I’d only knownLennox for a matter of days and the thought of being separated from her guttedme, so the fact my brother had been dealing with Liberty keeping him at arm’slength for more than a decade now must be tearing him apart.
“Who’s Liberty?”Lennox asked.
“Liam’s mate.” Igrimaced. “But I don’t want to talk about my brother, love.”
She nodded,biting back a yawn. “Okay.”
“Why don’t youhead to bed. I can feel your exhaustion.”
“Will you helpme sleep?”
“Of course.” Irose to my feet and held my hand out to her. “Come on, I’ll tuck you in.”
She chuckled andfollowed me down to her room.
* * *
“Mama!”
I heard Lennox’sscream all the way down the hall and dropped my whisky glass on the floor as Ileapt out of my chair and made a run for her room.
By the time Iinched the door open, she was sitting up in bed, quietly crying with her facein her hands in an obvious attempt to keep her cries silenced.
“Lennox?” Iwhispered.
She raised herhead, pulling her covers higher over her chest. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”
I desperatelywanted to hold her, but I stayed put, crossing my arms, and leaning against thedoorframe. “No, love. Are you alright? I heard you scream.”
“My mother. Shedied.”
“In your dream?”
“Yes, but alsoin real life.” She bit her lip. “My father’s wife is not my real mother. She’salways tried her best, but… gosh, sorry, I’m rambling.”
“It’s okay,love. If you need to ramble, ramble.”
“My mother diedwhen I was four… almost five. A car accident. I can still smell her perfumesometimes.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “And her skin was sosoft when she’d stroke my face, her touch so, so gentle. She had the mostbeautiful voice and she used to sing all the time.” Tears slipped down hercheeks as she recounted her memories. “And I never heard her raise her voice orget angry. She was always so patient.”
“Is yourstep-mum not the same?” I asked after a few minutes.
Lennox shook herhead. “She has allowed my father to flourish, so she is part of the problem. Ioften wonder how far my father would have gotten if my mother had lived.” Shesighed. “Silly fantasies of a broken-hearted little girl.”
“They’re notsilly, love.”
She forced asmile and met my eyes.
“Can I get youanything?” I asked.
“I don’t thinkI’m going to get back to sleep, so what do you have in the way of wine?”
“Nothing.” Ismiled. “We drank the last two bottles that were in the closet. But I havesomething better.”
“Really?”
I nodded. “It’sa wonderful thing called whisky.”
“I’ve never hadwhisky,” she whispered.
