not them. It’s like I’m on a forsaken merry-go-round. The ride starts. The ride stops. We never go anywhere but in circles. I slump forward, too heavy to hold myself up. Too heavy to continue to shoulder all the shit that constantly tears me apart. “She’s never lied to me.”
“You’re the same as me. We keep our promises. I made a promise to your mother and I love her enough to keep it.”
“Even if it hurt me?”
Dad contemplates the question. “Maybe I agreed with her. Maybe I decided I wanted you to grow up in peace. Maybe I couldn’t stomach watching you fall into a pit of vipers. Maybe I’m the complete bastard you think me to be.”
Everything that’s been said whirls in my brain and the insanity I’ve fought for so long pulses as it longs to be released. “Did whoever send Mom over that bridge—did he pay for his sins?”
The atmosphere practically crackles with pissed-off energy. I’m staring Dad down. He’s doing the same to me. I overpronounce my words so there’s no mistaking my thoughts on his efforts to prevent a generational war. “Was there justice for my mother’s death?”
Dad angles forward on the table and his low voice rumbles along the wood to me. “Know that trust I was talking about?”
I nod.
“You will show it to me and to this club before you ever get that answer. Now the question is on you, son. Can you trust your brothers to have taken care of this, or are you going to do what you’ve done time and time again and take matters into your own hands, even if it means blowing this club to hell in the process?”
Breanna
THROUGH THE PROPPED-OPEN back door to the Barrel of Fun, the cool autumn breeze rushes through the trees and a waterfall of vibrant leaves falls to the ground. My eyes and lungs burn from the harsh cleaning products infecting the air. The ice cream shop officially closed last night and today I’m making extra cash by preparing it for the winter.
My boss hacks as the bleach in the bucket sloshes over the sides. I prop my mop on the wall and jack my thumb toward the back door. He nods. We both quit talking an hour ago. Either to prevent ourselves from inhaling more poison than we should or because we both lost the ability to speak.
I seriously need to find a new job.
I step outside and the intake of clean oxygen is like a pillow for my lungs. The stray pieces of hair that had escaped the bun stick to my sweaty face and I peel my sweatshirt off my skin in an attempt to cool down. As much as today’s manual labor has been constant, it hasn’t been enough to ease my concern for Razor. I’m not sure anything will ever erase the memory of how he looked so absolutely broken.
My boss coughs again and I head for the thick trees. In the distance, a car honks and a semitruck rumbles past on the road out front. My cell never vibrated in my pocket, but I pull it out anyway, hoping for a message from Razor. But like last night, there’s nothing.
Me: I’ve been thinking of you. I’m here if you need to talk or not talk. Either way, I
Razor and I have never said certain words aloud. We’ve definitely expressed our emotions physically and in the calm silences in between those precious kisses and touches. We’ve also referenced how we feel about each other, but we’ve never fully admitted it.
I bite my bottom lip. In my daydreams as a child, I imagined a guy saying it first, but I care so much about Razor that he needs this—especially since his world has been torn apart.
Me: Either way, I love you.
The edges of my mouth lift when I see the words on the screen. I do love him and it’s not as scary to confess as I thought. In fact, it feels natural.
Razor: I cut out on my bike last night to clear my head. I’m in Tennessee, but I’m heading back now. Straight to you. I want to hear those words out of your mouth.
The smile on my face grows. He’s coming home to me.
Another vibration. Razor: I love you too.
Butterflies. A million gorgeous butterflies. My fingers are flying across the screen and not keeping up with the gazillion thoughts in my head and then my phone is gone.
Gone.
Ripped from my fingers, and when my head snaps up, a hand goes to my throat and my back slams into a tree. The air rushes from my body as two soulless eyes bore into mine. It’s Kyle and he’s gone insane.