Chapter Twenty-­One

Chapter Twenty-One

Tobias

S tunned briefly by her admission, Cecelia leaps into action before I gather myself in time to stop her freak-out. Within seconds, she slips out the front door as I shuffle to ditch the guns and dress. Racing to the bedroom, I place them in the duffle, not bothering to check my cell, an oversight I won't repeat. It was both reckless and careless to ignore any potential warning. After yanking on a hoodie, I shove into my sneakers before charging back in the direction Cecelia fled. By the time I clear the front porch with Beau whining in tow, I'm able to hear harshly exchanged words of a hushed conversation at the back of a massive RV.

"Mom, please, just go, okay. I'll call you and explain later."

"You're being ridiculous. We just got here, and you know we've been coming for months. What's changed?"

"Everything, Mom. Please, just go, and I'll call you." Her plea is for me, to protect me , which only makes my love for her grow.

"That's not necessary," I speak up, stepping into view, laying eyes on both women as they turn to me with gaping mouths.

"Tobias," Cecelia says mournfully, her eyes closing as her mother's bulge.

By reaction alone, it's easy to see Cecelia never told her about us, as her mother rapidly pales, her eyes darting wildly between us.

I always assumed Cecelia kept our secrets—even from those closest to her—and the proof is standing in front ofme, seeming to be on the verge of passing out. Cecelia kept her involvement with me from her mother even after her confrontation with her eight months ago. I never asked herfor the details because I was too busy trying to accept her goodbye.

Cecelia looks back at me, sheer panic in her eyes when she sees me moving to greet her mother.

"Hello, Diane," I say, inching my way in as she takes a lingering look at her daughter before lifting mortified eyes to me.

" This is what you've been hiding for so long?"

It's not so much a question at this point, but the truth of it has knocked her sideways. Cecelia tries to stop me from reaching her, but I grab the hands meant to subdue me and squeeze them in reassurance.

"Tobias, I've asked her to leave."

Timothy, a boyfriend I've only read about in informative emails, emerges from the RV looking between the three of us, his eyes coming back to me. It's odd how I've kept such close tabs on all of these people over the years, feeling as if I know them, and to an extent, I do.

Diane turns to Timothy, her voice shaking with fear. "Timothy, honey, will you grab a carton of cigarettes from the suitcase? I'm out."

"Not before I give this little lady a hug." He walks over to where we stand and pulls Cecelia into his arms before turning curious eyes to me. "Hey there, I'm Tim."

"Tobias King," I counter, thrusting out my hand. Releasing Cecelia, he takes it and pumps it eagerly. "So, I'm assuming Mr. King is what kept you from answering our calls last night?" Timothy asks Cecelia, sporting a clueless grin.

"Tim, please, my cigarettes," Diane rasps out, her eyes glued to me.

"All right, honey." He gives me a ‘women' look before walking off to do her bidding.

"I forgot," Cecelia says, dragging my attention back to her. "I swear, Tobias, it totally slipped my mind. I'm so sorry. "

"It's okay, Trésor," I whisper sincerely, before pressing a kiss to her temple. I sidestep her to reach Diane, who's now visibly shaking.

"It's been a long time," I say softly as Diane rakes her lip with her teeth, her eyes shining with fear.

"I've wanted to reach out so many times since that day."

I nod as Cecelia intercepts. "You've met her? You've met my mother ? When?"

"I was eleven. Dom had chickenpox, and she gave me a ride to the pharmacy." I turn to Cecelia. "She was pregnant with you . She almost named you Leann." I lift my eyes to Diane. "Guess I had some sway on that?"

Diane nods, a lone, guilty tear gliding down her face.

"You never told me," Cecelia rasps. The hurt in her tone has me attempting damage control on them both.

"I didn't get a chance to, when... that day in my office before you left," I offer, to indicate which day I'm referring to. "We never made it that far into the discussion." And those details and revelations didn't fucking matter because she was ridding herself of me for good. There was plenty left unsaid between us then, as there is now. And due to our own shit, I haven't gotten to explain much more.

Cecelia mulls the latest dropped bomb and turns to her mother in question. "And you didn't tell me you met him , either."

Diane looks on at me in the most unnerving way, and I sense the ill feelings rolling through her. She's transparent with her eyes, her expressions, much like her daughter. "It was only the once, and I didn't think to mention it, well, because I had no idea you two were... Oh, God." She runs a hand through her cropped, brown hair. "I'll go. We'll go. We'll go right now." She eyes me over Cecelia's shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

"Come inside," I say, and both women's heads pop toward me. The resemblance unreal, mortification on both their faces. " Please , Diane, come inside."

"Got 'em," Timothy says, exiting the camper with a pack of cigarettes in hand. "Almost couldn't find them in that death trap you call a suitcase," he jests, reading the expressions of both women before looking toward me to relay.

"I could go for some pancakes and bacon, Tim. How about you?"

He takes my easy out, his eyes darting between mother and daughter before flashing an uneasy grin. "My kind of man."

I look down at Diane as she cranes her neck to study me while I walk her into the house. "Breakfast?"

She nods, stupefied, as we clear the door before she glances over her shoulder at Cecelia.

*

"Well, damn, this is the best cup of coffee I've ever had in my life," Timothy remarks as he eyes the French press in my hand.

"Tobias is a coffee snob, and he rubbed off on me," Cecelia replies, on autopilot where she stands at the stove. She insisted on cooking but has been in a stupor since she started, tossing wary glances my way. I do my best to convey in my return gaze that I'm okay with the situation and see nothing but apology in her eyes. Her phone rattles where it rests in her apron on the counter, drawing her attention away. She pulls it out to read a text, staring at it for several beats before she starts to type a response.

All I want to do right now is gather her to me and assure her I'm all right, which surprisingly, I am. I often wondered how I would feel if I ever came face-to-face with the woman responsible for making me and my brother orphans at this point in my life. It's a surprise to me how little resentment I feel toward her, but I made peace with it long ago. When I look at Diane now, all I see is the tortured and very pregnant teenager I met. I can still clearly remember the devastation on her face that day and the constant tears she battled the entire time we were together. That, combined with my love for her daughter, keeps me from harboring anything dangerous. It's uncomfortable, but only because of the two women vibrating with emotions, feeding off each other .

Diane has practically turned to stone where she sits, and I do my best not to let my gaze linger on her, knowing she's just as torn now as she was then. Some part of me feels the need to comfort her, but I have no idea how to go about it with the way she's reacting to me. Timothy is clearly oblivious or playing blind to the ten-ton, red elephant in the room as he rattles on about the weather and his new RV.

Nodding every so often, I watch Cecelia closely, her shoulders tensing as she texts. She's due for work any minute and hasn't missed a day since I've been here.

"Everything okay at Meggie's?" I ask, and she nods her head subtly before Tim tries to lure her back into conversation. "What you've done to this place since the last time we were here is incredible, Cecelia."

"Thank you," she replies lifelessly, abandoning the pancakes to type a mile a minute. The next text that comes through has her smacking her phone against the counter. Standing due to her sudden change in demeanor, I walk over to where she's standing, and she looks back at me, eyeing me for long seconds before directing her scowl at her mother. "What's going on? Is that Marissa?"

"Everything's fine," she responds with a frosty bite. "One of my waitresses no-showed."

"Do you want me to head over and help?"

She bites her lips together and shakes her head. "Of course not. They've got it. Go sit down." She lifts her chin toward the table. "I've got this."

"Sure?"

"Tobias," she sighs as I circle her waist from behind, resting my chin on her shoulder.

"This is okay. I am okay," I whisper.

"Well, I'm not fucking okay," she hisses, tensing in my arms.

She retrieves her spatula from the counter, flipping a perfectly round cake as I run my fingers along her stomach. "Look at me, Trésor."

Hostile eyes meet mine, and confusion sets in. I can't get a clear read on her. I press my forehead to hers. "This was going to happen sooner or later." She bites her lip thoughtfully, seeming to finally focus on me before her eyes soften. "It's too much to ask of you."

"No, it's not. If you can forgive me, anything is possible, right?"

She dismisses me, pulling out of my hold with the sharp dip of her chin. Following silent orders, I reclaim my seat at the table, confused about what's going on inside of her. It's clear her relationship with her mother is strained, and our combined presence here isn't helping.

Timothy swallows, his eyes darting around as he begins to sense it and fidget, but being the man he is, he's opted to bullshit around it. After another sad attempt by him to break the foot-thick ice, Diane speaks up. "So how long," she asks in a weak tone, drawing my attention from Cecelia. "How long have you two been seeing each other?"

"That's a complicated question, but the short version is we were together briefly before she went to college and just got back together three weeks ago."

"Complicated," Cecelia harrumphs. "I'll say." She flips a pancake, a very, very angry cook, and I frown at her back before she turns to address me. "She doesn't need to know." She slams her spatula down and folds her arms across her chest. It seems she's on a fucking warpath now, and none of us seem to be safe. Timothy audibly swallows, his coffee halfway to his mouth.

"Well, I would love to know," Diane retorts, her eyes flitting from Cecelia to me.

"I'm sure you would," Cecelia snarks, hurtling the milk back into the fridge before slamming it closed.

"What's important now ," I referee, "is that we're together, for good." Cecelia cuts off the burner, adding the last of the pancakes to a platter before setting them next to the bacon waiting on the table.

" Orange juice ?" she barks in what feels like accusation at the three of us, and we collectively shake our heads in reply .

Timothy digs in, looking for any excuse to keep his eyes down and his mouth full. Diane ignores the food, staring between her daughter and me as I busy myself, piling cakes onto my plate and digging in, hoping to ease some of the churn in my stomach. Cecelia's focus remains fixed on me as she feeds some bacon to Beau.

"That bacon is yours," I scorn her. "Eat."

"I'm not hungry." I can't help my grin as a glimpse of the stubborn nineteen-year-old that ruined me for all others peeks through. "Trésor... "

"You eat," she snaps before her eyes again soften and dart between her mother and me.

"Please," I ask, nudging her, using her maternal concern for me to my advantage. She narrows her eyes, letting me know she's onto me but shoves a bite into her mouth anyway.

"So, I'm assuming you aren't coming with us now, due to company?" Timothy asks, now attuned to the chemistry at the table.

"Where were you headed?" I ask as mother and daughter resume their stare-off.

"Cecelia was going to camp with us for a few nights before we head out west. We're going to Colorado, Arizona, Utah, and New Mexico."

"Going to hit the four corners?"

Tim points his fork at me. "Exactly. Standing in four states at once. It's this camper's dream."

Cecelia is already shaking her head when I glance her way. Though two days may buy me enough time to get a handle on my situation, just the thought of parting with her for any amount of time gnaws at me. But if there's a chance, this disruption might be a Godsend if I can get her to go.

"If you want to go—"

Slapping her hand on the table, she points her cutlery in my direction. "Finish that sentence, King, and I will stab you with this butter knife."

I can't help my chuckle. "Well then—" I look between them—" you'll stay here. At least for the night? There's no need to cut your visit short." I turn to Diane, who's focused on Cecelia, her eyes glistening as she continues to grapple with it all.

"Tobias—" Cecelia starts.

"These are your parents ," I say definitively, doing my best to make it easier on her, which wins me nothing but another scathing glare. I frown at her as she blazes her eyes down my frame before lifting her wrists one by one and straightening the cuffs on her pajamas—in threat .

She smirks when she sees me conclude that she knows exactly what she's been doing to me with those fucking pajamas.

What. The. Fuck?

Timothy clears his throat before finally commenting on the growing tension. "If we're imposing, it's no problem. We can just cruise on a little earlier."

"It's no imposition," I counter, making my stance clear as Cecelia sinks in her seat.

"Are you sure that's best right now?" Cecelia slings, insinuation rolling off her tongue. She seems to be prepping for war when all I'm trying to do is make peace. I'm tempted to pull her ass aside and redden it before I lick it or simultaneously do both. "Yes," I nod for emphasis, cutting my hand through the air. " End of."

She narrows her eyes. "Don't you dare—"

"Cecelia," Diane cuts in with the voice of a patient mother, "why are you—"

"I'm done," she snaps and stands, hauling her plate to the sink and tossing it in before looking back to Diane. "And done pretending too. You haven't even told him, have you, Mom? Your new husband ."

"Husband?" I ask, surprised by the news and taking first note at the rings on their fingers. It must have been in one of my recent reports. In my defense, I've been busy the last eight months.

"Yes, husband ," Cecelia clarifies, her eyes trained on her mother. I'm expecting blood-colored eyes and a moving crown of snakes to appear any second with how she's behaving. I make a mental note to see how far away she is from her sugar pill days in her birth control.

"Haven't you learned anything ? How do you expect to get through a life with him with secrets like this?"

Timothy calmly sets down his silverware and eyes me. "Can someone please tell me what I'm missing?"

"Unfortunately, your wife and I share some tragic history."

A tear escapes Diane's eye, and Cecelia plays immune, but I know the strain in the relationship is hurting her, so much so it's metastasized to uncontrollable anger.

"He knows." Diane lifts guilt-sick eyes to her daughter. "I told him on the drive home the last time we were here, after I signed the papers for the restaurant and the house, even though you refused to tell me why I was doing it." Her gaze flits to mine. "And also after you refused to tell me why you'd lost fifteen pounds you couldn't afford to lose. "

Insinuation clear, that revelation strikes me where intended, and Cecelia fires back. "Don't play concerned parent. It's a little late for that, don't you think?"

"Never, you'll always be my child. And I had no idea what you were going through because you didn't share it with me."

"We all have our secrets, don't we?" she says, none of us safe from that jab.

"Look at me, baby." Cecelia lifts her blazing eyes to mine, so much hurt shining in them, I want to shield her with my body. " What hurts you, hurts me ."

She fists a tear from beneath her eyes. "Tobias, this is too much."

"It's not. I promise you, Trésor, it's not."

The slide of Diane's chair has us all turning her way as she offers a barely audible "excuse me" before she scurries out of the kitchen, grabbing her cigarettes on the counter before rushing through the back door.

Timothy stands to go after her, and I stop him with a hand on his shoulder. He glances over at me with clear apprehension .

"So, you're—"

"Yes. But more importantly, I'm the man in love with her daughter. Please, let me." Timothy studies me for several seconds before giving me a slow nod. I don't give Cecelia a chance to object before making my way out into the back yard.

*

I find Diane fighting with her lighter in the center of the yard before she manages a flame, inhaling her first hit deeply, eyes closed, tears staining her cheeks. Sensing me, she opens her eyes and faces me while I approach with my hands tucked in my sweatpants.

"Mind if I have one of those?" She nods, opening the box, and extends it to me. I pluck one out, and she lights it, her eyes heavy on my profile before I back away. "Thank you."

"I can't even begin to imagine how this happened."

I pull on the cigarette and exhale a stream of smoke, thankful for the slight relief it brings. "It's a very complicated story."

"Did you become involved with her to hurt her, because of us, because of what I did?"

"No. In fact, I went to great lengths to make sure she was kept out of it, but I failed."

Her tone sharpens. "I might not have a right to ask, but when it comes to her, I don't give a damn. What exactly do you mean by that, Tobias? You had plans for Roman because of what I did?"

"Initially, yes. Roman was my target until I found out the truth of what happened. But I had no intention of hurting her. Protecting her has always been a priority for me."

"Since when?"

"Since the first time I laid eyes on her."

"Which was?"

"When she was eleven."

"Jesus." She's visibly shaking as she takes a drag of her cigarette and studies me carefully. "You love her, that's clear. "

"I do."

"Roman never told me you were involved... God, that man."

"He was good at keeping secrets. But he was very aware when Cecelia and I parted ways, years before he died, that our relationship was over. We worked together to protect Cecelia."

"I guess I have no choice but to try and believe you."

"I hope you do. I would never hurt her."

"But you have."

I nod because it's the sad truth. "But mostly to protect her."

Her gaze loses focus as her chest constricts and her shoulders drop forward before she speaks. "So many, many times over the years I wanted to reach out, to confess the truth to you, to Dominic, and beg your forgiveness, but you disappeared. And eventually, he did too."

It's then I know my assumption was right.

"It must have been hard supporting three children every month."

Her eyes drop. "I didn't want you to go without. I'd taken so much from you, and I saw how miserable you were in that house with Delphine."

I exhale, tapping the ash off my cigarette. "For years, I thought the boxes without a return address mailed to our doorstep were from friends and relatives of my parents. Boxes with hundreds and hundreds of dollars' worth of clothes and gift cards, toys, shoes. But no one is that generous, are they, Diane?"

She sniffs, wiping her nose. "Delphine hated me, and I knew she would turn me away, but I just couldn't let you go without. I know it doesn't make up for what I did."

"You made a mistake," I say pointedly, as her eyes cloud with tears. "Those boxes saved us, sometimes for months at a time. I can safely say that act of kindness inspired me to pay it forward in a major way."

A sob bursts from her as I take another drag of my cigarette, keeping just enough distance so she's comfortable but standing close enough to catch her if she breaks, which seems possible. From the minute I met this woman, all I saw was agonizing guilt, and knowing she's lived with it all these years only makes me want to convince her further to set herself free.

"You know, you and I have a lot in common," I confess, "we both suffer from the horrible plague of survivor's guilt."

"I c-can never tell you how sorry I am for what happened."

Tossing my cigarette, I grip her shoulders, seeing so much of the woman I love in the woman before me—certain that Cecelia inherited her heart. "It's tragically ironic how well I know your pain because maybe if I didn't, I wouldn't be able to look at you now and tell you I forgave you a long time ago. It was an accident. I felt how deeply you regretted it the day we met. Your mistake changed my life in an irreparable way, but it also shaped me into the man I am today—for better or worse—a man who loves your daughter. It's crazy that somehow, despite what you took away, both you and Roman gifted me the only person in the world capable of loving me in a way that fills me with so much peace. Cecelia is my home and my reason for trying to forgive myself, and she needs to be your reason too. From what I've gathered, you've punished yourself long enough, and it's affected you and your relationship with your daughter. It's not too late for either of us, Diane. Cecelia is making me believe it."

A telltale sniff just behind the lattice has me grinning. "Come on out, Mon Trésor, I know you've been listening."

Cecelia's red-rimmed eyes meet mine and drift to her mother as she steps in front of her. " This is why you had so many jobs, and we still struggled?"

Diane nods. "I couldn't let them go without, and I know you suffered for it."

"Roman didn't know?"

Diane shakes her head. "God, no, he would have been furious because it would seem like an admission of guilt. He was so paranoid. But I'm not sorry I did it. I'm only sorry you suffered."

"Mom—" Cecelia's voice lifts as she pulls her mother into her arms. "We did okay. God, I only wish you would have told me."

They start to speak in hushed whispers as I turn and head back toward the house to give them privacy .

I don't really believe words can heal as much as they hurt. But I so want to believe it's not too late for us—that truly living again without that jagged ache is possible. More hope sparks as I glance back at the two of them and see mild relief in Diane's expression a second before I close the back door.