Reckless (Thoughtless, #3)(127)
Squeezing his hand, I firmly told him, “We’ll find them.”
We were running out of time, so we hastily began our search for the needle in this gloomy haystack. We started systematically going down the rows. We walked down separate aisles, two or three rows apart from each other, so we could cover as much ground as possible. We finished the first lot in thirty minutes with no luck. I glanced at the cabbie reading a book in his dry car, wondering how much this trip was going to cost us in fares. But, much like the limo for my bachelorette party, this was one expense that Kellan would gladly pay for.
Shivering and teeth chattering, we made our way toward the second half of the cemetery. This section was at least twice the size of the other side; I felt fatigued just looking at it. But we had no choice but to keep searching, so we did. With the names John and Susan Kyle blazing through my mind, I scoured the markers of the graves before me. So many people were buried here, each with their own stories, their own loves, joys, and heartaches. It was overwhelming to think about how many lives each person here had touched, in good ways, and in some cases, bad ways.
I was so focused on finding the names of Kellan’s parents that the letters almost escaped me when I did eventually see them. John and Susan Kyle: Beloved Friends, Family, and Parents. I stared at the black marble in shock. I’d found them. I’d actually found them. From the corner of my eye, I saw Kellan a few rows in front of me, still searching. The flowers in his hand were a sodden mess.
I tried to speak above the rain, but my voice felt hollow. “Kellan.”
He heard me and swung his head my way. His eyes lowered to take in the dual headstone at my feet. I watched him inhale a calming breath, then step toward me. It could have been the cold, but he was trembling when he reached my side. He stared at the grave with blank eyes. Without a word, he squatted before them. He brushed his fingers over his mother’s name, then his father’s. Then he placed his hand on the wet grass right in front of their gravestone and closed his eyes.
Even though the rain was pouring around us, spilling down his cheeks, I saw the telltale tracks of tears leaking from his eyes. I placed my hand on his shoulder in silent support. When Kellan opened his eyes, they were watery, and I had to force down the knot in my throat. How long would these people continue to hurt him? Tenderly, lovingly, Kellan placed a bouquet of flowers under each name. The significance broke my heart. After everything they’d done to him, every hurtful word, every brutal attack, after making him feel unworthy of any sort of affection . . . he still loved them. I’d thought “Beloved Parents” was a strange sentiment to have on their headstone, but maybe it wasn’t. Right or wrong, deserving or undeserving, their son had loved them.
In a voice almost drowned out by the rain, Kellan said his goodbye to them. “I’m sorry I wasn’t what you wanted, what you needed.” His eyes drifted to his mother’s name. “I’m sorry I ruined everything for you.” They shifted to his father’s. “For both of you.” He exhaled a shaky breath, raindrops exploding from his lips. “I wish things had been different for us, but . . . wishing doesn’t change anything. So, I just wanted to say goodbye . . . and—” He swallowed; his face held so much pain, it took everything inside me to not start sobbing. “I love you both.”
When Kellan finally stood, he sniffed and his jaw quivered. I wrapped my arms around his waist, comforting him as best I could while swallowing back my tears. He held me close, his eyes still on his parents. After another moment of silence, he asked, “Do you think they would be proud of me? Even just a little?”
His voice broke, and I squeezed him tighter. I considered breaking our all-honesty pact and lying to him, because how could I possibly tell him what I really thought about his * parents? But I didn’t. Instead, I told him, “I don’t know . . . but I am so proud of you. For everything you’ve done, for what you just did.”
I couldn’t stop the tears then as sympathy for him overwhelmed me. Seeing me fall apart made him fall apart. He nodded, trying to keep it together, but then his fingers went to his eyes, and a small sob escaped him. I drew his head down to my shoulder, and he clutched me tight. Burying his face in my neck, he cried—cried for what he’d endured, for what he’d lost, and for what he’d never had.
When we were both emotionally spent, Kellan rested his head against mine. The rain had eased along with Kellan’s tears, and only a light drizzle was falling on us now. “I love you, Kiera . . . so much.”
I brought my lips up to his, tasting his tears along with the rain. There was a peaceful solemnity around us as we kissed—no birds chirping in the sky, no cars driving by, just the light splashing of rain falling from sodden leaves that could no longer hold the weight. The silence was cathartic.
An unnatural flash of light got my attention. I thought it was the sun finally showing itself, maybe glinting off the metallic foil of a nearby bouquet, but there was a familiar whirring and clicking sound that went with this odd ray of light. Breaking apart, Kellan and I simultaneously looked over to see a man near a clump of trees taking our picture. Some ambitious paparazzi must have followed our cab out here, hoping to get the money shot. And he had. That photograph of Kellan kissing me in the rain would go for thousands, I was sure.
Kellan’s face twisted into irritated disbelief. “You have got to be kidding me.”
My compassion for Kellan’s pain mixed with my feeling of isolated frustration. The combination shifted and morphed into a blazing inferno of anger. I was so done with all of this pseudo-drama. The Kell-Sex supporters, the media, and Nick and Sienna could kiss my ass! And so could this man who was interrupting a very private moment.