Truth Be Told (Blackbridge Security 4)

I have no idea why I hit the shower, dress in my best jeans, and put on cologne before leaving the house.

Well, that’s not true. I know exactly why I do those things. Tinley has lied to me for the last thirteen years by omitting the fact that I have a child, but despite my anger, she was always the one that got away.

Chapter 4

Tinley

With Alex out the door for school, I spend the remaining twenty minutes before work getting things ready for the home health nurse that comes a couple of times a week.

“You should stop by that place you like and grab a coffee before work,” Mom suggests as I pull out a new dressing gown and underthings for her to have available after her shower.

“I will,” I lie. “That new mocha drink is now back in season.”

I don’t have the means to be frivolous to buy expensive coffee drinks, but I saw the sign advertising the seasonal mint mocha chip latte in the window last week. Mom doesn’t need to know how bad things are. Worrying about finances is the very last thing she needs to be concerned with right now.

I hate even leaving her, wanting instead to spend every second I have with her, but her death, although we both know it’s coming, is something we just don’t talk about. It’s the proverbial elephant in the room, as if ignoring it will prolong her life. I’d give everything I have to anyone able to guarantee the possibility.

Losing Dad was abrupt and devastating, but losing her slowly, watching her wither day after day is just as traumatic. I realize neither is easier now that I’ve experienced both.

I kiss her clammy forehead and rest my hand on her shoulder. I feel completely drained, as if the lithium cells in my rechargeable batteries are faulty. Sleep at night isn’t restful. Work is exhausting, considering I work in a town where no one seems to have an ounce of work ethic, and I do the job of three. Alex getting in trouble at school doesn’t help, but thankfully he was only suspended for half a day yesterday. Mr. Branford has given him more than his fair share of breaks, and I’m pretty certain his luck is going to run out very soon.

“Get out of here,” Mom urges, her tired hand lifting to swat me away but falling to her lap before she can get it halfway up to my side. “I’ll be fine. Melissa will be here soon, and the minister is scheduled to visit.”

I nod my head, tears that never seem too far off these days threatening.

“I’ll be home around seven. I told Alex to take the bus straight home after school. Let me know if he doesn’t get here by four-thirty.”

She assures me she will as I grab my purse and keys. I say a prayer that my car starts without trouble this morning as I pull open the front door, but a man standing there makes me yelp.

For a split second I think I’m going to be robbed—something not completely unheard of in this town—although most criminals around here know the people in this neighborhood don’t have a single item of value in their homes. Our dollar store plates and Goodwill furniture aren’t worth the jail time if they get caught. It provides a shaky barrier of protection that is usually only breeched when someone is so baked out of their head, they aren’t using reason.

However, the man standing in front of me isn’t a crackhead. This guy is much more dangerous, and on instinct, I take a step back and try to slam the door shut.

His booted foot stops it, forcing it to bounce back and nearly hit me in the face. From the angry glint in his eyes, I don’t know that he’d be remorseful if it did smack me upside the head. There’s possibly a hint of regret that it didn’t when I glare at him.

“Would you have really kept him a secret his entire life?” he snaps. I knew if I ever saw him again, this would be the reason why.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking a-about,” I stammer, my cheeks heating with the lie as a bone-deep tremble begins inside of me.

My worst nightmare is playing out right this very second, and shamefully, murder is the first thing on my brain. If I kill him, he won’t be able to take my son from me.

But that’s foolish. I’m not a violent person, and even though he ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped on it that night in his granddad’s truck, I know he’d never take a child from his mother.

At least, I hope he wouldn’t.

I could be wrong. The scowl on his face isn’t one I’ve ever seen directed at me before, although I’m familiar with the sight of it. It’s the look he gives to people he hates—the guy who smacked my butt that night at the football game, the girls who picked on me in gym class because my breasts were smaller than theirs, the teacher who warned me against dating a piece of trash like Ignacio Torres.