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Her body stiffens. “I did already. An accident.” She turns back to the TV and presses her cheek against my chest.
“Were you driving?” I ask. I can hold tight to a topic as well as she can. More so if I have even a glimpse of danger.
“No.”
“Tell me, Amanda.” It’s a small warning, using her full name. I won’t let this go until she’s given me the truth, and doing anything other than that won’t end well. “I want to know.” I brush away a lock of hair that’s fallen across her forehead.
She sighs softly. “It was the accident that killed my parents.”
I stroke her temple, not forcing her to look up at me. She’ll be more forthcoming if I let her hide her eyes from me.
“You were in the car?” She witnessed her parents die. How much horror did she see?
She nods. “Gunner had gone out with a friend. He was supposed to meet us at home so we could go out to dinner for my mom’s birthday. He was late, so Dad said we’d swing by and pick him up.” She stops, draws in a slow breath.
“The accident happened on the way?” I offer.
Again, she nods. “At the light, a block from Gunner’s friend. He heard the accident from his friend’s house. They were sitting on the front porch waiting for us.” She squeezes herself inward, like she wants to disappear into a small ball.
“They didn’t make it,” I say quietly. I’ve witnessed death, caused plenty of it, but never anyone I loved. Both my parents live safe and in all the comforts they could want back in Russia. Maybe I should stop putting off my trip back home for a visit.
“We were hit head on. The driver in the other car died too, so I never found out why he crossed over to our lane. Or why he was driving so fast.” Her voice wavers. “All I got was this cut.” She touches the fading scar on her cheek. “Glass was everywhere. I should have gotten more cuts. I should have broken bones. I should have been killed too.”
I shift her so she’s looking at me again. Cupping her chin, I capture her gaze. “I’m glad you weren’t killed.” The roughness of my own voice startles me. It’s true. As she explains the accident, my mind plays it over and over and when I imagine her being hurt or killed it makes me want to murder someone.
“Gunner blamed himself.” Her whisper doesn’t hide the crack in her voice. “He started using shortly after the funeral. I was lucky to be able to keep him with me since I was only eighteen, but by the time he graduated high school he’d been in and out of two rehab facilities. He promised me he’d stop, he swore he was going to stay clean. When I found pot in his bedroom, instead of talking to me, he took off.” A tear slips down her cheek. “That was three years ago.”
“We’ll find him,” I promise.
“What if he’s not alive? What if he overdosed? What if he crossed someone and they showed no mercy?” Worry crowds her. “I shouldn’t have gone into his bedroom. I should have just waited for him to get out of the shower to ask him to borrow his iPad.”
“Mandy. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“If I hadn’t gone in there, I wouldn’t have seen the baggie next to his bed. I wouldn’t have asked him about it,” she insists. “I should have been a better sister. I should have taken better care of him after Mom and Dad died.”
I maneuver her onto my lap, straddling my legs so I can capture her face between my hands. “You were a kid trying to do a grownup’s job. An eighteen-year-old, trying to raise a fifteen-year-old after something so horrific happened? You shouldn’t have been given that job.” At the very least she should have been given more help. How can anyone just drop two kids off at home and expect them to maneuver through this dark world without a guiding light?
She pulls my hands down. “There was no one else. My grandparents were already gone. Both Mom and Dad were only children. We didn’t know any other relatives and I was not going to let him go into the foster system.” She shakes her head. “I thought I would be better for him, but I fucked it all up.”
“Why was it all your job? Were there any support systems?” She can’t believe this was all on her shoulders? But looking at her and seeing what I’ve seen with her, I know she did. She does. The world was placed on her shoulders, and she’s been bearing the weight of it for years.
“In the end, Mandy, Gunner’s decisions are his own. He’s an adult now. Nothing he does is anyone’s fault but his own.”
She pinches her lips together. “I’m just so tired.” She casts her eyes over my shoulder. “I’m tired of being worried. I’m tired of searching. I’m tired of making decisions. I’m just tired…” She falls forward and rests her forehead on my shoulder. “And now, you’re stuck with me because of all my mess too. I just keep fucking it all up, don’t I?”
I grab her shoulders and pull her backward until I can look into her eyes. “No, you haven’t fucked anything up. You’re tired because you’ve been carrying around the world all by yourself.” I run the back of my knuckles along her cheekbone, wiping at the tears starting to dry on her soft skin. “But you don’t have to do that anymore. You’re going to let me bear some of the weight now.”
Time passes between us at a snail’s pace as she stares down at me. I think she’s trying to believe me, but I can tell she’s having trouble with it.
“You’re not carrying all of this on your own anymore, Mandy.” I sink my hand into her hair. “Never again.”
Slowly a smile creeps across her lips. “You’re really bossy, Maxim.”
“I am,” I agree. “And it’s only going to get worse from here.”
It’s a vow, but she grins. I don’t think she understands how serious I am, but she will be soon enough. Because I’m not going to get tired of her. No other woman has had me cuddled up on the couch watching serial killers and feeling as though there was no other place in the world I wanted to be.
No. I’m never going to tire of her.
