Page 28

Unfortunately, there’s only truth in one of her statements. Soon, yes, River’s memories of her parents will fade, but they won’t be gone forever.
Shaking her head, Alexandra suppresses her real anger under the appearance of being disgusted. “Oh my God, I can’t believe our sister was such a slut.” Do you notice the tension gathering her brows? What about the stiffness to her bony, too distinct collarbones? She’s resentful. “I especially can’t believe that Cullen agreed to her stupid plan? Did he know? Let me see the letter.”
I can tell you one thing for certain. The only reason Alexandra is upset is because once upon a time, she had a crush on Tiller. Who hasn’t? When we first met the Sawyer brothers back in grade school, Alexandra was in love with Tiller, but he never gave her much attention, if any, barely at all. It was me he tortured, and in a lot of ways, Ava he rescued.
I will say this. When most people meet the Sawyer brothers, they’re attracted to the playfulness of Shade and the gnarly storm behind Tiller’s eyes. And Roan, well, he’s a hard one to explain. For me, personally, he fits the big brother role, but I know girls find his sexy smile appealing. I know I did, at one time, though I’m always drawn back to Tiller. The one who plays with my heart yet still, I crave the sin of him.
She’s still staring at me, expecting I hand over the letter. It’s none of her business. If Ava wanted her to see it, she would have written it to the both of us. “No, I’m not letting you see my letter.” Pride hits my heart, a feeling I rarely have around her for standing up for myself. “And yes, Cullen knew. They couldn’t have kids so when Ava got pregnant from one night of indiscretion, Cullen agreed it was a blessing for them.” Once the words leave my lips, I have the sudden urge to take them back in fear this could all blow up in my face and knowing it will.
“Wow.” By her tart tone, the jerk of her head, she’s disgusted. No surprise there. “I thought Cullen had more class than to let his wife sleep with someone like Tiller.”
The words “someone like Tiller” rattle around in my head, mostly in my heart because she clearly doesn’t know him if she can label him like that. She has no idea what he’s actually capable of. I still remember the day I knew there was more to him than what meets the eye.
I was fourteen and ran away from home again. This time, it was three days before Christmas and I ran away with the intention of never going home. They were upset that I dyed my hair bright yellow right before a family picture. Fearing Ricky would call my parents, Tiller hid me in his closet overnight and slept on the floor with me in there so I wasn’t alone. That’s when we started talking about his mom, someone we never discussed because he never allowed the conversation to go there.
“Do you think about her?” I asked softly, resting my head on his lap.
“Who?” He knew who I was referring to but naturally, fearing the conversation, he deflected and began to fidget, curling strands of obnoxiously teenager rebelling yellow around his fingers.
“Your mom?”
He was silent for a long moment twirling and untwirling, unblinking and hesitating. Maybe he didn’t think of her like I did of my parents. Though mine were still alive, I thought how lucky he was to not have someone to disappoint. He had no obligations to prove anything like I did. Leaning his head back against the closet wall, I stared at his barely-there scruff visible by the candle he lit for light. It flickered, casting shadows on his chin.
“I don’t think of her,” he admitted. “At least not in a good way. I think of my dad, and I miss him, but not her.”
“What do you remember about her?”
“That she walked out on three kids one afternoon like we were nothing to her.” I watched his face closely, from my position on his lap, and then he looked at me. “A mother should love you enough. Enough to appreciate there’s more. Enough to fight for you even when you’re imperfect. Loving a child isn’t just a feeling, or something you should do. It’s a decision, a judgement, and promise. One she couldn’t give. I don’t know why she couldn’t, but I don’t think about it. I think about the promise she couldn’t make.”
Crying, tears rolled from the corners of my eyes and pooled in my ears. “I’m sorry,” I reached for his hand taking it in mine intertwining our fingers together. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
He didn’t reply.
Though I had an idea of the pain of never knowing that promise a mother should make, I had no idea how much living without my parents would feel. I just understood the feeling of them not caring enough.
“Thanks for letting me crash in your closet,” I told him after a good ten minutes of silence.
He shifted, smiling at me. “If you want to properly thank me, there’s something else you could do.”
“What?” I turned in his arms.
Lifting his hips, he grinded his crotch into my face.
I laughed, curling up in a ball away from him. “I am not putting that in my mouth, Tiller.”
He grabbed me, hauling me onto his lap and then made me straddle him. I could feel him there, hard, between my legs, but I didn’t know what to say, or do. And then he moved, pinned me to the floor of his closet.
Moving to his knees, he hovered over me, his hands on the sides of my hips at the waistband of my cotton shorts. I remember his eyes, so dark, full of feeling, skin warm as my hands slid to his chest, pushing back slightly. It was then I felt his racing pulse, his breathing just as heavy as mine.
“Are you okay?” I asked, sitting up to circle my hands around his neck.
His entire frame was shaking—arms, legs, and chest. “No.”
“What’s wrong?”
His movements were harsh, never remaining in one spot for long as he kissed me. My lips, my neck, my chest, and then moving back to my lips. With his grip tight, he was hard under his shorts, pushing against me sometimes but never taking the leap to actually take my clothes off.
“Tiller,” I whispered, kissing the side of his face when his hips moved again.