Fearless (Broken Love, #5)(77)

“I don’t remember, but I guess I had to since she died,” he snarled sarcastically and moved away from me like a skittish kitten.

I followed after him, refusing to back down. “Your father had a gun, too. He pulled the trigger because he didn’t think you could do it. You didn’t kill her. I know you didn’t and you know, too. You question that day. I know you do.”

He barked a short, dry laugh and clutched his hair. “He’s doing it. He’s fucking with me from the grave and he’s using your gullible ass to do it.”

I didn’t feel myself move or my fist as it connected with his jaw as hard as I could. His head jerked and he cursed before returning his enraged glare on me. My hand throbbed as I pulled it back.

“You’re not going to make this go away by trying to hurt me.”

“Why are you doing this?” He shook his head and hissed when he clenched his teeth.

“Because you deserve to know. You don’t have to accept it today or even tomorrow. The only living person who knows about your mother’s death now is you. You can either make sense of it or continue to suffer as you have, but I thought you should know.

And because I had nothing else to say, I retreated into the bathroom, locked the door, and slid down the length of it until my naked bottom touched the cold tile.

How would I ever be able to fix my broken love when he was still afraid of the dark?





Chapter TwentyEight


KEIRAN

SIXTEEN YEARS AGO



“You’ve already done this many times. What’s one more?”

The gun felt much too large for the hand I held it in. I’d only begun to practice with them before the life I knew changed drastically. It was loud, and my arm would always be sore after they made me shoot it. Each time I held one didn’t do anything to diminish the foreign and uncomfortable feelings.

The last time I used one was still fresh in my memories. It was the first time I’d ever used one on my own, and unfortunately, I remembered my training too well.

Lily was gone.

I blinked away the tears, afraid my father would mistake them for something else. I managed to keep it steadily trained on the woman who knelt in the corner. She was much too pretty for the tears streaming down her face. Her eyes were much too bright for the sadness it held. I knew she must have been afraid to die, but why didn’t she beg and plead for her life like everyone else?

“Gabriel, my sweet boy,” she whispered soothingly, finally finding her voice. Her voice held an unnatural quality to it, and her eyes wide when I entered had drooped. Her whole appearance just seemed to fade. “It’s okay, my little boy. Do it.”

Why was she telling me it would be okay? She was the one who would die. She must have thought I was someone else. Maybe she was looking for her son.

Suddenly, I wished she were my mom.

A strange, beautiful woman who I’d never met before but felt a connection to.

“Why are you calling me Gabriel?” I lowered the gun to study her. I couldn’t shake the familiar feelings and the feeling that hurting this woman would be a mistake.

I looked to my father for guidance. “Dad?”

“It doesn’t matter what the bitch calls you. Do you want your freedom, boy?”

“Yes.”

“Then kill her,” he sneered. He took my hand and lifted the gun again, pressing my finger on the trigger. All I had to do was squeeze a little more, but for some reason, I didn’t want her to die.

I shouldn’t do this.

I couldn’t do this.

“It’s okay, Gabriel.” She nodded her head weakly. The tears were endless as they fell from her eyes.

You’re not Gabriel. Just kill her. You’ll be free.

“I will always love you.”

What?

The gun went off.

The blast was loud, but I didn’t feel the pain in my arm. It reached far beyond the physical. I didn’t remember squeezing the trigger. I didn’t remember killing her, but there was one thing I would always remember hearing…

“Good job, son.” My father’s evil chuckled echoed behind me. “You just killed your mother.”



*



I sat in the corner of our bedroom and watched her chest rise and fall. The soft sound of contentment was music to my ears. My lips twitched when I remembered the day she made me stop accusing her of snoring.

She shifted in her sleep and my entire body tensed. When she rolled onto her back and settled into sleep once more, I felt my body relax. I didn’t want her to awaken and find me watching her.

She’d ask questions that I didn’t have the answers to.

I just couldn’t sleep. The nightmare of my mother’s murder—when I killed her—played over and over each time I tried. I would wake up in a cold sweat.

A long time ago, I welcomed the nightmares just so I could have a chance to see her face and hear her voice. Her pain and suffering were the only memory I had of her.

“You didn’t kill your mother.”

Now, I kept hearing Lake’s voice tell me over and over that I didn’t kill my mother. I had lashed out at her in what she thought was anger, but what she didn’t know was that it was real fear that made me push her away. It was fear that she was wrong, and Mitch had only planted the seed in my head to destroy her.