Brady Remington Landed Me in Jail(53)

"I can see Rayna if I want," Brady argued though he wouldn't look up.

My grandmother shook her head. Her hair strands flew around with the jalapeno potholders in the air. She choked out, "I can't. I can't risk it. I'm sorry, Brady. I love you like my own grandson. I do, but I have to think of Rayna first. This is detrimental to her."

"What? The sex? Are you for real?" The fury was right there, just swimming under his control. He took a step closer. "Rayna's going to be with another guy then. She's going to have sex, but he won't care for her like me. He won't be the guy for her that I can be!"

Everything seemed to slam against me. I felt myself hurled back into reality and it hurt. I whispered out, "How dare you stand there and say those things."

Viola cried out, "I'm sorry, baby. I am, but I can't…"

My eyes were glued on Brady. "You just sat on my bed and talked about our 'friendship.' You just tried to hide from me, hide from what we've become, and now when you're faced with losing it, you do this? Look at you. What are you going to do? Punch my grandmother? Because she said we couldn't be together when you're the one who was going to tell me the same thing?"

"Oh." Viola hustled back a step.

Brady faced me squarely. A storm of emotions flew across his face, but I saw the last one. Regret.

"Tell me you weren't going to say that. Tell me I'm wrong. You're not fighting against something that you were going to do anyway."

"Rayna," he started.

"Tell me!"

He broke, "I can't. I just…"

"You are such a hypocrite!" I screamed and then I grabbed the first thing I saw. I threw my pillow at him. When it bounced off him and he didn't deflect it, I threw the other one. Then I threw my blankets, a book, and I caught the frame in my hand. I reared back, ready to throw it, but stopped myself. I stopped with my chest heaving and stared at it in my hand.

He allowed me to breathe that day and now it was all gone.

When I looked up, I didn't care what Brady saw in my eyes. My heart was broken. "Get out. Get out. Get out!"

"Rayna, come on…"

"Out!" I screamed again and this time I chucked the picture frame at him. He ducked and it shattered against the door.

I fell on the bed. The pain was so strong. I didn't notice when Brady left until I finally looked up and only saw my grandmother. She held a hand to her chest and watched me in concern. I could barely stomach her concern, not now, not after everything she'd lied to me about.

It was then that I asked, "So is Frank Stephens my father…or Brady's?"

I sat there for a full minute; of course it was probably only a few seconds, but it felt like an hour. My grandmother stared aghast while I sat there, tear drenched. I felt like I was facing death. The idea of Brady and me being kin…or more…I shuddered and clamped my hands closed.

It was the only thing that made sense.

"Whose father is he because with the way you're acting, he's got to be one of our dads. So who is it?" I sounded firm, but my insides were turning inside and out. When I felt vomit come up my throat, I closed my eyes tightly and forced it back down. I couldn't go there…I couldn't deal with that….not knowing…

Finally I heard, "He's Brady's."

She whimpered like she was ashamed. I was disgusted and I turned away.

I took a breath.

"And me? Who's my father?" I'd never been told. I barely even knew my mother and I'd never asked. I wanted to know, but if it meant what I feared it meant I knew no amount of vomiting could empty my insides. I loved Brady. I loved him so much and if those words that she might utter passed through her lips…. I sat there paralyzed. They were the hardest words I've ever had to wait for.

Viola whispered, "I don't know who your father is."

"Explain." I didn't blink. I didn't ponder. I needed to know.

"Your mother was one of the most devout girls I've ever known. I was almost ashamed."

I shot to my feet and exclaimed, "I don't want to hear this! I want to hear who my father is!"

"I'm trying to tell you. I have to explain, Rayna. I've got to explain it all or it won't make any sense."

The need sat on me as if it was a separate entity.

Viola kept going, painfully, "You know I'm not no religion nut. Neither is your granddad, but he believes. I don't know what I did right, or maybe what I did wrong, but your momma grew up going to church. She wanted it. She asked every Sunday to go there. We went, but when she could drive, she drove herself. That was how it was."

She took a breath.

"I have never claimed to be the best mother. Ever. But with your mother…she was a lot like you. I felt like she raised me. I don't know what genes you girls got, but what's done is done. She ain't anything like me. She grew up going to church. She planned for the future. Leann liked bake sales. I have no idea why and then…" She drew in a quaking breath. "He came along. He was young. He was good looking. He was rich. He was on the rise."

"Frank Stephens?" There was nothing in me when I said his name, my possible father. I almost loathed him.

Viola nodded. "When Frank first hit the scene, he was dashing. I'll admit. He had a charisma about him. And he was funny. He could charm anyone. I was a bit taken with him myself, but that's all an old lady does. She looks at what might've been without a few years attached, but it don't matter. It all changed when he met Leann. Of course, he was married by then. Newly married, but he wasn't the marrying sorts. Everyone knew it."