The poor, poor dear.He’d been younger than my Camden.Hurt worse and with no one to turn to.My heart ached for him, for the lanky, sun-kissed youth he must have been.
“You know that’s not true now,” I pressed.
“I donow, but it took learning about you getting hurt.”He sighed and dropped his chin to rest atop my head.“I didn’t rage at Nash or hurt Levi?—”
“Of course you didn’t!Oh, Steve.That must have been such a worry, such a terrible weight to carry.”
“My mother died because I didn’t fight back.And when I did fight back, I lost all control.”
“You were young, and you were hurt.No one’s at their best then.Moreover, you’d just lost your mother.”
“All true.And, yes, I can see that now.But it…clung.You know?”
I did.“Then what?”I whispered because he was too tense for his story to have ended there.And if he’d let an act that happened over thirty years ago shape his adulthood, I knew there was more.We always tried to protect ourselves from hurts, and Steve had suffered terrible ones.I was sure he’d made other choices that stemmed from his mother’s death.
“Dammit.Ihatemyself for this.”
He hadn’t said that about his last interaction with his father, so dread built in my belly.
“I was too scared to step out of the shadows and tell that scum-sucker to leave Nash alone.Brad waspoison,like my father, and he made Nash feel small and weak.I knew what that was like, I knew what those comments, that manipulation, did to Nash’s mind, but I couldn’t save him from Brad…not while the world—I—believed Brad was Nash’s father.Just like I couldn’t save my mother.”
He whispered the last words as though he were admitting a terrible sin.As a parent, it was.I understood and empathized.For a long moment, I just held him to me, and Steve let me.This was part of the healing: admitting to the mistake, wishing for a different outcome, and then admitting it was what it was.Such a simple set of steps.So monstrously hard to achieve.
“Steve, you know my husband emotionally abused Camden.Then, he had an affair with Cam’s firstwife.He was a mean, selfish son of a gun, and I never stood up to him, pretending that everything wasjust finebecause my boys were well-fed and that man doted on Kate.So, he couldn’tpossiblybe as bad as I knew him to be.I lied to myself, and that hurt Cam.When the truth came out, it hurt Kate, too.That’s onme.”
I slid back enough so that I could cup Steve’s cheeks.They were smooth—without even a hint of abrasion, which told me he’d taken the time to shave before coming over.His nose and eyes were red.
“I’m not perfect.I’ve made more messes of my life than done good, and that doesn’t sit well.But I keep trying to do better.My kids know I love them—just as Nash knows you love him.”
“I have that…that monster’s blood in me.I know I do because I get so angry sometimes…”
“We all get angry, especially when we think about how people we love hurt us,” I said.
But Steve wasn’t willing to listen, not yet.“I failed my boy.”
“Listen to me, Steven Lincoln.Nashknowsyou care for and about him.He knows you fought for him when he’d given up on himself.I’ve heard Cam tell Nash about you calling him, asking for help for Nash—how you ensured Nash sought help, how you helped him through the rehab program.So donottell me you failed your son.You took on his hate so that he’d survive.”I used my stern voice and Steve dropped his lids, shielding his eyes.
“The point I was making is that I know I’m not good enough for you,” he said.
I smiled.“And my point is that I’m no prize myself.”
His lips quirked a little.“I think you are.”
“And I thinkyouare.So how about we start there?This is between us now.Not the past.”
A haunted look passed over his features.“I don’t know how to love someone.”
“I call hooey on that steaming pile.”I smoothed my hair and tugged on my shirt.“Now, I’m fixing to put these beautiful flowers into a vase.Then I’m gonna get all dressed up with for this nice-looking fella who I actuallywantto see and with whom I’d sure like to be seen.”I batted my lashes, something I hadn’t done in ages.“Prettyplease.”
He chuckled even as he shook his head.“What is it with Southern women?”
I went to the kitchen, found a vase, and filled it with water.I settled the flowers into it, touching the soft petals as a thrill shimmered through me.
“I’m nothing you can’t handle,” I said over my shoulder.
“I might well beg to differ.”
“Guess we’ll see about that.”
