He clenched the oak table where the ever-expanding pile of his problems sat.
“Okay, I hear you. Loud and clear. I’ll make some calls, okay? We’ll figure it out.”
Trace huffed out a loud breath and eased his hands off the table. “Thank you. I’ll make some too.”
After they said goodbye, he stared at the papers in front of him. Some were bills. Some were letters from single parents thanking him for the help they’d received from A Hand Up.
Some were old, some were new. The past and the present, overlapping in a chaotic mess. Just like his fucked-up life.
A year ago, just the sight of the responsibility, the pressure, with no clear answers in sight, would’ve sent him over the edge. Straight to the bottle.
The irony of it all was so bitter he could practically taste it.
He’d wanted to be better for her. Gone to rehab so he could be the kind of man she deserved. And he’d lost her in the process.
TWO DAYS and two dozen phone calls later, he still had nothing. Nowhere to have his benefit concert and auction. He and Gretchen were the only confirmed artists, and everything was going straight to shit.
“We can do it, Trace. It’ll be good. I’ll call some friends and get some help getting things done around the property.” His sister’s soothing voice reassured him—to an extent.
“Claire Ann, honestly, I don’t know if I can handle this. A Hand Up was supposed to be a good thing, but it’s turning into nothing but a nightmare.”
Somehow, his sister had convinced him to go ahead and have the benefit at his house. His farm in Macon—the one sanctuary he had left. Not that it was much of an escape anymore.
All it was now was an eighteen-acre reminder of Kylie Ryans. Of taking her in the kitchen, the bedroom, the shower, the barn. Waking up with her. Feeding her breakfast in bed. Throwing her in the pond, chasing her around with a handful of mud. Loving the ever-loving shit out of her.
“This is bigger than you, Trace. You get that right? These people are counting on you, okay? So let’s do what needs to be done. I’ll see you day after tomorrow. I’ll handle Cora and Pauly and everything. Just do whatever you need to and get home. We miss you.”
“Miss you, too. Thanks, Claire Ann. You’re one hell of a woman, you know that?”
He smiled at his sister’s laughter on the other end of the line. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled. But her next words wiped the grin clean from his face.
“Do you want me to tell them to invite her or no?” She didn’t have to clarify who she was referring to.
Trace cleared his throat. Twice. “Er, naw. She’s probably too busy for this kind of thing. Especially on such short notice.”
Truth was, even though her sound had changed pretty drastically, he knew who she was well enough to know how much she cared about the cause. She’d probably come to anything for A Hand Up if she were invited.
She’d been raised by a single parent herself. But seeing her was hard enough. Seeing her in the place where they’d been…whatever they’d been, the place where he’d let himself imagine marrying her someday…That would gut him.
“Okay. Got it. See you soon, big brother.”
He forced out a chuckle. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you. Or Rae. But I’m glad I did it.” Claire Ann was silent for so long, he checked his screen to make sure they hadn’t been disconnected.
“You cooked for us, Trace. When Mama couldn’t. You hid us in the closet. You kept us safe,” she said quietly. “You did plenty to deserve us. I just wish for once you’d find a way to get what you deserve.”
“Claire…” Fuck. He closed his eyes and clenched the fist that wasn’t holding the phone to his ear. “I don’t, I mean…I didn’t—”
“She’ll come around. If she doesn’t, then she doesn’t deserve you.” With that, his sister ended the call. Leaving him drowning in a sea of painful memories. But there was no bottle of bourbon to grab. No sweet, burning numbness.
Leaning back into his couch, he let the pain come—let it soak into his skin.
His sisters gave him too much credit. He hadn’t always kept them safe. And it was the times he’d failed, stayed out with friends, or worked late to earn extra money and came home to his sisters bruised, bloody, crying, and clinging to each other after his father had taken out his anger on them that haunted him.
The bruises had faded. A few of the marks had scarred. They each had a few. But the deepest one for him, the one he knew he’d never be able to get over, was the one he’d left on someone else.