Beautiful Outlaw by Emily Minton
Letting the Tears Fall
Shay
I hold on to Bowie until my tears finally start to fade a bit. Carefully, I step back and lift my hand to wipe the proof of my breakdown from my eyes. A few stragglers are still falling down my cheeks, but for the most part, I have gained control.
I move my hand to his shirt and whisper, “I got you all wet. Sorry.”
He smiles down to me as he removes his vest and lays it over the porch railing. Still smiling, he reaches for the bottom of his shirt and rips it over his head. Pulling the leather vest back on, he throws the tee over his shoulder. “Problem solved.”
The action was meant to make me laugh; instead, I’m too busy staring at his ink-covered chest to even crack a smile. The colors are nearly as mesmerizing as his rippling abs. I continue to stare until I see the muscles tense and vibrate. I look up just in time to see him smile.
“Shit, I’m the fuckin’ master,” e says with a low chuckle.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, completely lost at his words.
“Most men live a lifetime without finding a way to make their woman quit crying. I figured it out on day one. All I got to do is pull off my shirt, and the tears dry up.”
“Huh?”
His smile grows impossibly broader before he flexes his abs once more. “It’s good to know from the get go that you like the way I look without my shirt on. Just wait ‘til you see the rest.”
His cockiness has my anger rising. Without thinking, the back of my hand goes flying into his rock hard abs. “I can’t believe you.”
“I’d do anything to keep those tears from your eyes,” he says, his face unreadable.
I rub the sting from my hand and look up at him. “My mother is dying, and you’re acting like an idiot. Could you try to be at least a little sympathetic?”
“This is me. I may be a dick, but I do what I gotta do.” Bowie’s eyes go soft before he reaches out and places a hand on my cheek. “I don’t want to see you crying, Shay. It kills me.”
My anger disappears and is quickly replaced with grief. My mother is dying. She’s really dying. Slowly, I look up at him and whisper, “I’m never going to see her again, am I?”
Without hesitating, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me tight to his chest. “I don’t know, baby.”
“I want to see her. I need to be with her.” I choke out the words, each one tasting like a bitter pill on my tongue.
The thought of my mother dying without me by her side is tearing me apart. Everything I’ve done, every decision I’ve made, has been for her. Now, when she needs me more than ever, I’m hundreds of miles away, living a fairy tale. Just the thought has my tears falling again.
Leaning down, he places a soft kiss on the side my head. “I’ll see if I can make it happen.”
Not wanting to even think about it, not willing to get my hopes up, I step out of his arms. Moving away from him, I wipe the tears from my eyes again. I look up at him, trying to think of something to say, but nothing comes to mind. Instead, I just turn around and head back into the house.
With each step, the pressure in my brain increases. Mom’s dying. How can I live without my mom? Again and again, the question ricochets through my mind. The pain in my chest is so intense, I feel as if I’m being ripped in two. I knew this was coming, have known it for years, but knowing doesn’t make it any easier.
I walk into the kitchen, which is now full of smoke and the acrid smell of burning chocolate. Rushing toward the stove, I grab a pot holder and pull the cake I was baking from the oven. It is charred beyond recognition. Anger courses through me as I toss the cake pan across the room. I watch as it hits the wall, sending chunks of charred cake all over the floor. “Damn it!”
With that, I rush out of the room and down the hall. As soon as I make it to the bathroom, I slam the door and turn the lock. Then, I turn around and slide down the door. When my ass hits the floor, I pull my knees forward and hug them closely.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry.”