Ask Me Why(9)

Fuck, not now. I can’t let this happen in front of him.

But the memories don’t relent. Flashbacks pound into me, screaming and yelling. It’s too loud. There’s so much blood.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” His brash tone crashes through the rising panic. I slam to the present with a jolt.

Sharp pain shoots up my torso and I almost double over. I feel my chest rising and falling, far too fast. Fire licks at my face, and I flinch. Black spots speckle my vision. Dammit, I’m going to pass out. I stumble backwards in my haste to put more distance between us.

With shaky fingers, I yank at my hair. “I-I’ve got s-something to do. Show yourself out.”

The need to escape slithers through mem My skin prickles from the foul sensation. I turn away without another word.

“Where the hell are you going?” Brance booms from behind me. “I’m still talking to you.”

I don’t respond—I can’t. My body is physically wrung out. I’m practically sprinting toward the back corner. Locking myself away from everything is top priority. There I’ll suffer and agonize in peace—alone. Nothing else matters at this point, and it probably never will.

I slam the storage room door and sag against the unforgiving surface. My eyes are hot, tears already forming. The cinch around my ribs makes it hard to breathe. Shit, I’m a disaster. My shallow panting echoes across the dark space and doom settles around me.

Will I ever recover?





Brance



Stroll



The mid-morning sun streaks through the leafy branches overhead. Shadows splotch the sidewalk, mixing with a few scattered puddles. Ollie is bouncing in his sneakers beside me. His little hand is firmly clasped in mine while we amble along the wooded path. He tugs on my arm, silently begging me to speed up. When that doesn’t work, he stomps his foot and halts abruptly.

“Daddy,” Ollie whines.

I chuckle and smile down at him. “Is there something wrong?”

His bottom lip sticks out in an award-winning pout. “All the good swings are gonna be taken. We need to hurry.”

My shoulders shake as I laugh harder. I seal my lips to avoid spilling some harsh truths. What I wouldn’t give to be a child again, my biggest worry being picked first for kickball. But I’m not so lucky. Adulting can kiss my ass.

“We’re almost there, buddy. It’s still early. There’s plenty of stuff you can play on.”

“But I love the red swing best. What if someone’s using it?”

I comb through his messy hair. “Then you’ll wait until they’re done. The green seat is just as good.”

Ollie shakes his head wildly. “Is not.”

I take a deep breath, fully aware this conversation will not end in my favor. “Okay, okay. You’re right. I promise you’ll get plenty of turns on the red swing.”

“And then we’ll go to Miss Braelyn’s store for candy?”

Her name is enough to make my muscles twitch. “We’re nowhere near that place.”

“But it’s not far away. We got there super fast last night.” His tone raises an octave. Ollie’s breezy explanation isn’t swaying me in the slightest.

I squint at him. “Your concept of time is a tad skewed.”

A furrow forms between his brows. “Huh?”

“Never mind.”

“Does that mean we’re going to Thicket?”

“No.”

His nose wrinkles. “Why not?”

“Just because.”

“You’re not giving a good reason.”

When did my son become so well versed in the art of communication? The tether holding my patience together stretches taut. “I have to choose just one? That’s pushing it. The options are endless,” I mutter.

“Why, Daddy? It’s really fun there! She has toys and games and pretty pictures.”

There’re so many things I could say in this moment, none of them good. I settle for a simple excuse. “We were just there yesterday.”

“So?” His round eyes bore into me, searching for answers I won’t give.

I try the easy way again. “There’s no reason to go back this soon.”

“I’ll just run in and grab some taffy super quick.”

I cross my arms. “That woman will distract you with her”—I swallow a curse—“chatter.”

“Miss Braelyn? I like when she talks to me.” His smile is wide and bright.

“Of course you do,” I scoff. My son is so naive. He’ll learn soon enough how conniving the female race is.

“Is that a yes?”

“Definitely not.”

“But—”

“No,” I snap.

Ollie looks down, blinking fast. My stomach bottoms out, and I want to kick myself in the nuts. Fuck, I’m an asshole.

I rub his shoulder. “Hey, hey. I’m sorry for yelling, buddy.”

His lashes are damp when he looks at me. “Why don’t you like Miss Braelyn?”

My son has always been perceptive. I’ve never minded more than in this moment. “Not sure what you mean,” I deflect.

“You used the angry voice with her, like you just did with me.” His somber tone is a straight shot to my black heart.