Released (Caged #3)(76)

She took a partial step forward—nervous and hesitant. I didn’t move. I was immobilized by what was happening—the house, the smells coming from it, and my mother coming closer to me. There were too many emotions inside of me fighting to claw their way to the surface, and I just couldn’t move.

She stood right in front of me, and she moved her hands to my shoulders. Then her palms rested on the side of my face for a second before she wrapped her arms around my neck and held me to her.

Part of me wanted to push her away, to make her pay for all the suffering of the past, but I couldn’t. I’d spent so much time rejecting her, the reaction was as natural as breathing.

No, not as natural as breathing—as natural as punching. As natural as lashing out. As natural as taking out all my frustrations on another person’s face.

All of a sudden, I knew.

It wasn’t just her. It wasn’t just him.

Some of it was me, and I was going to have to take responsibility for it.

For me and my actions.

I had to do it.

It was the only way to bury the past and move forward with my life.

With Tria.

With our baby.

“I’m sorry!” I cried out as I encircled her with my arms. I held her so tightly I heard her gasp before I loosened my grip and tried to be more careful.

“I’m sorry, too, Liam,” she said. “I’m so sorry for all of it. I never meant…we never meant for any of this to happen…never wanted you hurt…”

“I didn’t know, and I wasn’t thinking…I was just stupid, and I didn’t know what to do…”

“I know, Liam…son…I know…I’m so sorry…”

“Mom…”

“My son…”

Time evaporated. We stood in the doorway right about an eon, and then shifted to the little sitting bench in the foyer where I used to take off my snow boots. We moved to the couch in the living room at one point, still just holding on to each other, barely talking and trying to remember who we once were.

Dad came home at six o’clock, just like he always had when I was growing up. He must have already known I was there because he started looking around as soon as he walked in the door and then tentatively approached us.

His eyes were wary as they watched me, and my own nervousness tried to take over.

“I need to go,” I mumbled. “Tria will be wondering where I am.”

“Damon called her right before he called me,” Douglass said. “He told her where you were.”

“Well…um…” My tongue lost its ability to form syllables as my excuses evaporated. I looked back at Mom, who offered me a half smile.

“Would you stay for dinner?” she asked. “We could call Tria—have her picked up to join us.”

“I…I don’t know,” I admitted. “This is…a little much.”

Dad nodded though Mom still looked disappointed.

“Will you join us at Michael’s on Sunday?” Dad asked. “It would…well, it would really mean a lot to me…to all of us.”

For a long moment, I just stared at him, not knowing how I should answer.

“Please?” Mom’s soft voice echoed through my ears.

My eyes danced from one parent to the other, and my heart started beating faster. I had simply had enough and couldn’t take any more for one day. There was only one way to get myself out of here without further inquiries, discussions, tears, and apologies.

Okay,” I said quietly, “I’ll be there.”

*****

“I don’t have anything to wear,” Tria announced.

“You have a ton of clothes,” I told her.

“None of them fit!”

“They fit last week!”

“What are you saying?” she snapped back.

I mumbled something too low for anyone to hear or understand—myself included—and quickly hid in the bathroom.

Tria was less than a month away from her due date and just sick to death of being pregnant. I mentioned that there were only a few weeks left, thinking she would feel better, and I just about lost a limb. I won’t even mention what happened when I suggested she be a pumpkin for Halloween. For the most part, I was now afraid to say anything, but we were already late to Michael’s Sunday dinner.

I peed, splashed cold water on my face, and tiptoed back toward the bedroom. Tria was sitting on the edge of the bed with a dress in her hand and tears running down her face.

My chest hurt just seeing her like that.

Walking over quietly, I knelt down in front of her and took her hands in mine. I rubbed the edged of her thumbs as she gripped the material of the dress.

“What’s wrong, babe?”

“I hate this,” she whispered. “I’m tired of feeling like this, and you’ve got to be sick to death of me.”

She sniffed, and I reached up to wipe away tears.

“I’m not,” I said. “You’re pissy, and you have every reason to be. I did this to you, so of course you’re going to take it out on me.”

Shit—shouldn’t have said it like that.

Tria glanced at me but then looked down at our hands again. She twisted our fingers around each other and sighed heavily, so I must not have made too big of a verbal blunder. At least, it wasn’t bad enough that she was going to smack me or anything.