Page 129 of Burning For You

He turned when the door opened, his mother standing there with two cups of something warm in her hands.

That was what support felt like.

Skye turned to look. “We’re coming now. Thanks.”

“I’ll leave it on the counter if you want it,” his mother said.

“She’s so much like my mother. Like Carrie. Carrie is my mother now. My real mother. The one who birthed me—she never would have brought me anything. Never would have asked either.”

They didn’t talk about her biological parents much. He didn’t want to bring up something that could trigger her.

But it seemed to him she had enough triggers in her life already.

He didn’t know why that hadn’t occurred to him until she let everyone know moments ago the weight she was carrying.

“Do you want to talk about her?”

She snuggled in closer. “There isn’t much to say. I’ve lived with so much guilt in my life. Do you know how hard it is to grieve the people who raised you and at the same time be thankful that you ended up in a better place? That shit messes with your mind.”

No, he hadn’t known.

Hadn’t thought of it.

Wasn’t even sure if it would have ever crossed his mind.

“I’m sorry you went through that.”

“So am I. But I wouldn’t be who I am today if I hadn’t. And again, the guilt. It makes me feel like a worthless piece of trash that I have these thoughts of how much better my life turned out by my parents being dead.”

He put his finger under her chin, lifted her face to his. “You’re not worthless. You’re not a bad person. You’re human. Just remember that.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say she was the woman who held his heart in her hands.

But the last thing she needed was to feel that burden. Not if she didn’t feel the same.

And that was it right there.

He didn’t really know what she felt.

But she was opening up to him. She was letting him in.

He had to let that be enough for now.

“We can go in,” she said. “I’m sure your family is making many speculations in there. I’m embarrassed now.”

“Don’t be.” He shook his head and put his lips to hers briefly. “They understand.”

She pushed herself up. “Might as well get this over with. The longer I sit out here and pout⁠—”

“You’re not pouting,” he interrupted. “Stop. I mean it.”

She reached her hand for his, he slapped his palm in it and she yanked him up. “I kind of am. But I could use the coffee. I’m cold now.”

He wrapped her up in his arms, gave her some of his body heat, then let her go, opening the door and holding it for her to return.

They stopped at the counter, she fixed her coffee. He didn’t drink much of it, which could be why his mother had a cup of tea there for him. Brooke Ridgeway knew her kids well.

“What did you find out, Clay?” he said, walking in.