Page 120 of Tragic (Lark Cove 3)

Piper would be worried. I should have stopped an hour ago and called her from a pay phone, but I’d kept my eyes on the pavement and my truck roaring down the interstate to Bozeman.

An exit came up on my right, then flew past. It was better that I take care of this on my own. Piper didn’t need the stress, and until I confronted my brother and collected retribution, this anger would always loom over us.

I wanted her to marry me, but what the hell kind of husband would I make? I’d scared her today. I’d scared the Kendrick kids.

“Fuck.” I pounded my fist on the dash.

This had to stop. I had to end this. I couldn’t feel this way around Piper or my boys. They didn’t need to see their dad go fucking crazy over a phone call.

Today, I was ending this. And then I’d leave it all behind and never look back.

When I’d called Mom earlier, she’d been driving to pick up Isaiah. She’d claimed that his early release was a surprise to us all, but I didn’t know if I believed her anymore.

Ironically, the state penitentiary was between Lark Cove and Bozeman, in a town called Deer Lodge, along the interstate. When I’d driven past Deer Lodge before, I’d smiled to myself, knowing that Isaiah was behind the tall gates and barbed wire fences. This time as I drove by, I gripped the wheel harder, letting my teeth grind together.

My boot pressed the pedal faster. The speed limit was shattered now, so my only hope was not crossing paths with a cop. Mom had Isaiah with her and they were likely heading home. They were probably just an hour ahead of me, maybe less.

The afternoon light was already fading by the time I reached the Bozeman city limits. It wasn’t even four o’clock yet, but the sun was on its winter descent. Navigating the town streets didn’t take long, even though they were covered in patches of ice and snow. When I pulled up to Mom’s, two sets of footprints led up the snow-covered sidewalk toward her front door.

I threw open the door to my truck and stepped outside, ice crunching underneath my boot. The chill from the air did nothing to cool my blood—it had been boiling for hours, simmering for years.

The moment I rounded the hood, the front door to the house flew open. Mom rushed outside, pulling her sweater over her chest. Her dark hair was pulled back, the gray strands by her temples showing.

Before the car accident, she hadn’t had any gray hair. Her face hadn’t had as many lines around her mouth or wrinkles in her forehead.

“Kaine, calm down.” She raised her hands, but I didn’t

stop as I marched for the house, plowing right past her on the sidewalk.

“Is he in there?” I jerked my chin to the house.

“We just got home,” she said, following on my heels. “He just got out of prison. Let him be. You two can have it out at a different time.”

“Let him be?” I turned and glared down at her. “Let him be? I’m not going to feel sorry for the bastard for being in prison. He deserved to be locked away. He should still be locked away for another two fucking years!” My voice boomed across the frozen yard.

“Kaine—”

“Damn you for choosing him,” I spat. “Damn you.”

“He’s my son.”

“So am I.”

A tear dripped down her cheek and she wiped it away. “You’ll understand when you’re a parent.”

“I was a parent. Until he took her away from me.”

Her face paled and another tear fell. I ignored it and spun back around for the door.

Isaiah was standing behind the screen, staring outside.

Mom gripped my elbow, trying to hold me back, but I easily shook her loose.

“Still hiding?” I called out.

Isaiah dropped his shoulders and pushed through the door. He walked slowly down the stairs, then met me on the sidewalk. His chin rested on his chest, his eyes aimed to our feet.

“Look at me,” I ordered, my fists clenching.