Within These Walls (The Walls Duet #1)(87)

“Because I was angry. Dad got sick. You weren’t here, and Mom—well, she couldn’t handle it all. I was suddenly everything to everyone.” He let out a choked laugh. “Cruel joke, right? The goof-off, the one everyone turns to for entertainment, was suddenly in charge of everything. They all wanted you, and all I wanted to do was prove to them just how wrong they were about me.

“When you called and said you were coming home, I thought my prayers had been answered. Finally, I could step back and be what I was supposed to be. But you know what? Those three years changed me. I can’t leave now, and I can’t stop caring about this company and the family that’s woven around it.”

I looked up at my brother as he came to a stop in the middle of the room. We looked alike in so many ways, yet we were so different.

“You can’t limit yourself to only caring for us, Roman. Eventually, you’re going to have to broaden your horizons and take in a few extras along the way.”

He ignored my words, his eyes blazing. “What did you need the money for, Jude?”

I gave an exasperated sigh. “You know that day I went to go see Mom and Dad when I first came home? Do you know what Dad said to me when I saw him?”

He shook his head. “Probably, who the hell are you? He hasn’t recognized me in over a year.”

“No,” I answered. “His eyes widened in instant recognition as I entered, and his lips puckered as he tried to find the words. Seeing him like that, so frail-looking after the many years I’d looked up to him as such a formidable man, was terrifying. It was like watching a god fall to the earth and become a mere human. It didn’t seem real.”

“I know,” he answered.

“When he finally found the words, tears wet his cheeks, and he said to me, ‘I’m so sorry, son. It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault.’ He kept repeating that phrase until the nurse had to settle him down with drugs.”

“What was his fault?” Roman asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“The accident. He sent us to California. I never came home. Mom said after he got over being angry at me for refusing to return, he fell into a deep depression, and that’s when the dementia set in. He’d talk to me when I wasn’t there, apologizing for everything.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” he said softly, his head moving back and forth.

“I know that,” I answered. “But he didn’t. And because of the selfish decisions I made after that accident, because I stayed, I changed so many lives. This is me trying to make it right.”

He walked to the door before turning back around. “You know, it wasn’t your fault either. It’s time you stop punishing yourself.”

“Love is never a punishment,” I answered.





“DO YOU HAVE it on yet?” Grace hollered from the other side of the door.

“Almost! Hold on. The zipper is caught.” I bent down, trying to squeeze and pull the fabric tight to allow the zipper to move up the track. “I swear, I’ve gotten fatter since my last fitting,” I lamented. I took a deep breath in, and the tiny teeth came together to close off my oxygen supply.

“Oh, stop it. You have not. And even if you did, who cares? The extra bit of weight you’ve gained because of the anti-rejection drugs have done amazing things to your figure. I wish I could gain a few pounds and turn into a sex goddess.”

I snorted, smoothing the fabric down around my waist. “Sex goddess? I think you’re delusional.”

Without bothering to look at my reflection, I opened the door of the dressing room and stopped. Two sets of eyes widened as they took me in.

“Lailah, you look beautiful,” my mother said, blotting tears from her eyes.

“I was going to go with hot. You look hot.” Grace laughed.

Walking the short distance to the center of the room, I took a step, stood on the wide carpeted platform, and finally looked at my reflection in the mirror.

“You really had to choose pink, didn’t you?” I smiled.

Grace ran up to me, squealing. “It’s perfect! And yes, I had to choose pink. It’s the best color ever. You look amazing in it. You can’t argue with that.”

The dress was actually beautiful, but I had to give her a hard time. Any girl who themes her wedding Sophisticated Princess deserves a bit of hassling. The sweetheart neckline and high waistline gave way to a flowing blush-colored skirt that reminded me of the silk scarves my mother always loved to wear. It ebbed and flowed as I walked and—well, yeah, it made me feel kind of like a princess.

“I’m just glad you chose subtle over something in the cotton-candy spectrum of the color wheel.”

“I did say, Sophisticated Princess, not Barbie Gets Married.”

I laughed as she started playing with my long blonde hair, throwing out ideas on what we could do with it.

“Do you want it up or down?”

Looking at my reflection, I took a deep breath. The neckline of this dress left nothing to the imagination when it came to the scars of my past. The pink line that bisected my chest was now darker from the recent surgery, and it stood out prominently against the pink fabric. Having my hair down around my shoulders would take the attention away from it.

“Up,” I said, knowing I had to face my fears one at a time.