Show Me the Way (Fight for Me #1)(85)

“She’s . . .” I struggled to find the explanation, choking over the revulsion at even having to say it. “She’s Frankie’s mom.”

A moan slipped from my tongue.

“Oh God, Rynna . . . sweetheart . . . shit. I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t believe it,” I whispered.

Rex. The man I’d lost myself to.

She’d belonged to him. I couldn’t stomach it. The picture of her touching him. Of him touching her.

Sickness spun.

Spun and spun and spun.

Riding an agitator that fully wrung me out.

“Does he know?”

Grief constricted my chest. “No.” It was a wheeze. “I finally told him last night what’d happened. But he has no idea it was her.”

That was when I hadn’t thought it would matter. When the name and face meant absolutely nothing because the only thing remaining had been the scars.

Those scars had been ripped wide open.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. She’s . . . she’s over there now, and I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m supposed to do. She’s her mother.”

It dropped from me like a stone.

Sorrow.

Dejection.

Regret.

Janel was Frankie Leigh’s mother. That was a fact I couldn’t change. One I couldn’t stand in the way of, no matter how much I loved that little girl.

“Ryn, I’m so sorry. Tell me what to do. How can I make this better?”

“I don’t think there’s anything you can do.”

“I can’t stand the idea of you clear across the country hurting and no one there to feed you gallons of ice cream.”

I choked out a soggy laugh. “I wish you were here, too.”

“If you need me, you know I’m on the first plane. You say the word, and I’m there.”

“I know, thank you.”

“Just . . . hold tight, Ryn. He’s probably as shocked as you are. See what comes of it. What he has to say.”

I nodded. It was the only rational thing I could do.

Wait.

And I thought the waiting just might kill me.



Three hours later, I was at the diner. It turned out I couldn’t wait. Couldn’t sit idle while Janel was directly across the street with Rex and Frankie. Not when I couldn’t see through the walls or hear what they were saying.

Torture. I couldn’t find another word to describe the turmoil that seethed within. Pulling and ripping and grinding. It felt as if I were being torn apart, rended by white-hot agony.

So, I went to the one place I would find solace. I stood holding a sledgehammer in my hands, blinking into the dimness of the old restaurant as if I had any clue what to do with it.

As if I could make a difference.

A thick coat of dust had settled on the floor, and plastic sheets covered the booths that had been moved against one wall, waiting for the contractor who’d been hired to reupholster them. The old tabletops ripped out, the empty spaces waiting for new tables to be delivered.

It was amazing what Rex’s men had already accomplished.

It seemed almost a dream now. The excitement and hope I’d felt the last time I’d been in this very spot just a couple of days ago, envisioning its completion. The day I would finally be able to turn on the neon open sign I’d ordered. When customers would begin to pile in, eager for a taste of my grandmother’s legacy that would become my own.

It shivered around me, a haunting reminder that these walls still held their secrets. My past an echo that had hit its end and came bounding right back.

I turned toward the old counter, hands fisting around the wooden handle. At least it gave me something to hold on to.

I froze when awareness struck me from behind.

The door slowly creaked open. It was instant, the way the air thickened and the tension pulsed.

It slammed the walls. Amplifying. Lifting. Increasing. Pulling and pulling and pulling.

Gravity.

I swore I could feel his wary footsteps tremor across the floor and climb my legs. That connection streaking free. Though this time in a frenzy.

Slowly, I released the sledgehammer to the ground, turned around. The man had the power to reach right out and pluck the breath from me. My lungs heaved at the sight of him, and I whispered, “Rex.”

“Rynna.” He shifted on his feet, an agitated hand jerking at the longer pieces of his hair. He looked at the floor as if it might hold an answer, his tone low, laden with guilt. “God, Rynna . . . never in a million years would I have expected what we woke up to this morning. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Lightheadedness spun, and I gulped for air, trying to focus. To see straight. To focus on what was most important. “Where’s Frankie?”

He swallowed when he met my eye. “Took her to my mom’s. Didn’t want her in the middle of this. Not when I don’t have the first clue what the fuck I’m supposed to do.”

“What does she want?” The question broke in desperation.

What do you want?

I wanted to ask it, but I was terrified. Terrified of the answer. Terrified of how this man made me feel. How he’d consumed me entirely. Everything that was mine, his.

My body.

My heart.

My mind.