All of the Lights Page 16

  "Why?"

  She doesn't hesitate. "You know why."

  Midnight blue sears through her. Everything that tied them together—that reckless, careless exhilaration of first love—it never died. Instead, it burns bright and she fleetingly wonders what will happen if she gets close enough to that fire.

  "I never wanted to leave you," she whispers as he hovers in front of her.

  "You shouldn't be here," he murmurs, but his actions contradict his words when his thumb brushes her cheek.

  "I missed you.

  Her eyes flit shut as he reaches around her to lock the office door. This is wrong—so wrong in so many ways, but that's exactly why she hasn't run yet. The thrill of doing something wrong, of wanting something you can't have...she'd forgotten what that felt like until now.

  His touch is everywhere, but it isn't the gentle caress she remembers. It's aggressive—like he's branding her, scalding her, punishing her. But that doesn't matter. At least not while she's kicking off her jeans and wrapping her legs around his waist. Not while his lips are on her skin and giving her everything she's missed for years.

  "DO YOU THINK about me when you're with her?"

  He scrubs a hand over his face and he blows out a deep breath. With one hand over his face, he tugs her closer against his bare chest with his free hand.

  "I always think about you," he murmurs into her hair. "There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about you."

  Her eyes drift to their surroundings: musty curtains, worn carpet, a TV with four channels, and a lumpy bed. They've been meeting like this for months. The time is always fleeting, always too brief, but it's all they have. Tonight, she checked them into a motel 20 minutes out of town under a fake name. Sometimes he gets them a room, sometimes they just drive until there's enough distance and enough darkness to safely carry out their indiscretions in the back seat of Roark's truck.

  In some ways, nothing has really changed. They're still meeting in secret. Still hopelessly, recklessly in love. Still desperately trying to grasp hold of what they can never truly have.

  But now, the innocence has dimmed. It's fast and rough and nothing like it was before. The exploration is half the fun, though. There are so many new planes of his body to explore, so many newer, harder edges that weren't there before. Even the scruff on his face feels different underneath her fingertips. They're on borrowed time again, but this time, they're the ones in control of that expiration date.

  "When are we going to tell them?"

  Roark doesn't answer.

  SHE THINKS HER husband knows. There's no other explanation for the car tailing a little too closely behind her as she pulls into the parking lot of yet another motel outside the city. They've been so careful, at least up until now. No more exchanging postcards, no more using Father Lindsay as their go-between, no more lunch dates in the park or late-night movies. Instead, they've met in closed, confined spaces with zero witnesses.

  Val has been cagey at best lately, especially with his upcoming re-election bid to city council yet again. He's out of the house nearly every hour of every day, so how could he possibly even know when she's there, if he even cares in the first place. In the beginning, she thought he loved her, or at least as much as someone like him can love another person. He was always so attentive, so careful with her, and marrying him, at the time, seemed like a sensible, risk-free solution.

  Now he's the iron ball wrapped around her ankles, dragging her down, and muffling her cries for help.

  THE SHRILL RINGING from the hallway jerks her out of her sleep. Her bleary eyes dart to the clock on her night stand and a low groan growls in her throat. Why the hell is someone calling at three in the morning? Still, she pulls herself out of bed—all she's been is tired lately—and trudges all the way down to the kitchen to grab the phone.

  "Hello?"

  "Jill?"

  Her heart tangles in her throat at the sound of his hoarse voice. "Roark? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

  "No," he murmurs. "I'm not. Is he home?"

  "No," she shakes her head even though he can't see it.

  "Can I come in?"

  She flies to the front door and flings it open. Roark sinks to his knees and buries his face in her stomach. All she can do is hold him and run her fingers through his hair until he finally tells her why he risked coming anywhere near the home she shares with her husband.

  "Roark," she whispers in his hair. "What's wrong?"

  His face twists in agony and a loud sob echoes off the walls. "Shane...he's..."

  "What?"

  Finally, he finds his voice and tilts his chin up to look at her with swimming blue eyes. "Shane's dead. He's fucking dead."

  Her lips part, but nothing comes out. Her fingers continue their ministrations in his dirty blonde hair because that's all she can give him right now. What else can she do?

  "He shouldn't have been in the ring tonight," Roark murmurs hoarsely. "I should've...goddammit. It's my..."

  He trails off, but she knows what he was going to say. It's written all over his tortured face. She doesn't need the details and she doesn't want them either. Maybe now is the time to finally tell him. The wait has been agony, but they also haven't been able to see each other in weeks. Sure, she could wait for a better, more appropriate time, but there's no telling when that will be in light of what he's just told her. By that time, there'll be no way to hide it and she wants him to hear it from her so she can explain. So they can make plans. Maybe this is exactly what he needs to push the grief and the guilt aside.

  "Roark," she breathes in his ear. "I have to tell you something. I know the timing is terrible, but I can't wait anymore."

  His head tilts up, waiting silently for her to give him some good news instead of all this tragic ugliness.

  "I'm pregnant."

  She expected shock. She expected surprise. Maybe even a little grief for the life he'd have to say goodbye to now. But she never expected his head to fall in between his knees or his shoulders to heave violently as he grasps for air. He clutches his chest, swallowing hard, and squeezing his eyes shut. His reaction just doesn't compute—why is he acting like this is the end of the world? Why isn't he even a little bit happy that their love will have a real, tangible face?

  "Is it mine?"

  She rears back like those words slapped her. How can he...no, that's a fair question. Roark might own her body and soul, but at night, she still slides into bed with another man.

  "It's yours," she affirms tightly and all that does is make him lean forward with his head in his hands. "Val and I haven't..." she can't bring herself to say the words, "not in months, Roark. It's yours."

  He rubs his mouth with his hand as he nods, but there's no happy smile on his face. No picking her up and swinging her around. Hell, he hasn't even kissed her yet.

  Now, the only hand left to play is to assume everything's okay.

  "I know this isn't what either of us wanted right now," she tells him quickly, afraid that if she doesn't iron out the details now, he might falter altogether. "But, Roark, this is a blessing. We can really be together now. You, me, and our baby. It's all going to be okay—"

  "Okay?" Roark bites out a laugh and shakes his head. He finally rises to his feet and plants both hands on his hips, unable to meet her eyes. "Nothing is ever going to be okay again. You don't know what you're saying, Jill. All this does is make an already shitty situation even worse."

  She stumbles backward a little, suddenly desperate for some distance. "What do you mean?"

  "I have a family," he stresses the word family like he's talking to an idiot. "What do you think this is gonna do to them? What about Brennan and Sean? Did you ever think of them?"

  "Did you?"

  How dare he stand there and lay all the blame at her feet. As if he didn't have a part in it too. As if he wasn't sinning just as much as her.

  "They're all I can think about right now," he runs another hand over his face and leans against a nearby wall.
"And Jack...he'll go into the system. I can't let that happen to him."

  "Right," she spats bitterly. "You'll take in someone else's child, but want nothing to do with your own?"

  He pushes off the wall and takes an aggressive step toward her. "That's not what I said and you know it. This is just...it's complicated, okay? It's not just about us this time."

  "I know that," she tangles her hand in his and holds on for dear life. "But maybe this is our chance. Maybe we can get it right this time."

  His eyebrows knit together, but he doesn't tear his hand away. "What do you mean?"

  "We can take our baby and go anywhere. Do anything we want. I don't care where we go or what we do as long as I'm with you. We can get a fresh start, Roark. Don't you want that? Don't you want a chance to be happy for once?"

  He backs away, dejected and defeated by nothing and everything all at once. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he shakes his head and rests his body heavily against the wall.

  "I need some time," he murmurs hoarsely. "If we're going to do this, it can't happen overnight."

  That's all she needs to hear. She can wait. She's already waited this long? What was a little more time in the grand scheme of things?

  SHE PACES IN front of Father Lindsay's office. A little more time turned into months of dodging questions and vague answers. Her due date is nearly here, but yet their plans are nowhere to be found. At first, she was willing to be patient. In light of Shane's death, and the circumstances surrounding it, she could understand Roark's need for some time to get his head on straight.

  There'd been no official details released yet, but everything she'd read in the paper pointed to some sort of deal gone wrong. Some sort of move that had blown up in Shane's face. Whether it was grief, guilt, or something in between, Roark never said another word about it.

  But when she discovered that Roark and Maura had begun taking steps to adopt Jack, Shane's only son, her patience for his indecision grew thin. Sure, they still met in secret and he even came with her to a doctor's appointment, but that was months ago. He was still living his normal life with his children and his wife with no signs that he planned on acknowledging they'd created a life together, too.

  When Father Lindsay turns the corner to head to his office, his steps still at the sight of her. His eyes are glued to her swollen stomach and she reflexively places a protective hand there to shield her unborn child from any judgment.

  "Jillian," Father Lindsay nods to her. "What brings you to this side of the city?"

  "I need your help," she steps forward, hoping the pain and desperation on her face is enough to suade him.

  Thankfully, he unlocks his office door and gestures for her to step inside. He pulls a chair out for her in front of his desk and sinks into the one right across from her.

  "What can I help yah with?"

  There's no time to waste, so she dives right in. "I need to talk to Roark. I need to know what he's going to do."

  Father Lindsay leans back against his chair, weary and tired of this back and forth just as much as she is. "And what do yah need me to do?"

  She pulls the letter she'd written and rewritten at least ten times and holds it out to him. "Give this to him...please. That's all I'm asking. I just need to talk to him."

  He stares at the letter in her hand for a few long beats and then shakes his head sadly. "No. I'm sorry, Jillian, but I can't do that. Not anymore."

  Her heart plummets into her stomach. "What?"

  "It was different when you two were young and didn't know any better. But this," he gestures to the letter one more time, "is different. This is adultery and everything that goes along with it. There are children involved—and not just yours. Two marriages to think about. What you're asking me to do is something that I just...I'm sorry, but I just can't."

  Tears sting her eyes and she shakes her head furiously, thrusting the letter at him one more time in sheer desperation. "Please. It can't end like this. I haven't seen him in over a month! Look at me!" Her eyes drop to her stomach and Father Lindsay follows suit. "I could have his baby any day now and he doesn't even care."

  "It's complicated," he tells her gently. "But that doesn't mean he doesn't care. You know he does."

  Hope flares anew and she clings to his arm, her eyes wild and unfocused. "Have you seen him? Did he talk to you about us?"

  Father Lindsay runs a heavy hand over his face and his gaze falls to the floor. "I saw him a few weeks ago."

  "What did he say?"

  He pauses and the conflict is etched into the lines on his face. Even if he refuses to tell her now, she'll sit here until he gives in. Finally, Father Lindsay's soft voice fills the room.

  "I told him he can't have yah both. He can't continue to have you and still go back to his life with Maura and the kids. It's not fair to any of you. He has to choose."

  All the breath leaves her lungs and she shoves out of her chair as fast as her swollen stomach with allow. Father Lindsay leaps to his feet to help her, but she pushes him away.

  "Listen to me, Jillian," he pleads with her even as she heads straight for the door. "There are things you don't know. Things about Roark and Shane and—"

  "I don't care," she sputters, reaching for the doorknob behind her. "He'll make the right decision. I know him and I know he'd never abandon us."

  With that, she shuts the door behind her walks out of St. Anthony's for the last time. If Father Lindsay won't help her then she'll just have to figure out another way as a list of possible options forms in her head. She has a half a mind to just drive to his house and knock on the door. He won't be able to ignore her then and he won't be able to explain her presence to his wife any other way than with the truth.

  Deep down, she just doesn't have the courage to confront the woman who has everything she's ever wanted. Maybe she knows just as well as anyone that she doesn't have the right to show up on his doorstep and demand his attention. She may be carrying his baby, but so did Maura. She might have worn his ring in another lifetime, but now, in this lifetime, Maura wears his ring. He has children with her—three of them now. A life with her. And she understands how agonizing it must be to even consider disappointing not only them, but every single person in his community.

  But she has his love. She knows that. Somehow, she'll find a way to get him that letter even if it means she has to take the risk and send it right to his house. Then they'll be able to make their plans and once their baby is here, they'll be able to have that fresh start and that new life she's always dreamed of.

  That has to be enough for now.

  "THAT WAS THE last time I saw her," Father Lindsay sighs heavily and leans back against his desk with both hands.

  His words linger in the room, heavy and for too long, no one knows what else to say. Now that the truth has finally been revealed, at least what Father Lindsay knows of it, I don't know how to feel. Don't know how to make sense of it. I know what I want to believe, I know what I need to believe, but it doesn't bring me any relief.

  "Did he get the letter?" Bennett wonders out loud and I'm glad someone finally had the courage to break this silence.

  Father Lindsay lifts a shoulder with a sad smile. "I'm not sure. Roark and I have never spoken about it. On some level, I'm not sure if I want to know. All I do know is that a few days after I saw her, she gave birth to you," he nods to Rae, "and then a month later—"

  "She swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills," she finishes for him, her voice barely above a whisper.

  For the first time since Father Lindsay started this story, I finally let myself take a good look at Rae. Her hands are folded lifelessly in her lap, and those eyes, usually so full and vibrant, are hollow and dull. This Rae, with no fight or determination or even any snark to be found, isn't one I like seeing.

  "If yah really want to know the rest of the story," Father Lindsay sighs. "I suppose you'll have to ask your da."

  Rae's head snaps up and drills a fierce gaze right through the
priest. Then she shoves out of her chair, heads right for the door, and slams it on her way out.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Rae

  Jesus looks pretty pissed.

  I tilt my head to the side, squinting up at the crucified man mounted to the wall and scrunch up my nose in thought. No, pissed isn't the right word.

  He looks disappointed.

  That downturned mouth, stretched lines on his face, the way his eyes lift to the ceiling. He's probably thinking to himself, Look at what you've done, people. I'm sitting here, nailed to a cross, paying for your sins, and you can't even try to be good? Not even a little bit?

  I think I know a little bit about how he feels.

  The stiff pew squeaks under my weight and I blow out a labored breath. My eyes close for just a moment, but it's long enough to really let myself absorb the quiet of this place. The solemnity. The peace.

  It's weird. I never thought I'd ever feel this way about being in a church. But I guess if I have to be near people right now, I might as well be some place where silence, or at the very least whispering, is the accepted norm. Ironic, of course, because the last time I was here the quiet creeped me out. Now it's oddly comforting.

  Maybe it's equally ironic that I've found comfort some place where everyone believes my mom is in hell.

  That's what happens to people who kill themselves, right? They go to hell.

  If that's where she is...I don't know how I feel.

  I'm just numb. Blank and shell-shocked.

  My eyes lift back to the figure mounted on the wall. What would he think? Would he welcome my mother into heaven with open arms and wash away all her sins? Forgive her for what she had done? Or would he judge her the same way everyone else has?

  I don't really know if God exists or if Jesus really took away the sins of the world on that cross, but for my mom's sake, I'd like to believe that if he does exist, he's a forgiving God and not a vengeful one. There's no hope for her anywhere if he can't look past her sins and see the stupidity and the naivety behind them.