Because You're Mine(29)

The house where he’d been told he grew up loomed in front of him at the end of the cul-de-sac. He hadn’t noticed until now how beautiful it really was. A two-story brick home on the historical register, it sat along a row of other equally beautiful homes. His mother’s determined gardening showed in the rows of colorful flowers. How much did it cost to live here? He must have grown up with plenty of material comforts. Was that why he’d thought women were his personal playthings? His gut clenched again.

He entered the house and called out. His parents came from the kitchen. Mom must have called his father home from his investment firm.

“How did it go?” His father’s tone was jovial.

Jesse stared at this man who had fathered him but was still a stranger. He said all the right things, did all the loving fatherly things, but Jesse still felt no real connection. Why was that? Was his dad gone a lot when he was growing up? He’d quickly warmed to his mother, but his dad was another story.

“Got any tea, Mom?” he asked.

“Made some fresh,” she said. “Mint julep. Your favorite.”

He followed her to the kitchen with his father trailing behind. His mother poured the tea over ice and handed it to him. “Thanks.” He took a long swallow and bit back a grimace. “I saw Rena Mae. I was really a creep, wasn’t I?”

His father’s expression darkened. “Typical woman,” he scoffed. “Out for a ring on her finger. You’re lucky she didn’t claim you got her pregnant.” He shot a glance at his wife, who colored and looked away.

Interesting. Maybe his mom had been pregnant with him when they married. He was an only child too. And obviously spoiled. “I don’t think so. I think I really did what she said. She was clearly traumatized. And there was a witness.”

His dad’s gray brows drew together. “I hope you didn’t admit to anything!”

“I apologized, but that doesn’t make up for what I did.” He glanced at them. “I stopped by St. Michael’s today. It’s a beautiful church.” Both his parents stared at him as if he’d suddenly started speaking a foreign language. He’d been about to tell them of his desire to be a better person than the old Jesse Hawthorne, but their expressions of horror made him stumble over the words. “What?”

“You were in a church?” his father roared. “Have I taught you nothing? Religion is for the weak-willed. I’ve taught you to stand on your own two feet, not kowtow to some false sense of guilt. I’ve made sure you’ve never been in a church in your life, and now this?” He raised a clenched fist, and his wife caught his wrist before he could strike Jesse. He gave a final, furious glare, then stomped away. Moments later the front door slammed.

His mother sank onto a chair. “Don’t infuriate your father like that.”

Shaken, Jesse sat beside her. How was he supposed to know what infuriated the man when he didn’t even know him? “Why is he so opposed to religion? I felt such peace in that place. Like maybe I could start over, be a better person.”

She took his hand. “You’re fine the way you are, son. A good boy. Don’t go back to that church. I don’t know what your father would do if he found out you ignored him.”

The Jesse he’d been finding out about wasn’t a good person. Besides, he was way past the age where his parents could make demands of him. He set his jaw. “But why? What’s he got against church?”

“Your grandfather was a preacher. Strict and, well, abusive. He liked to use the strap on your dad’s back. When your dad left there, he swore he’d never darken the door of another church.”

“What do you think about God, Mom?”

She rose and carried her empty glass to the dishwasher. “There’s no God, Jesse. What we make of ourselves in this life is all there is.”

The words rang hollow in Jesse’s heart. He hadn’t done a very good job up to now, from what he’d heard. The old traps still lay ahead of him. When his friends began to come back around and he started visiting his familiar haunts, would the hedonistic Jesse return? The one who cared nothing about anything other than his own wants and desires?

He sure hoped not. This mission of self-discovery was turning into a horror show, and he was the star.

Murder-suicide. Could he really have been capable of killing Liam? Jesse feared the answer might be yes.





Thirteen


Her friends were gone, and the house felt too empty. Alanna paced the drawing room carpet and glanced outside from time to time. She was bored, that’s all it was. Liam used to entertain her in the evenings with his giant bubbles. Or they’d go to the gym and work out. She wasn’t used to such solitude.

The dog. She’d forgotten to take food to Prince. She went to the kitchen and rummaged in the fridge for leftovers. A container held the last of some roast chicken. Perfect. She carried it out the back door. A security light illuminated the garden and revealed the vast expanse of grass.

“Prince!” she called. She should have brought a torch. Did the dog even know his name? She heard a meow behind her. “Pussy,” she coaxed. “Here, pussy.” A tiny kitten approached her. She held out a morsel of food for it, and it nibbled from her fingers with sharp teeth. “You’re wet.”

The kitten was drenched as though it had been in the lagoon. It complained plaintively and accepted another bit of food. Alanna saw a movement from the end of the garage. “Prince?” She held out a piece of chicken in that direction. “Come get your supper.”