Page 29 of Waiting For A Girl Like You (Haven House #4)

Y ou are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

“Charles, are you listening to me?”

You make me happy when skies are gray.

“Charles?”

He should answer his mother. He should talk. He should try. For Tobias. For Cecilia. He should pretend.

But really, he just wanted to listen to his Livy sing.

The fire popped and crackled as if it were devouring real wood with its heat. But it wasn’t. A cheap imitation made of plastic, the logs in the fireplace at his mother’s home weren’t real, and neither was most of the shit crowding the space.

The sitting room right off the foyer was a poor replacement for the one at Parkland Grounds, and he hoped she hated it. He hoped she rotted here, remembering her glory days of being the Fairweather Viper Queen to all those venomous bitches who loved to hate the world as much as she did.

But, oh baby, look at her now.

Helen Fairweather did not wear the distinction of middle class well. Sure, she had more money than the average person, but it wasn’t enough. Not for her. The small amount left to her by her husband and her family's investments would never be enough for this woman’s lavish taste .

“Charles!”

“Yes, Mother?”

The high-back chairs they sat in squeaked every time either of them moved.

Furniture of the lowest quality filled the ground level, all of it—much like Helen—on full display as it pretended to be something it wasn’t.

Wealthy and worthy enough to grace a place grander than this three-story monstrosity built on the outskirts of Houston.

Toeing the rug likely purchased from some mass-market home interior store, Charlie fought not to snicker at the idea of his mother wandering a showroom with other shoppers as she searched for decor that resembled her previous life.

Nothing in the house matched. Not the outlandish floral rugs nor the couches and chairs with their horrible geometric patterns.

At least there was a decent formal dining set with a side cabinet and hutch.

However, it held a piss-poor set of cheap china Helen would probably never use because who in the hell would come here to visit?

Oh, yes, how the mighty had fallen. He was glad for it.

Even if she were his only savior in this hell, he was glad he had the chance to witness Helen’s fall.

He knew Ben paid her a visit, as did Miranda.

They came begging for his kids while he was in that facility getting better, and God, he wished he could have seen their faces when they walked through the door.

Helen took a sip from the elegant crystal glass in her hand. Proper to a fault, she drank slowly, as if the red wine sloshing around inside the goblet hadn’t come from a box.

“You can no longer stay here,” she said, not bothering to meet his gaze while announcing his time was up. “You’re fine now and need to get on with your life.”

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you.

Toby and CeCe were in bed already. They didn’t like their grandmother, and she felt the same way in return.

He hated to leave them with her while he’d been in that place, but there hadn’t been much of a choice.

Trevor wouldn’t take them, thanks to Heather’s nagging.

His brother’s wife didn’t want their brats to mix with his, as if Toby and CeCe were beneath their cousins .

And he couldn’t allow them to return to Haven House. Not even for a second. If either of them ever stepped foot in that house again, they would refuse to leave, and he would be alone.

Forever.

Please don’t take my sunshine away.

His girl had a beautiful voice, and she sang to him every day.

It started on the night she left him. The night Rebecca murdered her.

As he lay there bleeding out in that goddamn cottage, it was Livy’s singing that startled him awake once help arrived.

If he hadn’t called out, the police likely would never have found him in time.

And since then, Livy kept right on singing.

They left him heavily sedated in the hospital, and when he was awakened again by his precious girl singing, it was to see Viv. She had brought Livy’s ashes. Becca’s, too.

But all he’d been able to focus on was the small black box that now held his baby girl.

Viv watched him cry, remaining quiet as he screamed in denial. It was her way of torturing him. Cold revenge served in the form of silence. When he finished, she gave her condolences. Polite and proper, just as he always demanded she be.

But it was when she claimed she only brought the boxes so he could decide what to do with his woman and child that he lost his temper. Becca had never been his woman. She was a tool, a necessity in his life that helped cull the dark parts he didn’t want to touch Vivian.

She should have thanked him for keeping Rebecca close.

Vivian should have appreciated the efforts that went into the entire ruse because it had all been for her.

She would never have been able to handle him in those moments when he showed his true self or when he needed to make someone feel as much pain as he did.

And Vivian sure as hell hadn’t been able to give him babies. The babies he deserved. The perfect family he created. Why didn’t she understand that? Why did she just stand there, no longer the woman he loved, and listen as he raged?

That son of a bitch she was fucking was there too.

Standing in the corner like a true bastard.

Aiden. The walking dead man. Viv might never love him again, but Charlie would be damned if that piece of trash would be the one to take his place.

He didn’t know how he would do it. His connections to the people who handled such matters were lost when Ben cut him off, but if what Vivian said was true —that she wanted to marry that loser —there would be no choice.

He would end him. For her, he would do it and save his Viv from a miserable life.

It had taken everything in him not to jump out of the hospital bed and stop her from leaving, broken and alone, with nothing except two boxes of ashes to keep him company.

But Vivian left him, even when he asked her to stay. She left and never looked back.

Trevor visited the next day, saying he would take him to the condo he and Heather used when in the area.

The hospital was done with him, and so he had no choice but to go.

Gathering his boxes of ashes, Charlie allowed a random stranger in scrubs to push him out in a wheelchair while he clutched his girls close.

And through it all, Livy sang to him. She wanted to rest. She wanted her peace.

Trapped in a box, she sang her little song and haunted him with the memory of his sins.

She reminded him that his life was pointless without her, making him understand that all the suffering he was feeling was solely because she was gone.

Perhaps it had been a mistake. Perhaps he shouldn’t have forced Trevor to drive him to that godforsaken house, but his baby wanted to go home.

He could feel it. Deep in his bones, he could feel her begging to return.

That was the peace she sought. Born and raised there, Haven House would always belong to Livy—their little mama.

But not Rebecca. The bitch deserved nothing.

When he dragged himself down the forest path, balancing a shovel and his boxes, he paused to look out over the bayou and listen.

He listened to the voices. To the whispers.

They were forever there in the woods, but never loud.

Not like they were that day. That day, the voices had been enough to drown out Livy’s song.

Some shouted for him to continue to the graveyard, while others urged him to leave Becca’s ashes right there on the forest path as if she were garbage.

There had even been a sweet one beckoning him to the bayou. It sang a song that promised relief if he would only join her in the water. He thought about it. He listened, and he thought about how he could end it all .

But in the end, he decided against becoming the offering it claimed to want.

Instead, he gave it someone else, pouring Rebecca’s ashes into the swirling black bayou.

He couldn’t believe he’d done it, but sitting Livy’s little box aside, he dumped his lover’s remains in a place no one would ever find them.

The Fairweather in him was pleased with his actions. Rebecca Miller had been nothing in life and would be even less in death. Fish food floating out to sea.

Worthless.

Meaningless.

Insignificant.

That would be her legacy.

Her soul would never know peace, never rest with her daughter in the graveyard. The world would forget her, just as it should be.

His brother could pretend to be some moral ass all he wanted, but Charlie knew Ben didn’t care about Rebecca’s final resting place, either.

He wouldn’t care about any of them, and a part of Charlie had wanted Ben to kill him on the lawn.

He’d wanted that extra pound of guilt sitting on his brother’s shoulders as he nearly beat him to death.

But then Evie stopped it from happening.

Standing next to them as they rolled across the grass, trying to rip each other apart, she stopped their battle when she spoke in that eerie way that sounded like Laura Jean.

Ben picked up on it immediately and nearly collapsed when he heard what sounded like the woman he loved speaking.

“I’ll need to get a job first,” he spoke evenly, not wanting his mother to hear the panic in his voice. “Can you give me some time?”

“A month.” She polished off the remainder of her wine faster than she gobbled up those little cakes she ate every afternoon. No longer concerned about keeping up with appearances, Helen had chosen to wallow in every indulgence possible. “That should give you time to secure something.”

“Yeah, but I’ll need to find a place to live, and there are deposits to pay for apartments.”