Every Little Piece of Me (Orchid Valley 1)

He flinches then looks away again and nods. “Fair.”

I reach for him but drop my hand before I touch his arm. “I guess that hasn’t changed.”

His eyes flick to me. “What?”

“The way the air between us goes tense and cold when the subject of my parents comes up.”

He stares at me for a long moment, and I wait for him to say something else about them. He has every right to. They treated him terribly. “My mom used to like me to send her pictures of the lake,” he says, surprising me. “She said she liked seeing that I was living in a little slice of heaven.” He shakes his head and bends to pick up a pebble from the dock. “I never let her know that my year here wasn’t all sunshine and roses.”

I swallow hard at the reminder that Marston of all people understands what it’s like to love and be loved by someone who’s profoundly imperfect. “How’s your mom doing, anyway?”

Marston stills where he’s stooped.

Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. I’m pretty sure the rules of etiquette my parents live by say you don’t ask about the addict family member who’s dropped out of rehab a dozen times. But I know it’s important to Marston, and—inconvenient paper marriage or not—I care about him.

He swallows and stands, turning to me. “She passed away during my freshman year of college.”

My stomach clenches. “Oh, Marston. I’m so sorry.”

He tosses the pebble into the lake. “She’d been abusing pills and alcohol for too long and stopped cold turkey—trying to do it on her own when she knew better. It was just too hard on her body.”

I try to imagine what that was like for him, but I can only hope he had someone to hold his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“You know, it sucked, but I try to see the good in it, if that makes sense?” He rubs his fingers together, as if he can still feel the stone there, even though it’s gone. “She was trying—she went out trying to be a better mom. They found her in bed, like she’d gone to sleep and just never woken up.”

“That must’ve been awful.”

“In some ways, it hurt like crazy. In my head, I had a hundred arguments with my dead mother where I yelled and screamed at her for being so stupid, for not doing it the right way. But I like to think that wherever she is now, she knows she went out trying to do the right thing for her kid—because it didn’t matter how old I was, that was how she thought of me. I like to think she’s found some peace knowing that.”

I don’t care that it’s been ten years. I don’t care that goodbye will be harder if I don’t keep my distance from him. I know this man, and the grief in his eyes when he talks about his mom reminds me so much of how I still feel about my sister. I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him. I hug the friend I had and the man he became—understanding in the way someone who’s only experienced loss can that he’s both of those people at the same time, and they’re both hurting. “I’m so sorry.”

His voice is as rough as the gravel beneath my feet. “Thank you.”

I bury my face in his chest. He’s so damn tall, and it’s the only way I know how to give him a real hug. He strokes my hair, and for a beat it feels like he’s comforting me. This is what I needed those days after Brittany died. My parents didn’t know how to let me grieve, wouldn’t or couldn’t share their pain, and I needed them to help me but didn’t know how to ask for it. I’m not sure I even realized how good a hug would’ve felt. “I hope you weren’t alone,” I whisper, remembering the isolation of loss. “I hope you had friends to carry you through.”

“I had Aunt Lori. It was hard, but it wasn’t a huge shock. And I dealt with my grief the way I dealt with all other too-big emotions. I threw myself into my schoolwork.”

I pull back and wipe away tears I didn’t realize I’d shed. I go to take another step back, but he grabs my chin and looks into my eyes.

“Thank you, Brinley.” He drops his hand, but I don’t move. “Most of the people who know about my complicated relationship with my mother think I didn’t or shouldn’t have grieved. It means a lot that you get it. I’m glad you found a family you could share your grief with too.”

“Family?”

He arches a brow. “Savvy, Abbi, and Stella? They’re your family now. I can tell. They’re protective of you and love you unconditionally.” He gives me a sad smile. “If I don’t get to hold your hand through the shit the world will throw your way, I’m glad you have them.”