Midnight Lily(68)

"Lily, Lily," Ryan crooned. "Sweet Lily, I'm so sorry." I buried my face in his chest, my heart rate increasing, my breath coming out in short bursts as the scene played out behind my eyes.

"There was so much blood," I gasped against his T-shirt. "I'd never seen so much blood. That was the first time I just . . . went away. I just—" I sucked in a deep pull of air.

"I know," Ryan said. "I know." Yes, he did know. Yes, he did. I burrowed deeper into his chest, focusing on the steady rhythm of his heart, the comforting, masculine scent of him. He rubbed my back, murmuring calming words in my ear, soothing me as if he knew just what to do, as if he'd done it a hundred times before. My heart rate lowered, becoming steady and even again. I finally leaned back up and gazed into his face. His expression was filled with so much gentleness and understanding and a raw pain I'd never seen there before, not even when he'd told me about Holden.

"I didn't know my father. Truly, my mother hadn't known him either. She met him one weekend when she was on a girls’ trip in New York City. She’d spent the night with him and then the next morning she found the wedding ring he'd hidden in the nightstand drawer. She found out a month later she was pregnant with me. The doctors say that sometimes these things run in families, but I'll never know as far as that side goes."

Ryan smoothed a piece of hair back that had fallen across my cheek. "Would knowing help, though? I think about that sometimes, too. My mother died when I was just a baby, and I don't know a lot about her side of the family either. Truthfully, I don't know a lot about my father's side of the family, other than most of them are drunks or wastrels." He sighed. "I just don't know what difference it would make."

I gave him a slight smile. "It might feel better to be able to blame someone."

Ryan let out a small laugh on a breath. "Let's blame them, then. They can't do anything about it."

I laughed a small laugh. "Okay."

Ryan's gaze moved over my face. "She didn't die that day, though. She survived."

"My mother? Yes, she survived. Sometimes I wondered if she wished she hadn't. But, . . . yes. She'd been beautiful before and then suddenly, one side of her face was so terribly scarred, ravaged really. Before . . . she'd loved to go out—she was always planning things for us, vacations, day trips, plays, shopping. After that, she never went out anymore. We went to live with my grandparents on their estate, and she became a shut-in. And she didn't want me to go out either. She became afraid of the world, afraid something awful would happen to me. I was put into the hospital for a while." I shook my head. "I wouldn't accept that we'd been attacked, was living in one of my dream worlds." I bit at my lip for a moment. "After that, I was more than happy to stay inside with her where it was safe. I was afraid of the world, too. She took me out of school, hired private tutors. For years, we just . . . clung to each other."

"But you grew brave, didn't you? You wanted more than the small world your mother had created for you."

I nodded, feeling the familiar guilt claw at my throat. "Yes," I whispered raggedly. "I wanted more. We fought. We fought a lot back then."

"That's normal, Lily. What you were feeling was normal."

"I know . . . logically, I do know."

"It doesn't make it easier, though."

"No, it doesn't."

"Did your mother end up giving you more freedom?"

I shook my head. "I got sick again. That time it wasn't even for any particular reason." I frowned. "In any case, by that time my grandfather, who was big in the real estate industry, had purchased Whittington."

"You were sent to Whittington?" Ryan breathed.

I nodded. "At that time, only one wing was open. It looked different than it does now. The garden was still beautiful. The open wing was clean, and there were only a very few patients being cared for. My grandparents believed I'd get more personal care there than I would anywhere else."

Ryan sat back on the couch, looking surprised. "Wow, Lily."

I nodded. "I know. I can't remember much of what happened while I was there. They kept me highly medicated. It's all so bleary." I furrowed my brow. "But I wasn't there very long. I did get better, and I went home. And soon after, my mother died. An aneurism. Such a freak thing."

"Oh no, God, Lily. Baby, I'm so sorry."

"It sent me somewhere else again." I took a long, shuddery breath. "And back to Whittington I went."

"Oh, Jesus."

I nodded, recalling how cold it'd been there, how the lights were always too bright, the noises too loud. "Again, I wasn't there for very long . . . I went home. But I couldn't cope. Couldn't cope with the loss of my mother, with living in the world without her. Maybe I wasn't ready. I don't know."

"Lily, you'd never been given a chance to grieve. Did your grandparents help you with that? Did anyone help you with that?"

No, no one had. "No, they wouldn't talk about her. I think they thought mentioning her name would drive me into a psychotic break. And maybe they were even right, but," I sucked in a breath, "not to talk about her, to just pretend she'd never existed, when she had been my whole world. My everything. It was . . . unbearable. God, Ryan, it hurt so much." I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. It still did. She was the only person who knew the horrific images I'd seen. She was the only person who knew the crushing helplessness I'd felt that night. I missed her so desperately.