Own the Wind (Chaos, #1)(56)

He turned back to his beer and threw back a slug. I lifted mine and sipped.

When I put it back to the bar, I asked carefully, “I’m glad you’re sharing but, sorry, darlin’, I don’t understand why you’re sharin’ particularly this, Shy.”

“Lan and me had no clue,” he continued, looking at his beer, and I knew he had to get his story out without interruption. “Came outta the blue. They were the kind of parents that hid any bad shit. They didn’t yell at each other in front of us. They didn’t even shout at each other in their room when we were in bed, or at least if they did, we didn’t hear it. He was, Dad was, f*ck, I was a little kid and I knew he was into her. Always kissin’ her, her mouth, cheek, neck, shoulder. Touchin’ her ass, her waist. They walked, he had his hand on her back or his arm around her or he held her hand. She walked through the livin’ room, he’d grab her and pull her into his lap. They laughed a lot. Gave each other looks a lot. We’d go to bed, they weren’t camped in front of the TV, but sittin’ at the bar in the kitchen, sittin’ close, talkin’. Not about heavy shit, air wasn’t like that around them. Not ever, that I can remember. They just got off on talkin’ to each other. It was f*ckin’ cool. I loved that shit. Made the house feel safe. So I had no clue why she’d need time from Dad.”

“Obviously she went back,” I prompted when he stopped to take another tug off his.

He stopped hunching over the bar, straightened and turned to me.

“Yeah. She went back,” he confirmed.

“So that’s good,” I noted stupidly.

“Heard her talkin’ to Grams.”

Uh-oh again.

“Yeah?” I asked.

“To this day, I thought it was stupid shit. He wasn’t steppin’ out on her, gamblin’, drinkin’, takin’ his hand to her, hidin’ money from her. And since they died, I always had this pit, this poison pit in my gut ’cause we were at Grams’s for three weeks. She lost three weeks of Dad just two years before they both bit it and, f*ck, the reason why was so goddamned stupid.”

“Okay,” I said when he stopped again.

“What it was, I get now, was woman shit. As stupid as it was to me, it was not to her. It drove her from him. It meant somethin’ to her. Enough to put all that good they had in jeopardy. So it actually wasn’t stupid. It was serious as shit.”

I wrapped my hand around his thigh and gave it a squeeze, guessing, “And you were reminded of that when you saw Rosalie and it was so obvious that she, uh… wasn’t good about what went down with you two, and you’re thinking you misjudged the situation?”

“Yeah,” he bit off. “She looked exactly like she looked a month ago when I broke it off. No healing. Nothin’. Same pain. Same hurt. She hadn’t moved on at all so, yeah, Tab, I misjudged the situation.”

“That sucks, darlin’, but there’s nothing you can do about it now. She’ll move on. It just may take more time than you would imagine.”

“Yep,” he murmured, turned to his beer, sucked back the dregs then caught the bartender’s attention and jerked up his chin to order another. He looked back at me. “So, when you figure it out, and you’ll figure it out ’cause I know you haven’t yet and I’m about to lay it on you so you will, after that shit went down with Mom, after seein’ Rosalie, I got a bad feelin’ the pain is gonna stick with you and drive you away from me.”

How did we get here?

No, strike that, what on earth was he talking about?

“Shy, I don’t—”

“You blamed his ass and I shoulda come clean about it then. I didn’t. I’m comin’ clean about it now.”

I tipped my head to the side, confused.

“Blamed who about what?”

“That guy,” he stated.

“That guy? What guy?”

“Your dead guy.”

Something struck me then and it hit me like a sledgehammer.

He never called Jason by his name. He was never mean about him, never cast aspersions, was totally cool when I talked about him and when he guided me through my grief or wayward thoughts.

But he never, not once, said Jason’s name.

I felt my stomach knot.

“Shy, I’m not understanding where you’re leading me,” I said quietly.

“You said that you were back to you, I led you there, you weren’t you with him or before. You weren’t you for a long time. And you gave me credit for helpin’ bring you back to you without cottoning onto the fact I was the one who took you from you in the first place.”

I blinked and asked, “What?”

“That shit, Tab, that went down with us four years ago when I acted like a dick and did and said serious-as-f*ck stupid shit that drove you away from me? You changed after that. I did that to you and I don’t want that shit to come back up, you to figure it out and—”

I got it then.

“I’m not leaving you, Shy,” I cut him off to say firmly, giving his thigh a firm squeeze.

“Shit festers, Tab, and—”

“Shut up,” I ordered and his head gave a slight jerk.

I ignored that and kept going.

“Shy, I was nineteen. I had no idea who I was. I still haven’t discovered all of me. You didn’t see it but between that time and when you came back in my life, I went through a whole load of phases. Music. Friends. Places I’d hang. Clothes I’d wear. I don’t know why I did it.” I grinned at him. “I do know it was fun.”