Rebirth (RAW Family 3)

Prologue

A.J.

A.J. was a smart boy. He was only five years old but knew the value of a secret.

He didn't like keeping secrets from his mum, and when he asked her if it was okay to lie, she told him it was never okay to be dishonest.

It didn't make sense.

A.J. had heard his mother lie before.

Why was she able to lie when he wasn't?

His mother explained that sometimes people told lies to stop another person from being sad, and these were called “little white lies.”

A.J. thought about this.

His secret would hurt his mum, he'd been told, so it wasn't really a lie, he thought.

Keeping his secret was more a “little white lie.” As his mother tucked him in to bed, he smiled up at her. "I love you," he told her, and he meant it.

His mother's smile softened. "I love you more, honey," she responded quietly as she ran gentle fingers through his messy hair.

She blew him a kiss as she left his room, turning off the light and closing the door behind her.

A.J. lay in his bed, awake and waiting.

He wasn't sure how long he waited, but when he heard the window rattle then lift in excruciating slowness, he smiled excitedly.

His little white lie was here.

Daddy was home.

***

Lexi

“Mummy?”

I heard him. How could I not?

But I continued to drive in silence. I wasn’t really in the mood for conversation; however, the little monster in the back seat had other ideas.

My chest felt heavy, weighed down.

What a day.

Everything felt tight. My insides, my jaw, my grip on the steering wheel. Even my eyes felt tightly fixated on the road. But that wasn’t A.J.’s fault, and I wouldn’t let him know I felt like I was dying on the inside.

A sigh left me.

Daddy Day was never a good day for me.

“Yeah, honey?”

He didn’t answer for a long while, and when a frown tipped my brow and I glanced back at him through the rearview mirror, his eyes were fixed on me, unblinking.

My heart ached as I looked into his soft brown eyes.

His father’s eyes.

Well, shit.

My nose began to tingle. And just like that, fresh tears rolled down my cheeks. I swiped at them quickly and blinked rapidly, trying in vain to quell the familiar sting of sadness.

Jesus Christ. Get a grip.

My son, he didn’t like to see me upset. His voice was little over a whisper and near desperate. “Don’t cry, Mummy.” His voice steeled, and he muttered, “I don’t like it.”

I heard his daddy in those hardened words.

Ugh. He was killing me.

We drew to a stop at a set of traffic lights and I took my hands off the wheel, looking back and forcing a smile. I spoke softly, almost pacifying. “Sorry, bud.”

It was his father’s birthday, and we were driving home from the cemetery. Every single time I saw that gleaming white marble headstone, it took me back to a time I chose to remember, when I would be better off forgetting. That time so long ago, yet so vividly fresh in my memories. No matter how much time passed, I was stuck there, in that time. In a place where I was wild and careless and in the arms of the man I loved.

Make no mistake about it. I was dangerously in love.

Recklessly in love.

The lights turned green and I twisted back, driving on, once again gripping the steering wheel like a lifeline. We were halfway home before I realized I was driving on autopilot, not at all paying any attention to my surroundings.

My heart lurched in apprehension. I swallowed hard and shook my head in a poor attempt to snap myself out of my stupor.

Maybe conversation wasn’t such a bad idea after all. “How about we go to the grocery store, get a bunch of junk food, and watch a movie tonight?”

The wide smile on my face was genuine then. There was only one man in my life, and he glued my heart together with mud, giggles, and drawings crafted with crayon and love.

A.J. smiled, my toothless monster, but as quickly as it came, it went. “What day is it?”

I stalled.

Umm...

I couldn’t help my quiet laughter.

What a question?

Amused bewilderment stunned me and my brows rose. “Uh...” I tried to quell the urge to laugh again. “Sunday.”

He blinked down at his lap before looking back at me through the mirror. He shook his head before staring out the window. “No, thank you.”

Confusion marred my brow.

Huh?

He was passing up junk food? Since when?

I didn’t want to push, but I was slow to realize I needed time

with my son, today more than ever. I was going to have to sweeten the pot. “Maybe we could stay up really late, sleep in, and then go out for pancakes tomorrow.”

Ooh. I smiled inwardly.

He looked tempted.

“What about school?”

Did he even know me? I was a cool mom. What was one day of missing school to bond with my son? “Forget about it. I’ll tell them you’re sick.”

“That’s a lie.” He peered at me a moment before avoiding my gaze. “And I like school.”

“Just a little lie.” My smile began to droop. “A white lie.”

Wait. Was I really explaining myself to a five-year-old?

What was going on here? A.J. wasn’t acting like himself.

After a moment of puzzlement, a thought dawned and I recognized how selfish I was being. He was just a little boy, and perhaps today was harder for him than I thought. Maybe he had just started to figure out exactly what he’d lost in losing his father.

Chances were, even though I needed a distraction, maybe A.J. needed the time to process what he was feeling. And my chest ached.

Could he be mourning as I was?

I sighed inwardly and my smile turned sad. “That’s okay, honey. Next time.” But I couldn’t help the feeling of disconnection between us.

And then we were home.

I pulled into the drive and turned off the car. Before I got out, I turned in my seat to look back at my sweet boy.

“Hey,” I started, and when he looked up me with those long, dark lashes, I melted. “I know today wasn’t easy.” I put my hand on his knee. “Are you okay?”

He was stoic a long moment, my baby, and then shook his head but remained stone-faced. I gave him time and a full minute went by before he dipped his chin, and carefully uttered, “If somebody told me something... a secret... and I want to tell someone else, is that okay?”

I thought about A.J.’s little friends, and asked, “Is the secret hurting anybody?”

A.J. thought about it. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Honey, when somebody tells you a secret, it’s not your secret to tell. And when somebody is telling you that secret, they’re trusting you to keep that for them.” I reached over and ran my fingers down the side of his face. “You sure this secret isn’t hurting anybody?”

He looked down, and those long lashes glanced his cheeks. He then gave a firm nod. “I’m sure.”

Thank God.

I wasn’t sure I could deal with much more upset today. “Okay, then no, sweetie. You shouldn’t tell anybody.”

“Not even you?” he queried sensibly.

“Me?” I pinched his cheek lightly, playfully, and he broke out into a huge smile. “You can tell me anything.” I winked at him. “We don’t keep secrets, right?”

I didn’t understand it. He looked visibly upset but whispered, “Right.”

Uh oh.

Not good.

My heart stuttered as I helped him out of his seat. I got out of the car and pulled him to me, hugging him to my side. His arm went around my waist.

What was going on with my boy? I was suddenly anxious.

“You can tell me anything.” I looked down at him, unblinking. “Anything at all. And I won’t get upset. I’ll just listen if you need me to, but—” I stopped, stood in his path, and knelt down, looking my son deep in the eye. “—we don’t keep secrets from each other, buddy.”

He nodded slowly, wisely, as though he was caught in a predicament and wasn’t sure how to proceed.

Shit.

It worried me.

Once inside, I let my bag slide off my shoulder onto the breakfast bar and hesitantly glanced back to the little boy standing awkwardly in the doorway. We continued to look at each other a while before I asked, “You got something to say to me, bud?”

A second later, he nodded. “Yeah.” He shuffled his feet.

He had something important to tell me; I could feel it, as a mother does. I gave him my undivided attention. “What is it?”

A.J. spoke, and I wasn’t prepared for what he said. Not at all.

“Well, sometimes, late at night...”

Oh, this was not starting well. My heart immediately began to race.

“Sometimes...” He looked down at the skirting and rubbed his shoe against it. His voice lowered a few decibels. “Sometimes, Daddy comes to see me.”

The pressure in my heart released, the tight band uncoiling.

Oh, Lord.

Today was not the day.

I felt like crying.

“Baby.” My eyes closed of their own accord and I let out a humorless laugh, forcing down the thickness in my throat. I pulled him into me and squeezed him tightly, rocking him from side-to-side, kissing his temple.

He hugged me back just as hard and I explained a few things to him.

“I know it feels that way.” I kissed him again. “Daddy comes to me too sometimes.” I pulled back and watched him cautiously. “In my mind. In my dreams.”

“No.” A.J. shook his head. “Not in my dreams, Mummy. It’s real.”

Oh, sweetie... no.

My heart broke as I tried to explain to him that what he was feeling, what he was seeing, was nothing more than a coping mechanism. I should know. At one point, Twitch would be in my room every single night and I would talk to him. He never responded to my anxious questions. It took me a while and a whole lot of therapy for me to realize I was psychologically hurting myself.

“When I dream of Daddy, it feels so real.” Inhaling deeply, shakily, I spoke out on an exhale, “It feels so real that sometimes I don’t want to wake up from such a beautiful dream.” I closed my eyes to stress my next words, gripping his forearms. “But it’s just a dream, honey.” I pulled him to me once again and snaked my arms around him. “It’s not real.”

A.J. frowned. “No, Mummy.” He tried to shake his head against my chest. “It’s real. Really real.”

No, it isn’t. He’s gone.

“Baby.” My heart ached as much as the spoken words. “Daddy’s gone.”

“He isn’t,” he said adamantly in only the way a five-year-old could.

I bit my lip to stop myself from releasing a pained cry. Instead, I whispered, “Yes.”

But A.J. wasn’t having it. He took a step back from me, and I felt the loss immediately. The full force of his glare hit me. “No.”

Goddammit.

Didn’t he know how much he was hurting me?

Twitch was gone.

And he was never coming back.

But my son was so important, so precious to me, that I caved, and as I did, a tear trailed my cheek. “Okay, baby.”

A look of vindication crossed him, and when he threw himself into my arms, I held my baby and wept silently.

Because my son was mourning the father he never had. And whichever way he chose to cope with that was okay with me.

Even if it meant hurting me in the process.

Chapter One

Twitch

In the shadow of night, I moved slowly, quietly, and when the house came into view, I stalled. The lights were still on. I stood by the gum tree on the street corner and waited.

Looking down at my wrist, I checked my watch in the moonlight and counted the seconds. When the clock struck eleven, I peered up at the house and it was suddenly awash with darkness. It was like clockwork. Every night at eleven p.m., Lexi went to bed, but not before checking on A.J.

A small smile pulled at my lips when the lamp in my son’s room illuminated the window.

And there it was.

See?

Clockwork. Same thing, day in, day out.

A moment passed and the window dimmed, and that was my cue.

With my hands in my pockets of my hoodie, I moved gracefully, silently, and when I reached the window, I put my hands to the top of the wooden frame and pushed. It rattled as it opened. I pulled out the fly screen and placed it on the ground before climbing in. The second my foot hit the f

loor of his bedroom, I heard plastic cracking.

I clicked my tongue, and muttered, “Fuck.” When the little man in the bed lifted his head and blinked at me sleepily, I uttered quietly, “I thought I told you to clean this shit up.”

He rubbed at his eyes, then mumbled, “I forgot.”

“You forgot.” I chuckled under my breath. “Sure you did.”

The little smirk pulling at his lips told he was lying. My son might’ve gotten my looks, but he was his mother through and through. Kind and honest and good.

I glanced around the room, at the floor, before sighing at the mess, and stepped silently towards the bookshelf. “What’s your flavor, boy?”

“Green Eggs and Ham,” he said immediately.

My lips puckered into a small scowl. “Again?”

“Again.” He nodded, sitting up in bed.

Another sigh was pulled from me, but it was exaggerated. I really didn’t give a fuck what he wanted me to read to him. I would do it, reading the same book over and over again, if it meant I got to spend some time with my boy. Because what little time I got with him was something I cherished. It was precious, and I’d missed him his whole life. So what little I got of him, I would deal with.

Book in hand, I went to him. “Scoot over.” When he did, I sat on the edge of the bed, lying back against the timber headboard, and I put my arm around him and held the book up.

Without hesitation, he leaned his sleepy head into my chest. I blinked down at him as he let out a little yawn, and I died on the inside.

I fucking died.

Never had a child been so loved as my son. His trust was not something I deserved, but I would take it because it was habit of mine—taking things that didn’t belong to me. Claiming them as my own.

As I started to read in low tones, I recognized I didn’t even need the book anymore. I’d read it so many times I knew the damned thing by heart. But A.J. seemed to like the pictures, so I held the book up and let him turn the pages when needed, watching him smile at the goofy-looking drawings, smiling right along with him.

I never understood what people meant when they said it was the little things.

Peering down at my son... I got it.

Those smiles, his laughter, the way he scratched his butt without shame... it was worth all the time I spent away from him. For this child, for Lexi, I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. I didn’t want to, but I would, which was why it was so important to have taken care of business before I reemerged from my hollow grave.