Page 166 of Boss of Me

Ember shakes her head slowly, her face ashen. “All these years . . . you let us think you gave them to charity.”

Mom nods and closes her eyes, her voice hoarse. “I was so hurt and angry. Your father was my best friend. My whole damn world. We were supposed to grow old and gray together. He was supposed to walk both of you down the aisle someday.” Her lower lip trembles, her voice rising in pitch as she asserts, “I’ll never forgive myself for arguing with him the day he died. And I’ll never forgivehimfor leaving me to raise our beautiful girls alone!”

Overwhelmed by her heartbreaking revelations, I burst into tears. It sets off a chain reaction, and soon we’re all crying.

When Mom sits next to me and pulls me into a fierce hug, I blubber tearfully against her shoulder, “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to know,” she sobs brokenly. “I knew you’d blame yourself, and I couldn’t saddle you with such a heavyburden. What happened to your father wasn’t your fault, and don’t you ever believe otherwise!”

I weep harder. We both do.

I’m remembering that awful day eleven years ago. I remember standing at my father’s gravesite, sobbing desperately as I watched his coffin being lowered into the cold ground. The finality of it hit me hard. Suddenly I understood that I would never see him again. I’d never receive one of his crinkly-eyed smiles or feel the reassuring warmth of his hug. I’d never watch another Steelers game or attend another concert with him. I’d never hear the melodious notes wafting from his piano when I ran through the front door after school.

The realization that he was gone forever was unspeakably painful. Seeking comfort and connection, I’d reached for my mother’s hand only to be rebuffed when she snatched herself away from me.

So much of the past makes sense now. If only I’d put the puzzle pieces together much sooner. But how could I when my mother was keeping so many secrets?

I don’t know how long we hold each other before she draws back and strokes my face with a tenderness I’ve never felt from her before.

“I’m so sorry I let my grief and resentment poison our relationship. I never should have discouraged you from pursuing a music career. I didn’t want to be reminded of your father, and that was horribly selfish of me.” She wipes the wetness off my cheeks and holds my face between her hands, our foreheads touching. “I know the hurt and damage I’ve caused can’t be repaired overnight. But I hope one day you can forgive me.”

I swallow tightly, my eyes closing as she gently kisses the top of my head. My throat is raw and my chest aches from sobbing so hard. It hurts like hell knowing that my poor father was in so much pain and never uttered a word of complaint. He satat the piano with me, teaching me songs, laughing and teasing, never letting on that he was suffering. That’s going to haunt me forever.

Opening my eyes, I meet my mother’s earnest gaze. “It . . . it’s going to take time,” I say thickly. “I know you were devastated over losing Dad, but you made my life a living hell, Mom. You made me feel worthless and unloved, something no parent shouldeverdo to their child. You had your reasons and I accept your apology. But I . . . I need time to process everything you’ve just told us. I need time to heal.”

“Of course, baby,” she whispers, brushing my hair back from my face. “You deserve so much better than the horrific version of me you’ve gotten all these years. I’m going to spend the rest of my life earning your forgiveness, if that’s what it takes. You hear me, baby? I’m going to be here for you the way I should have been all along.”

I swallow hard and nod. I don’t want to be at odds with her anymore, so I’m willing to give peace a chance.

Ember joins us on the couch for a group hug, Mom embracing us on either side.

“I love you girls so much.” She kisses our foreheads in turn, then drops her head back against the seat cushion and closes her eyes, emotionally drained. “God, that was long overdue.”

“Way overdue,” I agree.

She wipes her face and gives me and Ember a teary smile, a shadow of sorrow lingering in her eyes. “You know what we should watch for old times’ sake?Sixteen Candles.”

My mind flashes to that night in the library with Gunner: sitting on a table sharing a carton of ice cream, our lips melting together in a movie-perfect kiss.

The bittersweet memory, coupled with the emotional cyclone I’ve just endured, cause me to burst into fresh tears.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

gunner

After five years of quietly squirrelingaway money, my father bought a horse ranch outside Austin. It’s the first piece of property he’s owned in years, since losing everything to gambling debts.

The old ranch house needs a new roof and paint job, the stables need cleaning and the fences need repairs. It’s a major fixer-upper, but Dad couldn’t be prouder or more excited to tackle the renovations.

Near the end of October, he hires a work crew to help whip the place into shape. On Saturday morning, Maverick and I show up at the crack of dawn, roll up our sleeves and pitch in.

I’ve always enjoyed physical labor. Today, more than ever, I welcome the opportunity to channel my restless energy into raking out stalls, stacking bales of hay and pounding fence posts under the burning sun. As sweat drips into my eyes and soaks my back, I rip my shirt off and dive right back into work.The physical exertion invigorates me, helps quiet the painful thoughts churning in my head.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see my father and brother trading concerned glances. But I don’t slow down. I work faster, harder, determined to purge my mind of memories.

Memories of the woman who stole my heart and changed me forever.

Jaw brutally tight, I slam a sledgehammer against a wall, feeling the satisfying impact in my chest and arms. I pull the hammer back and swing it again and again, knocking a deeper hole in the wall as concrete crumbles beneath my blows. With my muscles burning and adrenaline pumping through my veins, I can almost pretend that my heart isn’t broken beyond repair.