Burn for Me by Shiloh Walker Page B

said … and Ali. Maybe it was just desperate hope that forced him to look at his father. Really look.
    Tired eyes. So much more tired than Tate had ever seen them.
    Tired but kind.
    He’d been angry that night and Tate wanted him to suffer for what he’d said. But people did things, said things in anger. How many ugly words had he forced back inside? How many times had he leashed his anger, afraid of letting it out?
    “Did you kill my mother?” The words ripped out of him, full of desperation, and a son’s need to believe.
    Doug slanted a look at him. Then he sighed, his stooped shoulders rising and falling. “Tate—”
    He closed the distance between them, hands clenched into fists as he glared down at his father. This man, whom he had loved so much, that he’d looked up to, admired.
    “Trailer trash.”
    “Go on. Get out!”
    “You called her trash,” he said, his voice shaking as years’ worth of rage and grief came spilling out. “You made her cry and you called her trash and you told her to get out. Did you kill her?”
    “No.” Then Doug met his eyes. “But I might as well have. If I hadn’t been so cruel to her, she wouldn’t have left that night. Whatever happened…”
    Tate barely heard the rest of it.
    The word no echoed through him and he spun away, sucking in oxygen. He couldn’t get enough. Couldn’t breathe deeply enough and his heart knocked hard against his ribs.
    “Tate, I’m sorry.”
    Blood roared in his ears and it was forever before he realized his father had moved to stand next to him.
    “It was a fight,” Doug said, his voice level. “I said awful, ugly things that I never should have said and I said things that I know hurt her. I’ll never be able to apologize to her and I’ve accepted that. But I also hurt you all. Saying what I said was wrong. I was wrong and whatever happened to her that night wouldn’t have happened if I’d just shut my fool mouth. Because I couldn’t, because I let anger get the best of me, she left … and you kids had to grow up without your mom. You all lost her because of me.”
    “No. We lost her because somebody took her from us.” Tate closed his eyes, struggled to keep his voice level. “That lies with that bastard, not you. It’s my fault I’ve been blaming you all this time.”
    Then he took off.
    He didn’t look back.
    There was too much crashing inside his head just then, too much noise, too much confusion.
    Underneath all of it, though, he realized something painful.
    He believed him.
    For the first time ever, Tate really believed that his father hadn’t killed their mother.
    But all that did was leave him with more questions.
    If Doug Bell hadn’t killed Nichole … who had?
    *   *   *
    The storm came blowing in not long after her parents whisked the boys off.
    Her dad hugged her tight, folding her in his arms and asking, “Do I need to beat somebody up?”
    She tried not to sniffle against his chest. They’d had their rough spots, but there were times like this when he proved to be … well. Just wonderful. “Won’t help, but thanks for caring.”
    That had been nearly thirty minutes ago and not long after they’d left, the storm had started. The hard, heavy downpour hadn’t let up since.
    Sitting on the porch swing, staring out into the night, she watched as the lightning lit up the sky over the river and she tried not to cry. It was easy to push it all aside when the kids were here. When they were here, she had to be a mom, first and foremost. Sometimes it sucked because as a single mom, she rarely had a free moment just to herself. But in moments like this, it was a blessing in disguise because she didn’t want moments to herself, moments to brood, moments to hurt.
    Moments to think about everything that was never going to happen.
    Sniffling, she focused on the raindrops, told herself they weren’t blurring before her eyes.
    I’m not going to cry because it’s over.
    I’m not going to cry because it’s