Текст книги "Repentance: The Story of Kace Haywood"

Автор книги: Meghan Quinn

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Chapter Twenty Seven

My present…

The community center was silent. The lights were shut off besides one that shined down on the bleachers of the Haze Room and one boxing bag. All the girls had left, and I was the last one left to lock up.

The day had dragged, the thrill of teaching the sport of boxing to others stolen from me the minute Madeline had joined the practice.

No, that was fucking wrong to say. I shouldn’t blame that innocent girl for taking anything from me. She’d done nothing wrong. It was my own fucking guilt eating me up.

I’d thought the pain would slowly ease, that walking this earth would be easier after a few years, but seeing Madeline, looking into Linda’s eyes¸ it was just too fucking much.

I rested on the bleachers, my head in my hands and my elbows relaxing on my legs. I was at a loss, probably the lowest point of my life. For once in my life, I truly felt like I was at a crossroads. When I’d thrown my last punch at Marshall, I didn’t really have options because Jett had been so desperate to keep me around, but now that he had Goldie. There was really no reason for me to stick around.

I’d made a commitment to Justice, to staying here and helping the center succeed, but what was I really doing to help? I was empty, I was lifeless, I wasn’t helping anyone.

It was time for a change.

A soft knock rang through the silent room, startling me for a second. Linda was standing in the doorway, clutching her purse. Taking a deep breath, I stood and said, “Hi Linda. Did Madeline forget something?”

“No,” she said while looking around nervously. “Um, do you have a moment to talk?”

“Yes,” I said warily. The nervous tension coming off her threw me for a loop.

With her purse held closely to her body, she walked up to me and visibly shook. The hand holding the strap rattled against her shoulder, and she scanned the room as if she was checking for someone to pop out of the corners.

“Are you okay?” I asked, feeling a tingle crawl across the back of my neck. What was in her purse that was so important that she was clutching?

“It was you, wasn’t it?”

My stomach bottomed out, my pulse quickened, and I instantly felt ill. “What are you talking about?” I asked, sweating.

“You were the man at the bar, the man who killed my husband.”

I could feel my skin turn white, my breathing grew at a rapid rate, my body became a complete void. I was physically unable to answer.

“You don’t have to admit to anything. I can see it on your face.” Her hand continued to shake as a tear ran down her cheek. “I knew it was you. I didn’t know at first. I had no clue who would kill my husband, but I saw someone who resembled you at the funeral, and I had an inkling. Then on Madeline’s birthday and at Christmas, I saw you sneaking presents to our doorstep for Madeline. You thought you went undetected, but I knew it was you. The moment I heard about Justice and the classes you were offering, I knew I had to make contact.”

Alarm bells were going off in my head. I stepped back and bumped into the bleachers. Linda didn’t look well. She looked almost sick, like she couldn’t believe she was going to do something out of her element.

“Linda—”

“Don’t, please don’t speak.” She held up her hand. She reached into her purse and I felt like I was going into shock. I’d waited for this moment, for my last breath, but I didn’t want my life to end. I didn’t want this to be my last minute on this world.

In slow motion, I watched Linda whip something out of her purse, and I flinched as she pointed it at me.

“Take them,” she said, pushing what was in her hand in front of me.

My vision blurred as I tried to figure out what she was handing me. I looked down and saw a pile of construction paper. At closer work, I saw crayon marks drawn across them in a child’s writing.

“Take them, Kace,” Linda repeated herself.

Obliging her request, I grabbed the folded pieces from her and then sat down on the bleachers. She sat next to me, still shaking but letting go of her purse. Relieved she wasn’t here to take my life, I started sifting through the papers.

Colors ranging from pink to blue to green were scattered over contrasting paper and each were addressed to “Dear Sir.”

They were homemade cards from Madeline.

“What are these?” My vision started to blur from the tears that clouded my eyes.

“They are thank you notes from Madeline. She wrote one for every gift you’ve ever gotten her. She would give them to me to mail to the man who gave her such precious gifts. It’s time that you read them.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, my eyes burning from holding in my emotions. I opened the cards and read what was inside.

Dear Sir, thank you for my mini purple horse figurine. I named him Clyde. I love him. 

Dear Sir, I like purse. Thanks. 

Dear Sir, baking with mom is fun. Thank u for the apron.

Dear Sir, I like my shirt. It’s big now but mom says I will grow. 

Dear Sir, magnets are fun, I like to hang things on the fridge, thanks.

Dear Sir, I wish I could thank you in person. I love my necklace. It’s so pretty. 

There were tons of cards, but the last one I read was what allowed the tears that clouded my vision to finally fall. I set the cards to the side so I wouldn’t get them wet, placed my head in my hands, and let my emotions overtake me.

Kindly, Linda rested a hand on my back, rubbing me soothingly like any mother would. I’d never truly cried, never let myself feel so much emotion, but at this point, I couldn’t block it out. It hit me all at once.

Shame, anger, and regret sent me into a tailspin of depression. I didn’t want these cards. I couldn’t justify having them, not after what I’d taken away from Madeline. I could give her everything in the world except the one thing she deserved: a father.

“I’m sorry, Linda. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” she asked, still rubbing my back.

I looked at her as if she was losing her mind. I pulled away and ran the backs of my hands over my tear-soaked cheeks.

“Why am I sorry? You just said you know I killed your husband, and here I am, living a perfectly normal life. I should be rotting in fucking jail right now. Why haven’t you called the cops?”

“Kace, why would I call the cops on you? You protected us.”

Confused, I sat up and asked, “What are you talking about?”

Linda reached into her purse again and pulled out a thin leather album. She handed it to me and nodded for me to open it. Curious, I flipped open the page and was met with ghastly pictures of Linda, beaten and battered to the point where she was almost unrecognizable. Bile rose in my throat as I continued to turn the pages. Flip after flip, there were pictures of Linda with bruises, burns, cuts.

“Why are you showing me this?” I asked.

“He abused us, Kace. He had a temper and would come home and take it out on me. The night he was killed, he struck Madeline for the first time. Those pictures are from that night as well. He left me practically lifeless on the floor and went to the bar. I had nothing, no family, no friends to support me because they couldn’t understand why I stayed with Marshall. They knew what he did to me. But I stayed with him because I thought that maybe, just maybe he would change, but he never did. His punches got harder, his cuts ran deeper, and his verbal abuse got stronger.”

My fucking head spun with the realization that Marshall Duncan wasn’t the perfect father figure I’d pictured in my mind. The man I’d built up in my head was the complete opposite of who I thought he was.

Linda gripped my hand and forced me to look at her. “Kace, you saved us. You’re our protector, our provider. I can’t tell you the kind of freedom you have given both of us.”

I shook my head and tried to scoot away, but she held on to my hand tightly.

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, confused.

“Because I see the way you walk around here, lifeless, not really experiencing this beautiful world you have in front of you. I wanted you to stop punishing yourself. You didn’t commit a sin, Kace. You relieved us of a lifetime of pain.”

“But… you enrolled Madeline into self-defense classes.”

“Yes.” Linda squeezed my hand. “So she can learn to protect herself from men like her father. I don’t want her to end up in a relationship like mine. I want her to know that she can fight back, that she should fight back. I want her to be a strong, confident woman, and I knew you would be the perfect one to teach her.”

I continued to shake my head as my hands ran through my hair. Confused and dazed, I stood up.

“No, this is too much. I can’t handle this.”

“Kace….” Linda called out as I walked away from her. “Please, don’t leave. I want to thank you….”

“Don’t!” I shouted, practically running out of the Haze Room.

She chased me down. “Take this at least.” She handed me the cards from Madeline, as well as an envelope. Reluctantly, I accepted the items and took off.

I ran out of the center, not bothering to lock up. I sent a quick text to Jett to let him know. He would need an explanation later, but right now, I had a mission and it was to get as far away from Justice and Linda as fast as I could.

As a human, there were situations you conjured up in your head, ideas you thought were so set in stone, nothing could ever change your mind about them. But the minute those ideas were changed, it was hard to comprehend, hard to switch gears. You formed a sort of denial. That’s where I was right now. I’d spent the last few years of my life punishing myself, living for someone else, providing for someone else, remembering the strong words of my father, that I would never amount to anything. I’d set out on a mission to find repentance for my sins. Finding out I was seen as a hero rather than a fucking murderer was almost impossible to comprehend.

I needed to get away. I needed to forget.

Chapter Twenty Eight

My past…

“You dumb whore, I did not suck him off. You have lost your fucking mind!” Babs shouted as she ran down the hallway past Lyla’s bedroom in the Lafayette Club.

“You did too. He told me,” Francy called. They must have stopped in front of Lyla’s room because their conversation was easy to hear.

“He told you. Well, then, let’s believe the little fucker. There is no way I would have sucked him off. He had some creepy yellow shit down there.”

I cringed at the thought.

“Oh, that’s nasty,” Francy replied. “What did it look like?”

“I’m not reliving that,” Babs said, moving away from Lyla’s door.

Francy’s voice trailed off as she said, “Was it chunky?”

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Lyla said into my chest, her hair tickling my skin and her soft body pressed against mine.

I had just had sex with Lyla in her bedroom at the Lafayette Club, where anyone could have heard us. What the fuck had I been thinking?

I rubbed her back, my eyes closed, wishing I would have been smarter about my choices, but after the day we’d had together, I couldn’t help it. I’d had to be inside her. She was a breath of fresh air, a short intermission in this cold, dark world I’d been living in.

“You shouldn’t be shocked. You’ve been here for a while. You should know the conversations that go on in this house.”

“True.” She nuzzled me, making all violent thoughts fade from my mind and warming me to my toes.

It was the anniversary of my dad’s death. It seemed like yesterday when I talked to him for the last time on the phone, listening to the bitterness in his voice when he’d spoken of my boxing career, of my accomplishments. I could still feel the blow to the gut of my father not believing me, not listening to my side of the story, telling me he wished I wasn’t his son.

Lyla had caught me at a weak moment and asked me to hang out. I’d been frantic for some human interaction, and she’d taken advantage of a rare occurrence. I was the one who’d taken our day too far.

She was making me feel, she was breaking down my walls, and I was letting her. We’d spent the day walking around New Orleans, talking about the city we’d grown up in, talking about Goldie and Jett, talking about whatever came to mind. We’d eaten dinner together and ended up sharing a serving of bread pudding. I’d fucking shared a meal. Christ, I was letting my guard down and had no clue on how to go about resurrecting my walls.

With a flash of her brilliant smile, she had me on my knees, begging for more. Lyla had been at the Lafayette club for a reason, to help fill in for Goldie temporarily, but instead of treating her like all the other Jett Girls, I’d fallen for her hard. I liked Goldie, actually loved Goldie, but Lyla was different. Lyla had the sass like Goldie, the quirkiness like Goldie, but she was also raw, exposed. She showed you who she was and didn’t bullshit. She was concerned, she got me, she cared for me. She saw right through me, to the true person I was. She wrecked me with those eyes and debilitated me with her kisses.

Now, she was lying by my side, her arms wrapped around my waist, occasionally brushing kisses against my chest and filling an empty void in my life.

I’d promised myself I wouldn’t let it get to this point. Not after the first time we met, not after that afternoon at her apartment, but when Jett had needed someone to fill in, I’d chosen Lyla. I’d asked her to help out, knowing the kind of confusion it would bring me. I’d asked her because deep down, I needed her to be here, to help me, even though I wouldn’t accept her help.

“How long have you been living here?” Lyla asked casually, running her fingers along my abs.

“Too long,” I answered honestly.

“You say that as if you resent the place.”

“I don’t,” I answered. In fact it had been a sanctuary for my sins. I would forever be grateful for the Lafayette Club.

“Don’t elaborate or anything,” she teased.

“Probably won’t.”

I was drawing away from her. I had to. She was making me want things I wasn’t allowed to have. She was making me rethink everything I’d set in stone after I killed Marshall Duncan. She was trying to offer me a life and I didn’t fucking want it.

I’d started to move when she pinned me down with her arms. She sat up and hovered over me. I averted my eyes from her swaying breasts and tried to focus on the ceiling. If I looked down, I would give in. I knew I would. I was desperate for another taste.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I have things to do,” I replied, knowing I sounded like an ass.

“You’re not going to stay the night?”

“Can’t,” I responded, pushing her aside and sitting on the edge of her bed with my head in my hands. A pulsing started to develop behind my eye, letting me know a raging headache was lurking around the corner.

“So you’re going to fuck me and leave?” she asked, angry.

“Pretty sure you fucked me,” I said, knowing there was a double meaning behind my statement.

“You can’t be serious. Not after the day we had. Not after the connection we shared.”

“What connection?” I lied. “We shared a dessert and then fucked.”

I was being cruel. I hated saying such vulgar things to her, but I was in self-defense mode. My heart was bleeding, yearning for the woman behind me, begging for her to take my heart into her possession and save it from self-destruction. It was a feeling I wasn’t comfortable with. I hated being vulnerable, and I’d never felt more exposed in my life.

“Fuck you,” she said while getting off the bed.

My briefs were at the foot of the bed, so I grabbed them, threw them on, and turned around to see Lyla charging at me with a robe half-tied around her and fury in her eyes. I braced for impact.

She poked me in the chest. “If you want to act like nothing happened between us, fine. Believe what you want to believe but I felt it, Kace. I see the way you look at me, the heat in your eyes. I know there is something you want to tell me, but you refuse. Why? What are you hiding?”

“It’s none of your business,” I said while walking past her to find my other clothes.

“Taking the pussy way out? Fits you well,” she taunted.

“Excuse me?” I shot back, grabbing my jeans and putting them on.

“You heard me,” she said with her hands on her hips, in a feisty position. “You’re a pussy. Fact, it takes more of a man to admit his feelings than to hide them.”

“It’s not feelings, Lyla.” She was right. I wasn’t the man she wanted me to be.

“Then what is it, Kace?”

Taking a deep breath, I said, “I’m not who you think I am. I’m a monster, a demonic man who ruins the lives of others. I’m not sentimental, and I’m not caring. I don’t want to talk about my life and I don’t care to hear about anyone else’s. I’m in this world to do one thing and one thing alone—live with this all-consuming, burdensome guilt until I take my last breath. There is nothing you can say to me that will change this, so stop trying. Like my father told me, I’m not a true man.”

Lyla was speechless, her eyes searching mine, looking for answers I didn’t want to give. I grabbed the rest of my clothes.

I was just putting my shoes on when she crouched in front of me so we were eye level. She balanced on her knees as she spoke.

“Why do you want to bear the weight of the world on your shoulders all by yourself, Kace? Why don’t you want to share some of it? Let me help you.”

“I don’t need your help.” I stood up, nearly knocking her over. Running my hand over my face, I helped her to her feet. “Lyla, this is non-negotiable for me, okay? I’m not looking for a partner. I’m not looking for someone to share my burden. I did this to myself, and I’m paying for it, no one else.”

“Why won’t you tell me?” she asked, tears welling in her eyes.

“Because….” I trailed off. “It’s my dad’s death anniversary.” The words popped out of my mouth faster than I could take them back.

Her eyes widened from my confession. “I’m sorry, Kace. I’m sure today must be hard on you.”

I shrugged. “He was a difficult bastard to please. Never did anything right in his eyes. It’s best I forget.”

“Clearly you can’t if you’re acting like this, like a true asshole at his finest.”

“Better you see it now.”

“Tell me about him,” Lyla prodded. “I want to know about your father.”

“Not going to happen,” I replied, not ready to rip that wound open. I was also afraid to see what Lyla might truly think of me after she heard of my dad’s opinions on my life.

Truthfully, I didn’t want to lose that spark in her eyes she got whenever I walked into the room. I didn’t want to see that vanish once she found out I was a murderer, a loser, someone who couldn’t amount to anything. Call me a selfish bastard, but that little spark she gave me every day helped ease the pressure on my lungs that restricted my breathing.

“Fine,” she said, moving away. “That’s fine. Take your guilt with you and get the hell out of my room, but just so you know, I’m the best thing that will ever happen to you, Kace. The pull between us that you try to ignore, that’s real. There is something between us, a deep connection that you keep pushing away, and one day you’re going to wake up, alone and wishing you had let me inside your little world. You think what you did in your past is your biggest regret. Wrong, fucker. Walking out that door, out of my life, will be the biggest regret you ever have. Have fun living with that one.”

 I stormed out of her room, more angry at myself than anything. Jett and Goldie were approaching. Goldie was in Jett’s arms and they were headed to her room. Not surprised. The love birds were practically naked with Goldie in a robe and Jett in his briefs.

“Get out of my way,” I stated gruffly, not wanting to interact with their jovial faces. They both had that annoying “we’re in love” sex glow about them that was too nauseating to look at.

Jett easily obliged for some reason, probably because he wanted to get Goldie back in bed, the horny bastard, but she was a different story. She was always butting her nose in my business, especially when I was in the worst of moods, and today was no exception.

“Wait,” she said, struggling to get out of Jett’s grasp. “What’s going on?”

Goldie rotated her body in Jett’s arms so Jett was now forced to hold her by her stomach rather than her back. She took the moment to prop her chin in her hands and kick her legs up behind her.

“Trouble in paradise?” she teased, knowing fully well Lyla was giving me a run for my money.

“Drop it,” I said sharply, not giving her an inch.

“Oh, come on, Kace. Sharing is caring.”

I looked at Jett. “Take care of your woman and get her off my back.”

There was a slight tick in Jett’s jaw, but I knew he would oblige. He could read me well, and I was giving off the “don’t fuck with me” vibe, something Goldie didn’t seem to understand.

“Hey!” she shouted, completely offended, as I walked away. “I don’t need taking care of. I can handle my own! Come back here. I dare ya!”

From a distance, I could hear Jett Coax her as he said, “Easy, killer.”

Vibrating with irritation, I went to my room and slammed my door, looking around for something to punch. The urge to demolish every inanimate object in my sight was overwhelming.

I fucking hated my life. The pain was too much, the guilt was far too heavy, and the unhappiness I experienced on a day-to-day basis overpowering. Something had to give, and I was afraid to find out what it was going to be.