Page 38 of Chasing Home
“Have you ever hurt yourself riding a bull?” she asks, her teeth digging into her lip.
I keep my eyes trained on those straight white teeth, my belly growing hot. “A couple of times. Nothin’ serious.”
“Yet you still do it?”
“Sometimes a little pain reminds you of something you accomplished. A goal you met despite the hardships you faced along the way. I’ve got a body full of scars and bruises, Rory. I love each one of ’em.”
She falls silent again, so I add, “Does my admission pass inspection?”
With a fleeting glance, she meets my waiting eyes and nods. Some of the nerves in my stomach dissolve.
Her grip on the steering wheel tightens as we pull along the curb outside of her house, and the car comes to a gentle stop. After shifting into park, she drops her hand to the centre console, her long fingers decorated in a few rings that shimmer in the sunlight. Some are tucked above her knuckles, and a few are left just below them. All of the rings are silver, though. Without a single diamond in sight.
She taps a beat on the edge of the console and exhales, the weight of it staggering. “I found out the identity of my father when I was helping my mom organize the attic for a semi-annual garage sale her neighborhood always puts on. It was an accident. A massive one. I wasn’t looking for anything, and I certainly wasn’t interested in learning what I did. Everything, from piles upon piles of old photos and letters both unsent and returned, was inside of the box I found. There were years of time locked away inside of it. Stories I’d never heard.”
Surprise clamps down on my brain. I grapple for a decent reply, something helpful or sympathetic, but a stupid question stumbles out instead.
“And what you found led you here?”
She snorts. “More like shoved me here. I dropped the box of stuff in front of my mom, and she cracked like an egg, thirty years of secrets spilling like a runny yolk. She’s the one that told me to come here. Said I’d find my half-sister in Cherry Peak and she’d be able to tell me more and answer the questions that my mother either truly didn’t know or didn’t want to answer for me.”
Before I can think twice about it, I reach for her hand on the console. She doesn’t yank it away.
Her skin is cold despite the heat, and as I wrap it beneath mine, I will it to warm. I ignore the rightness that follows the simple touch and focus on what she’s said instead.
“Have you found your sister?” I ask softly.
Her jaw tightens, back teeth grinding. “No. She’s long gone.”
“Who is it? I might be able to help. Maybe I know her.”
When our eyes meet again, the dimness in hers has me squeezing her hand. I don’t like it. Not at fucking all.
“Yeah, you do know her.”
My stomach sours. “Who, Rory?”
“Wanda Rose,” she says, her tone sharp. “It seems Lee Rose makes a habit of knocking up women and then disappearing from their lives.”
My breath escapes me in a surprised gasp that fills the car. I use the hand not tightening around hers to roll down my window and suck in a large breath of the muggy air.
“Fuck, darlin’.”
“Yeah, I am fucked. Royally fucked. Fucked worse than I’ve ever been fucked before.”
“You should take home the award for the most fucked in the history of fucking,” I agree.
Her frown twitches at the corners, a hint of a smile tugging at it. “Shut up.”
I sober a bit, my grin faltering. All jokes aside, she’s got to be torn up about this. Who wouldn’t be? This isn’t something that you learn about and move on from. Knowledge like this lingers forever.
“Are you okay?” I ask with a swipe of my thumb over the first bump of her knuckle.
Her throb strains with a swallow. “No. Not really.”
“Can I help?”
“I’ve never needed help before.”