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“It would’ve taken a court order to keep him from being able to pick Ryder up from the daycare the first time, and you had every right to trust your mother. Shit like that can’t be predicted until something goes wrong, and a court order is the same way. It’s not very likely that a judge would keep a child from a parent until they put them in harm’s way. As much as people want to complain and get angry about certain things, rights can’t be taken away based on possibilities.”
I understand where he’s coming from. Faith said many of the same things during our visit earlier this week, but it makes the guilt dwindle only a little.
“Look at me.”
I shake my head, unable to fulfill his request.
His finger is gentle when he crooks it under my chin, angling my face up to his.
He must know the tears won’t stop falling because he doesn’t bother to sweep them off my cheeks like he has before.
His eyes search mine, and I’m overcome with another blast of guilt. I feel like he’s searching for answers, as if he might not believe everything I’m telling him. I can’t really blame him. I haven’t been honest with him before.
He’s a good man. Faith said as much. He proved it earlier when Mrs. Brunello was here, but his own past, the pain from his childhood, may not allow him to believe me. Even if he does, those memories may not let him understand my position.
Instead of pushing me away or telling me he needs time, he lowers his mouth to mine.
I’m frozen, confused, and unsure of how to respond when his lips move against mine.
It isn’t until his tongue sweeps my lower lip that I move.
His hand lifts to my head, the hint of control as he tilts my head to the angle he desires making my body come alive.
Our tear-soaked kiss is reminiscent of pressing on a bruise. The reminder is painful yet I can’t seem to put an end to it either.
It feels like an out-of-body experience, but not because it’s so amazing I can’t believe it’s happening. It’s because as much as I’ve thought about this kiss after he pressed his lips to my stomach a few days ago, this isn’t where I anticipated the evening going. My heart just isn’t in it.
He pulls away, his thumb skating over my bottom lip.
“Fuck,” he says as his hand pulls back. “I’m sorry.”
The tears haven’t stopped flowing and the disappointment in his eyes sends a different wave of shame through me.
“It’s fine,” I tell him, making his jaw tighten. “We can if you want.”
“You don’t have to—fuck, Sunshine.” He stands from the couch, evidence of what he’s feeling damn near at eye level before he turns his body. “You don’t have to go any further with me just to get me to agree to help with Ryder. It’s a fuckup on my part for that thought even entering your head.”
He walks away. As much as I think I should argue with him and tell him that’s not what I thought at all, I stay seated on the couch, my head full of misery.
How could I possibly explain that I’m no longer sure what the right choice is? That everything I’ve done my whole life ends up biting me in the ass? How can I tell him that I don’t deserve anything good because all I’ll do is fuck it up?
Chapter 28
Bishop
I started that damn conversation, feeling justified in my demand for answers. It ended with me being the biggest fucking asshole in the world.
Kissing her while she was upset, wanting to comfort her that way? Thinking I had any fucking right? Jesus, maybe I have more neurological damage than the doctor suspected.
She doesn’t come after me, solidifying that I crossed a line. I wouldn’t be surprised if the woman packed her shit and left.
Would she go back to her mother’s house?
Goddamn.
And her son? The bravery that kid showed to protect himself?
I was never that strong. I’d never be brave enough to get the police involved on my mom.
Don’t let the cats out, and never let the cops in. That was the motto I heard over and over as a child. It didn’t make any sense for the longest fucking time because we didn’t even have cats. The latter part of the quote stood out to me. I followed it until I was removed from my mother’s custody the last time and placed with a couple where the husband was a police officer. It took me a long time to warm up to them, but actions spoke louder than words, and they never missed a beat in caring for me. The man died, a car accident while on duty, but the woman adopted me anyway.
I swallow against the pain of that loss. Even nearly twenty years ago, it still hurts.
