“You know, she wasn’t a junkie,” I told Deuce. Shaking my head, I shrugged helplessly. “Did you hear what he said?” I gestured at my father. “She wasn’t a junkie.”
Suddenly awash with feelings, my eyes filled with tears. I’d hated my mother—a supposed teenage junkie who’d abandoned me—for my entire life, only to find out I’d been hating a lie.
“She was just a kid,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “And she was out there all alone…”
Guilt squeezed my chest. Guilt for hating her. Guilt for never questioning the lies I’d been told.
“Babe.” Deuce held out his arms to me. Feeling drained, both physically and emotionally, I crossed the room quickly and collapsed into them. He held me tightly, crushing me to him.
“If she was livin’ on the streets, she damn sure wasn’t a fuckin’ kid anymore. You know this shit. Ain’t no use in beatin’ yourself up for somethin’ that happened a fuck of a long time ago.” He pulled back just enough to peer down at me. “You feel me?”
I knew he was right, but it wasn’t as if I could help how I was feeling. This was all new information to me, and it was going to take time to process and come to terms with it. Then there was still the matter of what exactly had happened to my mother.
My father was acting as if it were imperative I know all the details leading up to the truth. And I didn’t want to rush him because I wanted to hear all those details, too. But at the same time, I also wanted to skip right to the end.
An overwhelming desire to see my children suddenly swept through me. To see their faces, hear their voices. Squeezing my eyes shut, my gathering tears slid free.
“We should have brought the kids,” I whispered, pressing my nose to Deuce’s shirt, breathing in the familiar, comforting smell of him. “They should be here to say goodbye.”
“There’s still time, darlin’.” He smoothed a work-roughened hand down the long length of my hair. “You say the word and I’ll get ‘em here.”
I tilted my head back and looked up into his eyes. Twin pools of icy blue stared back at me.
“Get them here,” I whispered. “Cage and Danny, they should be here. And Kami, too… she’ll never forgive herself if she doesn’t say goodbye.”
“Done. You thirsty? Hungry?”
“I should eat,” I said. Pulling out of Deuce’s embrace, I wiped my tears from my cheeks and glanced at my father. “But I’m afraid to leave him.”
“I’ll bring somethin’ up for you.” Before I had a chance to respond, Deuce disappeared into the hallway.
“Wait!” I cried, rushing after him. Deuce stopped short and swiveled on his boot heel, causing a passing nurse to nearly trip trying to avoid crashing into him. The young man’s eyes grew wide at the sight of Deuce, a veritable wall of a man, and he hurried off down the hall.
Grabbing Deuce’s hand, I tugged him back inside Preacher’s room.
“The Four Points Rally upstate,” I said. “Did you ever go?”
Deuce scrubbed a hand over his grizzled jaw. “Yeah, I think—yeah, I went a few times back when I was a kid.”
“She was there,” I hurriedly told him. “At Four Points. My dad and my mom were there together the summer before I was born—were you there that year?”
“Darlin’, slow down.” Deuce shook his head. “That was a long-ass time ago, and your old man always had more than one piece of ass hangin’ off him.”
Internally I groaned. Of course he had. I’d never known Preacher without at least one leggy blonde on his arm.
“I know, I know,” I muttered. “But I’m talking specifically about the year before I was born. Think back to that summer. Were you there?”
“Eva… back then I was—” Deuce cut himself off and glanced to where Preacher lay sleeping. “The summer before you were born?” His eyes narrowed and then flicked to me, his expression turning grave. He shook his head. “Wasn’t that the summer The Judge was…”
When he didn’t finish his thought, I felt my stomach flip-flop. “What?” I demanded. “Wasn’t that the summer The Judge waswhat?”
Looking bewildered, he shook his head. “Eva, what the fuck? Don’t you know what happened that summer?”
Confused, I shook my head. “What do you mean? What happened?”
“You motherfucker.” Deuce sent a seething glare in Preacher’s direction. “You dirty, lyin’ motherfucker—”
“Deuce! Focus!” I grabbed his arm and shook it. “What the hell happened that summer?”
