“Yep, that’s good.” I hung up and then forced myself to walk up the porch stairs. My hand was actually shaking as I pulled the house key from my pocket.
Fuck, I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to fucking say goodbye to my girl. But the second I walked through this door, I’d be doing that.
I clenched the key in my fist and leaned my head against the door for a moment as I tried to get control of my emotions. It was a house, nothing more. I was here to pack it up so I could put the past behind me and start anew.
Except it was so much more than just a house. It was the place my daughter had first called me “Daddy.” Every room held so many memories of her…the living room where she’d taken her first steps, the kitchen where she’d always stand on a chair next to the counter to help me cook dinner when she’d still been too short to reach it on her own, the staircase she’d tumbled down after trying to “drive” an empty laundry basket down the carpeted steps…her bedroom where I’d tucked her in night after night and read her stories. The same bedroom I’d said my last words to her in.
I felt tears stinging my eyes as I shoved that particular memory away.
A shiver crept up my spine as I sensed I was no longer alone. I glanced over my shoulder to see Dante watching me from near the bottom of the porch stairs, his expression full of worry. I had no idea how long he’d been watching me for or how long I’d been standing there like that, but as the embarrassment at having been caught in such a weak moment flowed through me, I steeled myspine and jammed the key into the door. I left it open behind me, not caring whether Dante chose to follow me or not. I was too damn tired to deal with him.
The house smelled musty, but it was surprisingly clean. My guess was that I had Bess to thank for that. When I’d asked Colton to keep an eye on my property, I’d meant the basics like checking that the house was secure and keeping an eye on my horses. Since Colton was a busy man, I’d hired a local girl, a friend of Jenna’s actually, to come out every day to care for the two horses I owned.
I hadn’t thought to grab my bag before coming into the house, so I decided to do a quick walk through. I ignored the uncomfortable sensation sliding along my skin and went into the kitchen to check out the contents of the fridge. Not surprisingly, it was fully stocked and there was even a bag of ground coffee sitting next to my coffee maker. The blessed woman had thought of everything. I walked through the kitchen and past the mudroom that had a door leading out to the backyard. The lower half of the house was basically a big circle so I didn’t need to backtrack as I checked out the living room, den and office. I didn’t miss the fact that the few plants I had in the house were alive and I realized Bess must have been dropping by on a regular basis to keep them watered.
I didn’t see Dante as I reached the front hallway and figured he’d stayed outside. I headed up the stairs where all the bedrooms were. My plan was to head directly to my bedroom, but when I looked to my right at the top of the stairs and saw the doors to Jenna and Matty’s rooms open, I hesitated. I’d kept both rooms closed off after Jenna had run away and I was a little surprised that Bess had gone into either room. I walked to Matty’s room and glanced into it, but unlike the downstairs, there was a thin layer of dust covering everything.
So, Bess hadn’t cleaned the rooms.
Strange that the doors were open. Had she just been curious and taken a look around, forgetting to close the doors again? She hadn’t been particularly close to Matty or Jenna, so it seemed odd that she’d want to see their rooms.
I shook my head. Didn’t matter. I spared the inside of Matty’s room a quick glance and marveled at how my grandson had changed in the two years since he’d lived in the room. The wall was painted a robin’s egg shade of blue and there were a few pictures on the walls depicting cars and trains. They matched the bedspread on the twin bed against one wall and there were dozens of toys littering the floor…like Matty had been in the middle of playing when time had come to a grinding halt and his comfortable childhood had been snatched from him. His dresser drawers were pulled open and a few clothes were scattered on the floor around it, proof that Jenna had been in a hurry when she’d packed up his things.
There was nothing in the room that reflected who Matty was now. No superhero dolls, window coverings or bedding set. No Avengers coloring books, no Spiderman posters. I absently wondered if my grandson would have discovered his inner superhero obsession if it hadn’t been for Tate and his Spiderman doll that had made Matty feel safe in a time when his entire world had been turned upside down. Tate had told me how Matty hadn’t spoken to him in the days after he’d taken the little boy with him as he’d fled Lulling. Spiderman had bridged the gap and it was only recently that Matty had gifted the beloved doll to another little boy who’d needed it more.
I smiled as the pride for my grandson surged. I’d messed up with Jenna, but I’d done the right thing by Matty. Yeah, there’d been a part of me that had immediately wanted to bring Matty home when I’d learned he was alive, but within minutes of seeing my grandson with the man who’d saved him, as well as Hawke who’d only recently come into their lives, I’d known he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
Since I would leave the contents of this room to the movers I’d hired to pack up the house, I closed the door and then turned to go to Jenna’s room to close the door. A bitter chill invaded my body as I neared the room, but all that turned to white hot anger when I saw Dante step out of it. His eyes connected with mine and then shifted back to the bedroom. “I was just doing a sweep of the house…”
The violation of having my privacy invaded burned through me, but I managed to keep from putting my hands on Dante. I reached past him and yanked the door shut, not even looking into the room for even a moment. I didn’t need to…I knew every nook and cranny of that room from the light green paint, the artsy, girly decorations, the pages torn from fashion magazines that covered the walls and the countless pictures of Matty taped to the mirror above the dresser. Hell, I even knew about the small, purple toiletry bag hidden behind some boxes on the top shelf of the closet that Jenna had always stashed her needles in.
“This floor’s off limits,” I bit out. “The couch in the den pulls out,” I snapped as I went to the closet at the end of the hall and grabbed a blanket and pillow and shoved them into Dante’s arms. I knew my behavior was over the top, but I was too damn raw to care. I strode past him and down the hallway to my own room and slammed the door shut behind me. I made it to my bed before my knees suddenly felt too weak to hold my own weight. I managed to hold back the tears that desperately wanted to fall.
Tears are for girls and sissies, boy. You either one of those things?
The sound of my grandfather’s voice had me automatically shaking my head. I barely managed to stifle the urge to say, “No, sir.”
Many had considered J.D. DuCane a tough, man’s man kind of guy and he’d garnered a nearly infamous reputation among his fellow Rangers for his uncompromising dedication to the job. But to me, he’d been equal parts intimidating and inspiring. I’d wanted to be just like him in so many ways, but I’d learned early on that my grandfather didn’t accept failure in any form. Age hadn’t been an excuse for weakness, and shared blood didn’t mean you got a pass if you didn’t measure up to his strict standards. My father had been proof of that.
The relationship between my father and grandfather wasn’t something I’d really understood when I’d been little. I’d been inwardly defensive of my father in the early years when my grandfather had called him a disappointment and berated him foreverything from his blue collar job painting houses and doing construction work, to his choice of brides. I’d been too young to recognize the way my grandfather had slowly broken my father down until he’d had little choice but to lose himself in a bottle night after night. All I’d seen was proof everything my grandfather had said about my father was true as he’d lost job after job, blew every penny he’d managed to earn on alcohol, and had ultimately take his self-hatred out on me and my mother.
My mother had eventually escaped.
I hadn’t.
I’d hidden the bruises at first, afraid that I too would be deemed weak in my grandfather’s eyes, but as my father’s hatred had been fueled with more and more alcohol, there hadn’t been any hiding. Ironically, the man who’d driven my father to the breaking point became my savior. But within six months, the safe haven I’d found with my grandfather was gone after his sudden death and I’d been sent back to my parents. With my grandfather gone and my mother walking out three months later, my father hadn’t exactly embraced his role as the parent in our household. No, that had become my job.
Before my age had even reached double-digits, I’d taught myself to cook so my father and I wouldn’t starve while he drank himself into a stupor every night. I’d learned how to stretch every dollar I’d managed to swipe from him after he’d cashed his monthly disability check and immediately bought booze. I’d even managed to arrange a deal with the guy who owned the liquor store on the same block as our street to return most of the bottles of liquor my father bought right after cashing his check. Luckily the guy must have felt sorry for me or something because he’d given me every penny back for every unopened bottle I’d brought back after my father had passed out in a drunken haze on the couch. I’d take the money and hide it in our apartment building’s boiler room behind the furnace. The only cost had been the beating I’d get the next day when my father would ask where his booze was. Once he’d sobered up enough, he’d believed the lie I’d told him that he’d drunk everything he’d bought. He’d still alwaysmanaged to somehow get alcohol between checks, but I’d never asked how he’d accomplished it. All I’d cared about was that I’d had enough money to keep a roof over our heads and food in our bellies until the next check came and the cycle started all over again.
Living with my grandfather even for those six months hadn’t been easy by any stretch of the imagination, but I’d thrived on the discipline and order he’d instilled. He’d never once raised a hand to me, choosing instead to drive home the need for me to be strong, fearless and always in control of myself, no matter what. He’d been a hard-nosed son of a bitch, but he’d been everything my father hadn’t. Ironically, it was the sense of duty he’d instilled in me that had kept me living in hell for years after he passed. Even when I was old enough to tell my father what would happen if he ever laid a hand on me again, I didn’t leave him.
Not because I loved him. No, those feelings had died a million deaths every time his fists had connected with my body. I’d stayed because I’d been the strong one. I’d stayed because the man was still my father, even if he’d stopped playing the role.
Because I hadn’t stopped playing my role.
Seven long years later, I’d been freed from my self-imposed prison when my father’s liver finally gave out. Within a couple of years, I’d taken on the new roles of husband, father and dedicated law enforcement officer.
I’d failed at two out of three.
