The kiss had been a solid start.
Hell, the way she kissed me back, arched into me and got all soft and pliable at just the touch of lips to lips, let me know she would have zero trouble rolling with anything I wanted to lay on her. Even if it was clear she had her doubts about that. As perfect as Sayer appeared to be on the outside, it was becoming obvious that all of that perfection cracked and splintered a little bit below the surface. She had a shell around her, but it was much thinner and more brittle than I think she was aware of.
Now that I had admitted the truth to Sayer, which felt like jumping off a cliff without knowing what was waiting below me, I had a few more people to tell about my current, questionable situation. I knew my sister and my mother would support me no matter what the outcome of the paternity test was, but I dreaded seeing the look of disappointment in their eyes when I came clean. They would be frustrated and exasperated that I had once again made a rushed, drastic decision that led to an outcome that could stick with me for the rest of my life.
I watched my mom’s heart break in half when the judge laid down the sentence after I pled no contest to the aggravated assault and additional charge of child endangerment. She cried harder than I had ever seen her cry and that included the night my dad walked out on us for good when I was just a kid. I never wanted to put her through that again, and depending on the outcome of the looming test, my guts twisted into knots at the idea that I could cause her that kind of pain and disappointment more than once in a lifetime. All I wanted to do since getting out of prison was make my mother proud. That was why I worked six days a week and made sure to keep my nose clean and my easily ignited temper in check.
My sister, Beryl, was a little different. When I went to jail she had wanted to fight harder to keep me out than I had. She was in court with a broken nose, black eyes, and her arm in a sling, and was recovering from a head injury that had put her in the hospital for a week. She was ready to tell anyone that would listen that the only reason I was in trouble in the first place was because her boyfriend at the time, my niece’s deadbeat father, had nearly beaten her to death. There was no way she could stop me once I learned how badly she was hurt, and I hadn’t stopped to think for a second about what it would mean for me that I had attacked her abuser in plain sight of not only her but of my then three-year-old niece. Beryl couldn’t believe I was the one facing a prison sentence while that asshole she used to be involved with got to walk free. She also couldn’t believe that because her daughter, Joss, had witnessed the beatdown I had delivered, I was the one looking at a child-abuse charge. Beryl felt that it was all unjust and disgustingly unfair, but there was nothing she could do to help me when I decided that instead of dragging everything through court and subjecting her and Joss to a trial, I would just take my punishment and serve the time. I was going away regardless of any argument put forth, so I wanted to do it as quickly and painlessly for those that I loved as possible. Maybe it was guilt and remorse for losing it so drastically in front of Joss, or the fury that I hadn’t known what was happening to my sister, but I just wanted it all to go away. It was the hardest decision I had ever had to make until Echo showed up on my jobsite claiming I fathered a child.
Beryl had hidden the violence and abuse she suffered at her ex’s hands for years, but like all abusers a time had come when he had gone too far. With the evidence so brutal and blinding right in my face, I had lost my shit and taught the guy a lesson he would never forget about using his hands on the fairer sex, especially someone I happened to love beyond measure. He had beaten and hurt my sister, so in return I had nearly killed him with nothing more than fists and the rage behind them. I was out of control, and honestly once the haze of fury had dulled, I understood I had crossed a line and did deserve to be punished for my lack of control. My temper was always something I struggled to keep in check, it still made my heart hurt that sometimes I could still see threads of fear in my sister’s eyes when she looked at me and saw the dangerous man I could be if pushed too far. For the last seven years I worked hard to be respectable and repentant because I never wanted to be that guy again. I didn’t want my family or anyone I cared about to look at me like I was a bomb about to go off.
When I told Beryl about Hyde I knew her reaction would be to wrap me up in a hug, hold me tight, and tell me that everything was going to be okay. She would prop me up and help me fight to make things right if Hyde was indeed my kid, but behind her support and encouraging words there would be that sisterly knowing that scolded me for not thinking things through. While she appreciated me riding to her rescue and always told me how guilty she felt for not leaving the dickhead sooner so that years of my life weren’t given up for her, she still never let me forget that there was a better way for all of us to have handled the situation with her ex. My actions had cost us all a heavy price in the end.
Sighing and shoving my shaggy hair off my forehead, I wheeled my fully restored, 1950 International farm truck into my mom’s driveway and parked it next to my sister’s little hybrid that was already taking up half the space. I had grown up in a suburb of Denver called Lakewood, and my mom still lived in the one-story brick rancher that she raised me and Beryl in. It was a quiet, family-friendly neighborhood that Mom had relocated to not long after Dad left. Even after all the time and circumstances that had passed, pulling into the cracked cement driveway that led to the garage still felt like coming home. I had offered to move my mom into one of my properties, to upgrade her home for her, but she wasn’t having any of it. Beryl even bought a town house a few miles away, which made life easy for her since Mom picked my niece up and watched her after school until Beryl got off of work from her job as a bank teller. Mom insisted she wasn’t going anywhere, and that her house was just fine the way it was. I honestly couldn’t complain. It was nice to have a solid base, a place that never shifted or moved and that always felt welcoming and warm. My mom had always made sure we knew where home was and that had been one of the key factors in driving me to create that kind of place for others.
I loved working with my hands and getting to be my own boss. But handing over the keys, walking away from a family knowing that I had given them a place that could be their home base, their security, fulfilled me in a way that was hard to put words to. I always felt like what I did was so much more important than driving nails into wood or slapping some paint onto walls, and that was why my crew was all made up of guys that needed a second chance and a way to give back.