It’d been a long time since I talked about my mother.
“She’d never been well. I guess looking back on it, she always struggled with mental health issues. Depression, maybe some other things, it’s hard for me to say and my father’s too dead to give me any perspective. Most of the people that remember her from back then won’t say anything negative, so I’ve had to piece it together myself.
“But I remember the day she passed better than most. It was a Sunday and my dad left early to sit in a bar and watch the Eagles play. She had music on the stereo all morning and walked around the kitchen singing something, I don’t remember what, maybe Frank Sinatra, but I thought she was so perfect, but also very annoying. All I wanted to do was watch cartoons.”
Fiona smiled. “You were a little kid.”
“Yeah, I was, and I had no clue. She went upstairs at some point. Kissed me on the cheek, told me to be good. Made me promise. I thought that was weird: she made me promise that I’d be good, no matter what. Then she went upstairs and I sat in front of the TV for a while, I don’t know how long, but it was a long time before I got hungry and went looking for her. I crept upstairs and found their bedroom door was closed, so I opened it and went inside.
“She tied a belt to the ceiling fan and fastened the other end around her throat. I found her hanging there in her house dress and all I remember is thinking, maybe she’s okay, maybe she’s okay. I tried to get her down, but she was so heavy and I was just little. I panicked and tried calling my dad, but this was before cell phones, and eventually I went and got a neighbor. Everything’s fuzzy after that.”
I stopped talking. That was my deepest shame, my most horrible memory, and I hadn’t shared it with another living soul since I told Evgeni once when I was a teenager.
He knew already, of course. Everyone knew. Poor Mack walked in on his dead crazy mother, found her hanging like a lamp. I knew what they said, and for the longest time, I thought they were right.
That I was crazy and broken, too.
It made learning how to kill easier. I could justify it to myself. How could I be held responsible for anything if I was crazy, like my mother?
But she wasn’t crazy. She was a depressed housewife deep in debt and terrified every day, and the stress finally overwhelmed her.
“I’m so sorry, Mack.” Fiona moved closer and put both her hands on my thighs. “God, that’s so horrible.”
“It feels better to say it out loud. Do you know you’re only the second person I’ve ever told that story to?”
“Thank you for telling me. I wish I could do something to help.”
“Listening’s good enough.” I leaned forward and kissed her gently. “Now you know all my secrets. At least, you know all the secrets that matter. If you still want this, if you still want to do this with me—”
She leaned forward and kissed me fiercely. I reveled in the way her tongue broke past my teeth and stroked along my own, and I felt myself stir at her touch.
Even after that horrible story, she could still drive me wild with desire.
I broke the kiss off and stroked my fingers along her jaw.
“I want this,” she said. “I definitely want this.”
“All right then. I won’t blame you if you needed to walk away. There’s always an out.”
“Not for me. I don’t think there’s an out anymore. I’m all in.”
I smiled and leaned my forehead against hers. She closed her eyes and a purr escaped her throat. I tilted my chin up and kissed her, then pulled back and stood.
All that wild, nervous energy drained out, like that story was a plug keeping me contained and it was finally ripped free.
I reached out a hand. “Come on. We’ve got one more stop to make.”
She let me help her up. “Where are we going?”
“The gun range.”
I turned to walk away. She didn’t follow.
“The gun range? Excuse me?”
“You need to learn a few things.”
“Learn a few things?” She sounded slightly hysterical. It was cute.
“Like how to shoot a gun. You know, the point of a gun range.”
“Mack, I’m not learning how to shoot.”
“You’re going to need to know for this next part.” I said it softly and tried not to let her see the fear I felt stabbing through my heart.
Her eyes widened. “Why would I need to know how to shoot? What do you have planned?”
“I need you to trust me. Can you trust me, little princess?”
Another long moment. Part of me wanted her to run away.
Because if she listened, I might get her killed.