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Oh, Mom, I’m so fucking sorry.
A ragged, pained moan rips out of my chest before full-on sobs overtake me. I cried when Mom died and have many times over the years, but this feels like a lot more than a normal cry.
This feels like a release.
Like someone opened a valve and let out all the pressure—pain, guilt, sorrow. It all rushes out at once and I’m unable to stop the flood.
Small hands cup my face, swiping at my tears, and I lock eyes with Tate. He’s crying too, but he looks so strong and fierce with the fire behind him. Mom would have loved Tate. She’d have accepted him into our lives with loving arms. I just know it.
He kisses my lips and then hugs me tight. I cling to him, sobbing like a baby. Tate straddles my lap to get closer, holding me as though he has the power to keep me held together.
And he does.
But things are shifting and changing already inside me. I’m releasing so much hatred for myself to make room for love. Love for Tate. Love for my protective mother. Love for my family.
I can’t continue to punish myself any longer.
I can’t if I plan to take care of Tate and the rest of my people.
An EMT crouches beside us. “Everything okay? Are you injured?”
Tate shakes his head. “We’re fine. Help the others.”
As soon as the EMT is gone, Tate leans his forehead to mine. “I’m sorry.”
The pain bleeds away as anger burns hot. “For what?”
“For Sean. It’s because of me that this is happening.”
I want to scoff and tell Tate to fuck off for taking the blame for something that was out of his control.
Wait…
Is that what I’ve been doing all these years? Taking the blame for something that was out of my control?
“This isn’t your fault,” I say to him, but needing to hear the words as well. “None of this is your fault.”
His smile is gentle and he nods. “Okay. You’re right.”
I kiss him deeply this time. He tastes like smoke and love and mine. The small moan of surprise that rasps out of him melts my heart.
I want to hear all his sounds.
I want to see him smile and laugh.
I want to touch every part of him, worshipping him with the gentleness he deserves.
“You kids okay?”
We break from our kiss to find Dad striding over to us. He kneels beside us, brows furled as he inspects us for bodily harm. Once he realizes we’re okay, he squeezes Tate’s shoulder and then kisses my forehead.
“Thank fuck you’re all right,” Dad says, voice tight. “When I saw the fire, I thought I’d lost you.”
He rises to his feet and then stalks away to meet Sloane, who’s speaking with some of the people we helped escape the fire.
I hug Tate to my chest, stroking my fingers up and down his back. “You think you can pencil me in for a session when we get home.”
Tate laughs, snuggling closer. “Yeah, big man, I think I can. Only if you promise pie, though.”
