Losing Control(93)

“You know,” I croak.

He nods, drinks the rest of the whiskey. In two strides he’s at the sofa, pulling the letter out of my hands. “It was with the scarf when I went to pick up her things.”

I don’t say “I’m sorry” because those are the two most ineffectual words in the English language. They won’t take his pain away or bring back his mother. When he said he was alone in this world, I didn’t realize how deeply the ache of isolation went for him.

I am overwhelmed by the extent of his devotion to me and his willingness to sacrifice to make me happy.

But it is too much.

Far too much.

The scales will never be even.

I reach out my hand and pull his head into my lap.

“Turn out the light, Tiny.” The words are tight and clipped.

I reach over and the light is swallowed by the shadows. Hugging him against me, I cry the tears he won’t release. This matter with Richard Howe is not finished. For all that Ian has said that he wants to look forward, this horrible truth will always hold him back. Hold us back.

“Don’t leave me,” Ian shudders, soundless emotion shaking his frame.

“I won’t. Not ever.” And then I’m finally able to say the words. “I love you, Ian Kerr. More than anything.”