Romancing My Love(42)

As she lowered her hand and wrapped her arms around her middle, she realized she’d not only walled off those emotions, but she’d masked them with strength. It was more than a need; it was her best survival technique.

She closed her eyes and whispered, “Being strong is hard. So damn hard.” Tears slipped down her temples as she waited for her mother’s voice to rescue her. She held her breath, waiting, hoping, praying to hear her mother’s voice, and when it didn’t come, she rolled onto her side and cried. Her body shook as sobs she’d kept hidden deep inside burned and bubbled through her chest and lungs, leaving her lips on the wings of ragged, painful breaths.

Rebecca had cried many times after her mother died, but the tears that pooled on her bedspread and in her hair weren’t solely for the mother she’d give anything to have back. They were for herself. For the woman she had become out of a dire situation, for the woman she left behind and might never be again—and for the woman she desperately wanted to be but was afraid to accept. She curled into a fetal position and rocked forward and back, trying to rid herself of the tentacles of fear that gripped her. Was it wrong to let some of the strength she’d worn like armor go? To let herself be loved without looking for an ulterior motive behind every glance? What if she let Pierce in—really let him in—and he didn’t like the weaker Rebecca? The Rebecca who loved when he opened doors and told her she was beautiful? The Rebecca who loved that he was constantly aware of other people, pulling her closer when he felt protective and stealing glances at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. What if she said she didn’t want to handle everything by herself? Could she afford to love with her whole being and risk being abandoned again? Mom didn’t abandon me! It wasn’t a choice!

Stop it. Just stop the bullshit questions and say what you really mean.

She opened her eyes with the determination of the voice in her head. It wasn’t her mother’s voice admonishing her. It was Rebecca’s own voice calling her out on her deepest fear.

She pulled her knees up tighter against her chest, as if they could shield her from the truth. She gritted her teeth and held her breath as the thought that she hadn’t allowed herself to acknowledge broke free and forced its way into her mind, as sharp and as painful as shards of glass.

What if I let all that strength go…and he dies?

She heard the wailing a second before she registered that it was coming from her own lungs.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

Nonononono.

She buried her face in her pillow even though she was home alone and dug her fingers into the comforter so hard her knuckles hurt. She didn’t want to hear the torturous sounds of the truth as it tore from her lungs. She didn’t want to feel the ice-cold piercing of her heart, but she knew she had to feel those things—accept those things—if she was ever going to move forward.

Open your eyes.

No.

Open your goddamn eyes. You’re not a quitter.

No! I can’t.

She could always make herself get through anything. Anything. All it took was determination and the voice in her head that never doubted her. The voice she’d concocted when her mother was no longer strong enough to cheer her on and she needed to dig deeper to find the strength not to cry at the sight of her mother moving closer to death with every hour. Her mother’s voice had taken over for her own voice after her mother died. It happened seamlessly, during the weeks when Rebecca was trying to piece her new motherless life together and convince herself that getting out of bed every day was a good idea and the best choice. The only choice. It had been her mother’s voice that convinced her that she would get through the pain and emptiness of being orphaned, while her own voice had been swallowed by grief. She was still, after all, a grieving daughter.

Now that voice she relied upon had silenced. She was alone in her mind, the quiet of the room split only by the sound of her sobs.

Alone.

But I was always alone.

The thought brought harsher sobs. She’d always known she was alone in her caretaking, and somehow egging herself on in third person had made her feel safer, less alone, stronger. And afterward, when she was alone in their apartment and she’d used up all of her emotional reserves in caring for her mother, her mother’s voice had taken over. Her mother pulled her through when she was simply surviving, finding a job, dragging her tormented, devastated ass out of bed instead of being swallowed by sadness.

Desperate times. Desperate measures, she reminded herself.

Shut. The. Fuck. Up.

She pushed herself up to a sitting position and wiped her eyes. Her body shook with each sob she tried to swallow.

“This isn’t a desperate time,” she said aloud. “And I am not alone.”

She swiped angrily at her tears with her forearm, sucking in hampered breaths as she struggled to regain control of her emotions.

“This is anything but a desperate time. It’s a hopeful time.”

She looked up at the ceiling, with her breathing under control. “I’m cutting the strings, Mom. I’m tired of getting tangled up in them.” A single tear slipped down her cheek. “I love you. I will always love you, but it’s time for me to stop worrying about what Pierce thinks of me, or of what I had to do. It’s time for me to let him love me.”





Chapter Twenty-Seven


REBECCA PULLED INTO the parking lot of her old apartment complex and parked by the office. She stepped from her car and remembered that even though she felt safe, she’d told Pierce she wouldn’t go there without him. She’d fought him on his request, and a big part of her still felt like it was overprotective of him, even if it was a loving gesture. She’d lived there for years and hadn’t needed an escort, and she didn’t need one now. But as she stepped from the car with a strange heaviness in her chest, she wished he were there with her. And when the part of her that was used to being in control of everything tried to push that wish aside, she gathered it back around her heart and allowed herself to feel and accept it. She loved him, missed him, and she was about to pick up her mother’s urn. If ever there was a time when she could use support, it was now. She had no idea if she might fall apart when she saw Mr. Fralin, or when she held her mother’s urn in her hands for the first time since she’d handed it over to him. Now she needed Pierce’s strength, and she didn’t care what she saw in his eyes.

With a deep breath, she crossed the parking lot and headed inside.

“Rebecca.” Mr. Fralin reached for her hand as she came through the door and drew her in close. “Would you like to sit down?”

Her heart was beating so fast she couldn’t sit still. She’d give anything to have Pierce’s reassuring hand on the small of her back, his whisper in her ear, telling her things would be okay and that he was there for her.

“No, thank you,” she managed. “I’m a little too nervous to sit.” Rebecca looked around the rental office, suddenly remembering when she’d been forced to request a smaller apartment because they couldn’t afford the rent for the two-bedroom. Mr. Fralin had never made her feel bad, and as he stood before her now, with her hand in his, it struck her that she’d never even looked for an excuse to believe there was any pity in his eyes—and yet she had with Pierce.

I’m an idiot.

She wasn’t afraid of Mr. Fralin being taken away. She appreciated him, and she loved him for what he had done for her and for her mother, but she wasn’t in love with him like she was with Pierce. Losing Mr. Fralin would be heartbreaking. Losing Pierce would be devastating.

She had been pushing Pierce away so she didn’t get too attached. The realization nearly knocked her to her knees.

“Rebecca? Rebecca, are you okay?” Mr. Fralin looked at her with an assessing gaze, and she realized she had zoned out and hadn’t heard him talking to her.

“I’m sorry. I…I was just thinking about something.”

He nodded as if everyone zoned out, thinking about losing the man they loved.

“Shall we retrieve your urn?”

Her legs moved robotically as she followed him into the back office, her mind still reeling with her stupidity. How could she have allowed herself to ruin things with a man she’d give her own life for? She’d spent so much energy trying to find a reason to back away the last time she saw him that she’d almost lost sight of how real his love was. Oh God. What if she’d already ruined things?

She waited while Mr. Fralin went into a smaller room with the wall safe. Her heartbeat was frantic with worry about her relationship with Pierce and anticipation over receiving her mother’s urn. When Mr. Fralin appeared with the urn in his hands, she froze, expecting to fall apart. He set it in her hands, and she didn’t crumple to the floor. Her legs didn’t wobble, and she didn’t stop breathing. She gripped the urn tightly against her body and felt the prickling of her nerves begin to ease.

“Thank you, Mr. Fralin.” Her voice was quiet, but at least it hadn’t failed her. She gazed up at the man who had made her mother’s last days easier, and gratitude swelled inside her. Her words came easier now. “You’ve been so generous. I appreciate everything that you’ve done for us. For me.” And then she remembered that she’d brought him his money, and somehow her brain was functioning normally again as she reached into her pocket and withdrew a twenty-dollar bill. “I’ll be out of town this weekend, so I brought this week’s money with me.”