Chapter 10

“Hey, you all going home?”

Fallon pops her head up from the trunk and nods. “Yeah, we’ll do some s’mores and let the kids catch fireflies. Try to shake off what happened tonight. Might need some wine, too.” She laughs. “You want to come with? Madoc can drop you home later.”

“Sure.”

I’d already texted my parents, letting them know I was with Madoc and the rest of the gang and that I might crash at his house tonight.

I help Fallon load up a cooler, lighter now that she’d drained the melted ice. Opening the back door, I grab my bag and take Lucas’s hat off the strap, turning it around in my hands before putting it on.

The truth is, I can blame my dad for holding me back as much as I want, but there are other things that keep me in my stalemate. That keep me nervous to leave for college in the fall, afraid I’ll miss something back here. That keep me weak and invested in things that probably don’t deserve my attention.

I clear my throat. “So how’s Lucas doing?” I ask, trying to sound casual. “Have you talked to him much?”

“Only as far as work goes,” she replies, pushing up her black-framed glasses. “When our firms cross paths and such. He just . . .” She pauses, thinking, “established his own life out there, I guess. Madoc talks to him, though. He refuses to let Lucas get away.”

I’m sure. Madoc likes to see his family grow, not shrink.

“I wonder what keeps him out there,” I cage, knowing exactly what I was hinting at. “I guess he must like it. You don’t miss him?”

“Of course, I do,” she rushed to reply. “But . . .”

“But what?”

She finishes securing A.J.’s seat belt, closes the car door, and shrugs. “I know he’ll come home,” she states. “Everyone comes home. He left for a reason, and we might not completely understand it, but he obviously wants distance, and I’m respecting that. He knows we’re here when he’s ready.”

“Well, he shouldn’t assume everyone will just wait for him.”

But Fallon frowns, studying me. “Who’s waiting?”

I slow my hands, seeing the wheels in her head turning as she probably wonders what the hell I’m talking about. Yeah. Who’s waiting, Quinn? No one else is putting their lives on hold for Lucas Morrow.

I finish pushing the seat cushions into place in the trunk and quickly grab the picnic blanket off the ground. “I’ll take this to Tate.”

And I walk away, as fast as I can from her stare.

Tate is standing near her car, having just finished placing her sleeping son into his seat. I hand her the blanket that I recognized was hers.

“Thanks.” She tosses it in the backseat.

“You all going to Madoc and Fallon’s or going home?”

“Home,” she replies. “James has a doubleheader tomorrow, and I promised your brother ‘cuddle time’ tonight if he’s going to be forced to sit through two baseball games tomorrow.”

She did the air quotes around “cuddle time,” and I laughed to myself, knowing what that meant.

“Tell Jared, racing is a sport, too,” I correct. He found sports like baseball, basketball, and football boring, and while he wouldn’t really be considered an athlete, there’s skill and sweat in racing. He was into sports, just not ones that required running. Or standing.

Or fighting with other guys over a ball.

But he made every effort to show up for his kids. I think I respected him more for that. He put in the time, watching events that were tedious to him, because he really loved his children and wanted to do everything to support them.

“It’s not hard for him to do things he doesn’t like for his kids’ happiness, is it?” I ask. “Probably because he had such a rough time with our mom. He knew what kind of parent he wanted to be. And what kind he didn’t want to be.”

She stops and thinks about it for a moment. “I’m sure that had something to do with it.”

It’s strange to me that he doesn’t see our mom like I do. I understand it a little better now, but I always knew there was a divide between them. He’s good to her, and they talk, but he’s still the first one to pull away when she hugs him.

“Does he love her?”

He would lie to me and say yes. Tate would know the truth.

“I honestly can’t answer that,” she tells me. “There’s a lot Jared doesn’t talk about. He and Katherine kind of grew up together, and he definitely could’ve had it better as a kid. A lot better. But . . .” She pauses, finding her words. “I think he also realizes that everyone does things they regret, and while she’ll never be able to erase the mistakes she made with him, she’s not making the same ones anymore. She’s been a great mom to you, she’s a wonderful grandmother, and she’s there for Jared when he decides he needs her.”

Yeah. I guess that’s all true. She’s nothing with me like she is with him in the book.

“Why are you asking about this?” Tate brushes my hair behind my ear.

I shake my head, reaching into my bag and taking out Next to Never.

“This book is messing with my head.” I hand it over to her, letting her see it.

She studies the front and back cover and opens it up, scanning a random page. “So strange.”

“Yeah, I can’t figure out who wrote it. I asked Juliet, since she’s the only writer I know and she wouldn’t lie to me, so . . .”

Tate continues reading a part, her expression turning thoughtful. “Hmmm . . .”

“What?”

She inhales a deep breath and closes the book, handing it back to me. “It’s very personal, isn’t it? Like whoever wrote it actually lived it.”

What?

“What do you mean?”

She pushes off the car and stands up, looking at me. “Occam’s razor,” she says, referring to the scientific theory. “The simplest explanation is usually the correct one.”

The simplest explanation. I let my eyes fall closed as realization hits.

Of course.

***

Kat . . .

“Jared!” I shouted up the stairs. “Dinner’s ready!”

I rounded the bannister, bumping into the accent table along the wall. “Ow!” I whisper-yelled.

I dashed back into the kitchen and took the milk out of the refrigerator, pausing. Does he drink milk? Probably not.

Well, he should drink it, anyway. I plopped it down on the table, blinking away the blur in my eyes.

The timer on the stove finally beeped, and I grabbed a pot holder and opened the oven, taking out the frozen lasagna. I set it on top of the stove, knocking down a pan on top. I jumped right as it hit the floor at my feet.

“Hey.”

I spun around, seeing Madoc Caruthers standing in the entrance to the kitchen. It still unnerved me, seeing him around my house. Not because I knew his father a lot more than he knew I did, but because he’d hate me for his mother’s sake if he ever found out about my past.

Jared would hate me, too.

“Hi,” I finally forced out, turning back around. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Jared’s changing,” he explained. “He said I had to leave the room.”

Ooookay.

I threw the dishcloth over my shoulder and took a sip of my wine. I was still in my work clothes—a burgundy dress—and walking around barefoot as I rushed to get dinner done. I’d gone out with a few friends after work—a few drinks—but I’d cut my plans short, trying to make an effort and be home.

“Okay, are you staying for dinner?” I asked.

“Uh . . .” He glanced back at the stairs, and I could hear Jared pounding down the steps. Madoc turned back to me. “It looks great, actually, but I think we’re heading out.”

“What?”

Jared swept into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “We already ate,” he informed me.

“Jared?” I threw the cloth down, anger creeping up. “I canceled my plans to be home.”

“I should thank my lucky stars.” He tipped back the carton of orange juice, gulping it down.

“That’s enough,” I miffed. “Madoc is welcome to stay, but you are sitting down and eating. You’re not going anywhere.”

He tossed the carton back into the fridge, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie. “Jax called, and he needs me. I’ll be home late.”

Pivoting around without so much as a look in my direction, he headed out of the kitchen, Madoc following close behind.

“You know, you could make an effort here,” I said, not caring that his friend would overhear. “My entire world does not revolve around you.”

Jared laughed. “Did it ever?”

And he opened the door, walking out, and Madoc closed the door behind them.

I stood there, staring at the door and listening to his car engine roar in the driveway before he sped off down the street.

He just left. Like anything I had to say didn’t matter.

God, he hated me. He didn’t even fight with me anymore. He. Just. Didn’t. Care.

I rushed for the freezer, taking out the bottle of vodka inside. The clear alcohol swished in the chilled container like thick oil, and I threw off the top, not seeing where it landed.

I took a swig of the bottle, tears wetting my lashes as I squeezed my eyes shut. He doesn’t hate me.

I took another drink and groaned, savoring the warmth of the alcohol coating my stomach. Tomorrow will be fine.

And I started sobbing, taking gulp after gulp after gulp, because I knew I was lying to myself.

There was no coming back from this.

I dragged my feet into the living room, carrying the nearly empty bottle in my hand, then I collapsed on the couch. The sweet oblivion fogged my brain so much, I saw Jase smiling down at me. He kissed the corner of my mouth, under my ear, and the corner of my eye, whispering in my ear.

“Katherine?”

The world shook, and I jerked, feeling like I was falling.

“Katherine, wake up,” a male voice said, and I felt a fist squeezing my stomach as the nausea rolled like a wave through me.

I shoved at the hands, convulsing. “I don’t feel good. Leave me alone.”

I heard footsteps walk away and then come back before hands grabbed me and flipped me over. Something was shoved into my mouth, and I felt fingers press against the back of my throat. I gagged, feeling the pressure of everything coming up from my stomach as I coughed and heaved.

“No,” I grunted, but it was too late.

Everything I’d drunk came pouring out, and I grabbed the small garbage can in front of me, emptying my stomach, coughing and sputtering as my gut wrenched. The vomit burned my throat, and I heaved again, feeling like someone was twisting a knife into my stomach.

“Oh, my God,” I gasped, wiping my mouth on my sleeve. “What are you doing?”

I coughed, spitting out any remnants from my mouth. Blinking through the tears in my eyes, I finally noticed James, Tate’s dad, standing above me.

“Jared’s been arrested,” he said.

I stopped breathing. “What?” And I scrambled to grab my phone on the end table, swiping the screen to check for messages.

There was nothing. Not even a missed call.

“He called you?” I asked, turning my eyes on him in question. My son didn’t call me?

James simply handed me a towel to clean myself up and walked around me, toward the front door. “I called a judge I know at home. He assigned Jared a bail instead of waiting for court in the morning. Hurry up. I’ll drive you.”

Ten minutes later, we walked into the police station, my gross hair tucked into a ponytail under a baseball hat, and I’d changed out of my vomit-stained clothes and into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

It was past midnight, and James hadn’t been able to tell me how long Jared had been here. He’d left our house around six, I think. Maybe it was earlier? I shook my head, trying to clear away the fuzz and fogginess of the night. The alcohol and the vomiting had wreaked havoc with my balance, and I couldn’t stop the tips of my fingers from buzzing.

The station was quiet and nearly empty, but I spotted Madoc sitting on the chairs. As soon as he saw me, he rose out of his chair.

But I shot out my hand, stopping him. “I don’t want to talk to you. Go sit down.”

His face fell a little, but he sat back down and kept quiet. In all honesty, I knew Jared had most likely gotten himself into this, but the last possible person I wanted to see, other than Jase Caruthers, was his son right now.

Stepping up to the counter, I called to the female officer standing by her desk.

“Jared Trent is my son,” I told her. “Where is he?”

“He’s fine,” she answered, approaching the counter and looking like this wasn’t at all urgent for her. “He’s in the back. Bail is fifteen hundred. Pretty cheap for this, actually.” She sounded unhappy about that. I guess James’s judge friend did us a favor. “You can pay it with the cashier.”

And she jerked her head to the side, indicating another counter at a window down the hall.

“What happened?”

“He attacked a man named Vincent Donovan, apparently the foster father of his brother?”

I let my eyes fall, thinking. “Uh, I think so. I don’t know.”

Jared had a half brother named Jax, whom he met the summer I let him visit his father when he was fourteen. I wasn’t sure who his foster parents were, though. I’d never thought to reach out.

The boy was only a year or so younger, and my suspicions must have been right. Thomas had been screwing around while we were still together. In fact, the boys were so close in age, Thomas must’ve gotten her pregnant not long after Jared was born.

Jax’s mother split early on, and since Thomas was in jail, Jax was in foster care. I thought about taking him in, but I obviously couldn’t parent the one kid I had, so that was out of the question. Right now, anyway.

“Well,” the officer explained, “he claimed the man was abusing his brother, so he retaliated. The victim has three broken ribs and is in surgery right now for internal bleeding. He should be fine. Luckily.”

“Victim,” I sneered, repeating her term as I tried wiping the dizziness out of my eyes.

Who else rushed to protect Jax when that asshole hurt him? Jared, that’s who.

And who rushed to protect Jared when his father beat the shit out of him two years ago?

No one.

I moved my arm and accidentally knocked my purse to the floor. James bent down to snatch it back up.

The clerk pinned me with a stare. “Are you drunk?”

I squared my shoulders and glared at her, taking my purse back from Tate’s dad.

“My son is a good kid,” I told her, ignoring her question.

She nodded, looking sarcastic. “I’m sure you did your best.”

She turned and walked away, and I stood frozen, left with no words. What was I going to say? You’re wrong? I don’t have to explain myself to you?

Because, you know, Kat, your son’s sitting in a cell, and you had no idea where he was or what he was doing. He stays out at all hours; he could be drinking and driving or getting someone pregnant, and he does whatever he wants for one simple reason.

He can. He barely has any parents, and that is something you do have to answer for.

We walked down the hall to the cashier, while Madoc remained quiet, but I could tell he was watching me. I paid the bail, barely able to sign the papers, because I was shaking so hard.

“It’ll take a while to process,” the clerk told me. “You can wait in the chairs.”

“What happens now?” I asked.

“Well, your son will be given a date to appear in court. You’ll need a lawyer.”

I closed my eyes, exhaling a small cry as I turned away. “Lawyer,” I repeated, whispering to myself. “This isn’t happening.”

“I can call my dad.” Madoc approached. “He’s in the city, but he can be here in the morning. He’ll be able to get Jared out of this.”

“No,” I shot out. “Thanks, but I’ll handle this.”

He just stood there for a moment, looking like he wanted to argue but thought better of it.

All of us walked to the chairs and took our seats, Madoc giving me space and sitting a few chairs down.

James leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know which judge his case will be assigned to, but I can talk to the one I know and see if I can work something out,” he suggested. “It’s his first offense, and I know he’s a good kid.”

I nodded, giving him my permission, but my mind was already racing ahead. What would life be like in five years?

I took the house all those years ago for Jared. For him to have a better life. But it seemed all my fears were coming true.

Where would we be in the next few years? Would Jared be in college? Would I be married to a man who loved me and curled up on the couch to watch TV with me every night? Would Jared let me hug him?

Would everything be completely different and we’d all suddenly have the perfect life and family?

No. Everything would be exactly the same, only worse. Jared would be in jail, like his father, because I’d abandoned and neglected him, and it was my fault Jared was here.

I took my phone out of my purse, my fingers hovering over the numbers, because I didn’t want to go backward, but if this was my one chance to help my son . . .

“I should call Jase,” I mumbled, giving in.

“Jase Caruthers?” James asked. “That kid’s father, right?”

I glanced at Madoc, his face buried in his phone, and nodded.

James plucked my phone out of my hand and held it securely. “You don’t need him,” he maintained. “Let me try to deal with this.”

“Why? Why do you want to help?”

He looked like he was searching for words. “Because I love Jared,” he admitted. “He’s a little shit, but I care what happens to him.” He handed my phone back. “You don’t need Jase Caruthers. You have friends. We’ll handle this.”

I squeezed the phone, meeting his eyes. Did he know? Jase and I had stopped seeing each other a few months after James and Tate moved in next door. Had he seen Jase there, coming in late?

Christ. What he must think of me.

“Jared’s been falling apart for a long time,” James spoke softly, careful not to let Madoc hear. “I kept my mouth shut out of respect, because I didn’t feel it was my place, but every kid needs at least one person to think that the world rises and sets with them, and I don’t think . . .”

I swallowed the knot in my throat, both of us finishing his sentence in our heads.

“Tate was that for him,” James pointed out, “but they don’t talk anymore, and Jared has only gotten worse. He needs help.”

I nodded, staring out at the linoleum floor. And what had I said to him tonight?

My world doesn’t revolve around you?

Did it ever?

His words washed over me, and I was fucking paralyzed. All these years I knew what I was doing. To myself and to him. This wasn’t some goddamn epiphany, but for the first time I realized that I was more to blame for how he saw the world and how he behaved than his father. He was angry before I let Thomas see him. He hated me before that summer. He’d been pulling away his entire life.

No one should’ve come before him, and it wasn’t that he didn’t care that I’d always put myself first . . . No, he didn’t even wonder why anymore. This was his life. I was his horrible reality, not his father.

I chewed my bottom lip, shaking my head. “I was his for so long that I didn’t know who I was without him.” Of course I referred to Jase, hoping James understood. “Why was I so weak?”

“Because we all eat lies when our hearts are hungry,” he quoted.

I closed my eyes and allowed the quiet tears to spill over. Yeah. Jase didn’t take anything I didn’t freely give. And if it wasn’t him or Thomas, it would’ve been someone else.

“I need to get well,” I finally said.

“That’s easy to say, isn’t it?” he retorted. “The truth is, you have two choices here. Jared can stay with me while you’re in rehab. Or Jared can stay with me for good.”

I darted my eyes up to him.

“And you can leave him for his own well-being while you go off to drink for however long your body allows you stay alive to do so,” he concluded.

I covered my eyes with my hands, breaking down once again as I shook with sobs and sank to rock bottom, feeling naked, cold, worthless, and empty.

Oh, my God.

I didn’t want that. Of course, I didn’t want that! I never wanted to stop being his mom.

But James was right. Jared would be worlds better off with him than he was with me.

While I cried and cried and cried, James remained quiet and let me come to terms with what had to be done.

“I love my son,” I told him, wiping the tears from my face.

“Then prove it to him.”