“You were white power?” Sia gasped, eyes wide, and maybe a little fucking betrayed, as she stared at me.
I shook my head. “No.” But then I looked at Hush and fucking remembered seeing his face that night as he left the diner. The memory sliced me where I stood. I heard my old friends laughing in the tattoo shop. I felt my blood start to boil.
Sia edged closer to Hush. Her hand shook on his cheek. She kissed his head. “Sorry, baby,” she whispered, and I saw my brother’s eyes squeeze shut. His skin was still paling, and I knew he wasn’t doing so good.
“Sympathizers,” I said, drawing Sia’s attention back to me. I knew she was looking at me, but I kept my eyes on Hush. “The town wasn’t all Klan. Only a few were in that deep. But to say we all bought into their ideology is fair. Brought up believing white was best. Never interacted with anyone of color.”
“Christ,” Sia proclaimed. “What the hell kind of backward place was this?”
“Exactly that. An isolated town deep in the bayou.” I slid down the wall, my ass hitting the floor. I tipped my head back against the wall. “Black folk would never settle there, and if they did, they would be run out of town pretty damn quick. Hatred for anyone different was passed down from generation to generation. I know it ain’t a great excuse, but it’s what it was. No one changed their mindset because no one ever challenged it . . . until Hush and his parents moved there.” Hush winced and sucked in a huge breath. “But they were worse, because—”
“My mamma was white,” Hush ended, voice broken and sore. He lifted his head, and my throat thickened at the fucking raw pain I saw on his face.
“Black families were one thing in our town.” I met my best friend’s eyes. “But if a couple came to town and they were mixed, one black and one white, it was the worst fucking thing you could do.”
“Especially when one was the stepdaughter of the most powerful man in the town. The most racist man.”
“Your grandfather.” Sia clutched Hush’s hand tightly. Hush stared down at her hand, and I knew what he was seeing. Brown skin wrapped in white. The exact same crime his world was destroyed for. Hush ran his finger over the back of Sia’s hand, then, on a shaky breath, brought it to his mouth, and said, “Kärlek ser inte färger. Bara genuina hjärta.”
Sia’s eyes widened in surprise as the words left his mouth. Then, when my brother lifted his head, I knew he was going to speak.
Finally. I closed my eyes for a brief moment, feeling the heavy weight of being the only one who knew his secrets begin to lighten.
Chapter Nine
Hush
Sia’s hand trembled under mine. Her skin was white, slightly tanned from time spent outside.
“What language is that?” she said. My heart began to thud big bass beats in my chest.
“Swedish,” I replied and swallowed the lump in my throat. I looked up at Sia’s blue eyes, watching me closely. “My mamma was Swedish.”
She touched my face. “It’s where you get these pretty eyes from.”
I nodded, picturing my mamma in my mind. “She was . . .” My breathing hitched. But I kept it the fuck together. “She was typical in her looks, I suppose.” I smiled. “Long blond hair. Blue eyes. Pale skin. She was small, slim.”
“And your poppa?” Sia leaned down to kiss my hand, which was still in hers. I couldn’t take my eyes away from how they looked. Two shades, two tones that in so many people’s eyes should ever hold on to one another like this. Should never mix, because of some preconceived notion that one skin color was better. More important. Better for this already fucked-up world.
“My papa was black. A musician from Mississippi.” I closed my eyes and immediately heard the sound of a trumpet playing.
“Play it again,” I said, as Papa sat on my bed and played me a song his band would be playing at their gig later that night.
Papa leaned in and checked the doorway. “Your mamma will murder me if I don’t get you to sleep.”
I clutched his arm and said, “Please, just one more. Then I promise I’ll sleep.”
Papa kissed me on the head and then held my chin with his fingers. “Don’t give me them eyes, boy. You know I can’t fight those eyes—your mamma’s eyes.” I knew this. It was how I knew I’d get my way. My papa brought the trumpet’s mouthpiece to his lips and began to play. I lay down in my bed, watching him. I caught movement from the doorway. My mamma stood there, watching my papa play with a smile on her face. She always pretended to be mad at him when he would keep me up longer than my bedtime, but then I would always catch her outside the door, listening in.
Like she did every night when she knew I’d seen her, she put her finger across her lips for me to keep quiet. I nodded, then laid my head on my pillow and listened to Papa play.
It always sent me to sleep.
My vision was blurred as I came back to the present. Soft thumbs wiped at my eyes.
“She loved him,” Sia whispered.
I nodded, and turned my head to see Cowboy slumped against the wall, knees bent, arms draped over his knees, listening in. I saw the devastated look on his face. Because he knew she did . . . and what happened because of that love.
“She did,” I said, voice catching on the two simple words. “More than anything.”
“Except you,” Sia added, trailing her hands down the side of my closely shaven head.
“Except me.”
“What did you say before? In Swedish?”
I felt my mamma’s phantom hand thread in mine. “Love doesn’t see color. Only pure hearts.” My mouth moved and I was telling Sia, but I was hearing my mamma’s voice in my head. “She told me that after . . .” I sighed.
“After me and my friends had chased him two miles in our trucks as he walked down a road, hitting him with rocks for being mixed race.” Sia’s head snapped to Cowboy. Her hand shook in mine. This time it wasn’t sadness; it was rage.
“What?” she whispered.
I could see the way she looked at Cowboy now. Like he wasn’t the person she believed he was. That was bullshit. He was the best person I’d ever known. But it was true that we started off with bad blood.
“Let me tell you,” I found myself saying, even though I was dog tired, feeling that familiar feeling of tumbling down into a place where I knew my seizures would come calling. But in this moment, I didn’t care, because she needed to know. Sia told Ky she was falling for me and Aub. But the truth was, I was pretty sure I was already there.
And this she needed to know. I had to tell her. I was tired. So fucking tired of carrying this burden around for years. And I wouldn’t have her angry at Cowboy when, up until she came barreling into our lives, he was all I had.
I moved back onto the bed. Sia came to lie beside me. I looked over the room and saw Cowboy watching. But he didn’t move. “Aub,” I rasped. “Get over here too.” I saw him war with what to do as he looked at Sia.
Sia stared at him, and then held out her hand. Cowboy slowly got to his feet and came across the room. He lay down on the bed behind Sia and put his arm over her waist, hugging her close. I met his eyes; he nodded.
Sia took my hand, her head on my shoulder. I stared at the ceiling and then, closing my eyes, said, “My grandfather met my grandmother in Sweden. He was there on business. Long story short, he used his Cajun charm and she fell madly in love with him.” I shook my head. “She didn’t know it at the time, of course, but she was his ultimate dream come true. A true Aryan. My grandfather brought her back to Louisiana . . .” Another face popped into my head. “With her daughter in tow. Aia . . . my mother. Her real father died of cancer when she was only one.”
“Aia . . . such a pretty name.” Sia stroked her hand along my chest.