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But no less vicious.
Still, as I gulp down my bitter coffee, I can hear his voice, his words coming back in waves. So much fucking anger in him, so much fury at the world, and fate. It feels… familiar somehow. Reminds me of how I felt after Emma died.
So much pain.
And I hate that I’ve found this point of empathy with him. I’m not like him. We’re nothing similar, him and me. I don’t pull the wings off butterflies to pass my time.
But I remember what Octavia said, what he said. What if I’d grown up in a home like his? No mother, a dick for a father, and a few streets away a family he wished he’d had, made up of his father’s other children.
The children who escaped his fate.
Christ.
Octavia wipes at her eyes with her hands for the hundredth time, and I’m pissed at Ross all over again.
I put my arm around her and swallow a growl deep in my throat. “Deep breaths, Tay. Everything will be okay.”
Yeah, fuck the empathy. How dare that asshole hurt my girl again and get away with it? Fuck him. Not everyone growing up in an abusive household turns into a selfish bastard. That’s all on him.
And I should have punched him out cold and left him here to stew in his own assholery. I only held back for Octavia’s sake, and what good did it do?
I wipe her tears with my thumb and kiss her hair. “Forget about Ross,” I whisper. “Think about us, our family. The baby. Gigi, Merc, Mary, Cole. Our moms. Our house in St. Louis.”
“I know.” She nods against my shoulder. “I just wish he’d listen.”
“Nobody can be saved against their own will, girl. If Ross wants to change, he’ll have to do it himself.”
I doubt he ever will, though. And all I want is to make Octavia smile again. This trip has been exhausting for her in every sense, and the responsibility weighs heavily on me. I need to take care of her, keep her safe. Keep her happy.
Damn, I can’t wait to go home and put this mess behind us.
* * *
/> Octavia sleeps all the way to St. Louis, and I keep stealing glances at her tired face. She’s cute when she’s asleep, her mouth slack, cheeks rosy, lashes fluttering, and she makes those cute little snoring noises sometimes.
Shit. I shake my head at myself, grinning. I’m so pussy-whipped. God, I fucking love this woman, and everything will be okay again.
I’ll make it so.
It’s early afternoon by the time we reach the city. The familiar suburbs of my city greet us, dim buildings rising through the gray light of day, cars with their headlights turned on as a light drizzle falls. The wipers whiz against the windshield as I slow down, taking the exit into St. Louis.
On our way home, we drive by Mancave, and I resist the urge to stop and check on things. Kaden won’t appreciate it, I’ll bet. No need to look like I don’t trust him to keep the shop running another day.
Though, I need to talk to him, tell him about Evan. Tell Kaden I trust his judgment, his experience, his management skills. That I’d never have been able to run the garage without him.
Funny how a few days out of town dealing with a broken friend and an asshole half-brother-in-law can put some things into perspective. Despite the stress of these past few days, or maybe because it was a different sort of stress, my mind feels clearer. Like I cleared up lots of cluttered up space, and now I can see things I couldn’t before.
Like how damn lucky I am.
Okay I knew that, but it’s struck me like never before. Compared to Evan. Compared to Ross, for chrissakes. I’m so lucky to have such good people around me, to have Kaden at my side.
But first we go home. I need to see my kids, hold them. I need to talk to Mary, and ask Gigi what exactly happened last night. If she made any sense of Mary’s ramblings.
See my mom, our room, our bed, walk the house and make sure everything’s as I left it, that it hasn’t fallen apart while I was away.
Ease the constant fear that rides me. Some day it may even fade away for good. I’ll work on it.
The kids might not be home yet, I realize as I drive down our street and our house comes into view. I can never remember the days they have activities, as I’m usually at work at that time.
