Buttons and Shame (Buttons 4)

“Well, who’s the man who’s taken you?” Dad pressed. “We can give that info to the police—”

“I can’t do that either. They still have Lizzie…”

Mom’s eyes fell in sadness. “Her parents are just as devastated as we are.”

“If I don’t cooperate, they’ll kill her,” I whispered. “I can’t let that happen. I know this situation is terrible, but there’s no way out of it. But Cane brought me here to see you. So at least we have this…”

It took me a long time to convince my parents to accept the situation as it was. The idea of letting me go back to that nightmare was difficult, but after hours of going around and around, they finally agreed to let me go.

With tears in their eyes.

My parents walked me to the door just as the sun began to rise. Mom spotted the black car at the curb and Cane sitting inside. “Is that him?”

I nodded. “His name is Cane.”

“I want to meet him,” she said. “I want to see the man who brought you to us.”

I turned to the window and met his gaze. I waved him over with my hand.

Cane rubbed the scuff of his jaw before he cooperated. He probably didn’t want anything to do with my parents, but he wouldn’t deny me anything that night. He got out, tall and muscular, and headed up the path to the front door. Dressed all in black and looking handsome, he walked up to my parents and looked them in the eye.

Mom studied his features like she was trying to remember exactly what he looked like. As much as she hated this situation, she found the good in all the bad. “Thank you for bringing her home.” She extended her hand to shake his.

Cane eyed her hand, and his face immediately softened. He placed his hand in hers and shook it, giving her a slight nod in reciprocation.

This was a lot harder for my father, and he didn’t shake Cane’s hand. But he didn’t insult him either.

Cane didn’t seem offended. “Your daughter is a very strong woman. I’ve never met anyone like her.”

“We know,” Mom said. “She’ll always be our little girl…” Mom wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tightly. Then she broke down in tears all over again.

Cane bowed his head and averted his gaze.

My father came on the other side and hugged me too. With eyes full of tears, he held me along with my mom.

I didn’t want to say goodbye. It was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do.

But I did it.

24

Cane

She cried quietly on the ride home. She tried to hold her breath and keep her sniffles to a minimum, probably because she thought it would irritate me. Crying women definitely annoyed me, but I didn’t mind her tears.

We arrived at the hotel, and I checked us in to the room while she waited in the car. It was an excuse to give her some privacy, to allow her to grasp her emotions and let everything out. The hotel overlooked the ocean, so I booked the presidential suite at the very top. It was an unnecessary expense since our flight left in the morning, but I wanted her to be comfortable.

I retrieved her from the car and saw her blotchy cheeks and red eyes. She’d stopped crying, but it was obvious she forced herself to. I got her out of the car and held her hand as I guided her to our room on the top floor. My fingers interlocked with hers, and I felt her faint pulse underneath the skin.

We arrived at our room and walked into the small living room next to the entryway.

She took a look around but didn’t seem impressed, probably still thinking about the last interaction she had with her parents. Not many of us knew the last time we would see our loved ones. But she knew she would never see her parents again when she left that house.

The fact that she was standing tall was impressive. She was far braver than I was.

She walked to the balcony and opened the French doors to the ocean outside. The sun had risen enough that the water could be seen in the dim light. The sky was still pink with tones of orange. It almost looked like a sunset.

I came up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist. I rested my chin on top of her head and pulled her into my chest, comforting her the only way I knew how. When I thought I couldn’t feel pity or compassion, I felt it for her. There was something about her that turned me into a different person, made me into a much softer man. “I’m here if you want to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk.” She turned around so she could place her face into my chest. She leaned into me and tightened her arms around my waist, her old tears sticking to my t-shirt. “Thank you for bringing me here… You’re a good man.”