“Was an accident.”
Motherfucker.My baby sister will never fucking hear those words. I will never allow the truth to be embedded in her little brain like a parasite.
He continues. “Around the time Tristan turned one, Jane told me she didn’t feel right. Her hormone levels were all over the place. We were completely in love one moment, and it was as if we had completely lost everything the next. She told meshe couldn’t handle another pregnancy, but…” His mouth shuts briefly, his chest rising and falling. “Being pregnant again while we already had you five exhausted her. And by that time…” He swallows. “I was already an alcoholic and was around less and less. Then Elena was born, and whatever was holding her together snapped.”
Taryn moves her hand back to my lap, her warmth battling the cold air blanketing my skin.
“When I heard glass shatter that night, I ran to her. But I was too late. There was so much blood. She…” he stutters through tears. Inhaling a deep breath, he peers up at the ceiling. “She had the piece of glass in her hand. I tried to stop her, but I had drunk too much, and instead, I grabbed it out of her hand out of anger. I wanted to ask her why. Why hurting herself was the only answer, but you opened the door before I could get the words out…”
My raspy voice barely emerges. “You tried to stop her.”
“After you caught us, I chased after her. She must have lost control or died before—” My dad slams his eyes shut. “I looked all night, Colten, but I never found her.”
Taryn stirs beside me, her brain probably going haywire since her truck went off that same cliff.
My blood simmers, bubbling below my skin. “Why didn’t you defend yourself in court? You both left us completely, and I had to pick up all the fucking pieces and keep this family—my family—together!”
I thought he killed her. But she did it to herself because we were all too negligent to see the signs. And I can’t help but feel like part of her death was my fault, too. I was old enough to know that something was wrong. But I thought it was their marriage. I thought it was my alcoholic father driving her away. I thought my dad fell so far off the deep end that he wanted to dispose of her, but when she went off that cliff, he, in a way, was with her.
He flattens his lips, the movement pulling at something deep inside my chest. “I didn’t kill her, but I’m responsible for her death in every way. She may have cut her wrists, but I was the blade of the glass.”
FORTY-EIGHT | TARYN
My palms flatten over the fabric draping over my body. The halter top hugs my neck tightly, and I wrap my arms around myself. I drop my head, my eyes gliding over the silk, which resembles black water cascading down my body. The bottom rests on the blades of grass as if it could soak into the ground.
I’ve never stood in a cemetery.
I’ve never attended a funeral.
I fiddle with my hands, exhaling a weighted breath, my ears tuning into the buzz of a lawnmower off in the distance as the silent hum of birds drifts through the air. A gentle breeze whips through the tree above us, rattling the red-tinted leaves and coating my bare arms in a layer of goosebumps.
I want to do more. Find a way to help Colten and his siblings process the loss of their mother.
In reality, they lost Jane five years ago. They have lived every day not knowing what happened until Colten visited their father. Cameron, Brennan, and Jessica know the harsh details of her death—that they lost their mother to the depression that quietlytook hold of her. But Tristan and Elena… God, those poor kids, their young minds can’t process the truth.
I’m twenty-four, and I’m still struggling to process it.
They know their mom was in an accident five years ago, when Jane’s car went off the cliff and ended up at the bottom of the river. Everything beyond that, though, will be revealed with time.
In a way, I know Colten, Cameron, Brennan, and Jessica feel responsible for not noticing the signs of Jane’s depression sooner. Their guilt is palpable, and it’s easy to imagine them wondering if they could’ve done something.
I’m sure the what-ifs haunt them, and I feel so protective of this family that I wish I could take away their pain.
Now, whatever condition they found Jane’s body in is prepared to be buried six feet underground, with only the Lindenvale kids and me to pay respects to the woman who raised them. A mother who felt completely alone at the end of her life. A woman who should still be here.
Blank faces in black formal wear stare down into the hole as Elena throws a handful of dirt at the mother she never knew. It sprinkles down onto the shiny oak casket, littered with other handfuls each Lindenvale child has taken turns tossing below. She turns away, nuzzling her face into the curve of Colten’s neck. His arms are wrapped tightly around her, holding her to him.
For the last several days, Colten has barely left Elena’s side unless he’s at work or we’re sleeping. She has become his everything. I mean, she already was, but it’s different now. I’ve seen it in his eyes. His admiration for her was beautiful before, but now it’s a cosmic kind of love. She may have been an accident, but she will never be that to him.
“Do you think she’s in heaven?” Tristan asks, staring at the damp dirt caked on his hand.
Cameron places his arm around his shoulders, tugging him closer. “She’s somewhere beautiful.”
“And I’m sure wherever she is, she misses you,” Brennan adds.
My heart splinters, sending a dull ache through my still-tender ribs. Colten glances at me. Even though this day is about them and their movement toward healing, he has still made me feel seen, stealing looks here and there throughout the small ceremony. I’m unsure if his glimpses are to make him feel more comfortable or to make me feel like I belong here, even though I feel like I should be anywhere other than intruding on this last intimate moment they have with their mother.
He gives me a single nod to move closer, and I move toward him. One hand drifts around my waist and pulls my body against him while his other arm holds Elena. His soft black suit melts into my skin, and my head leans against his muscular shoulder, accepting his comfort the same way I’m trying to comfort him.
