“You can repent and rid yourself—”
“Why the fuck did you find me?” Rev yelled into the phone, not having the patience to hear his evangelical bullshit. Shit that was shoved non-stop into his ears since birth and until the day he escaped those restrictive chains.
“Your mother needs you right now.”
He dropped the hand holding his phone, stared with disbelief at the screen for a second, took a deep breath, then put it back to his ear. “She told you to fuckin’ call me?”
“No… She doesn’t know. I… She’s suffering, Michael. You need to make things right with her.”
My fuckin’ name ain’t Michael!
“That’s why you fuckin’ called me? To make things right with my mother?”
“That’s not the main reason. It’s your father. A few weeks ago, she happened to mention she hoped you and Sarah would make peace with him before he passed.”
“He’s dead?” That was one thing he could shout “hallelujah” to.
“Not yet. He’s almost at the end of his life journey and is getting ready to begin his glorious afterlife in the arms of God.”
Rev rolled his eyes and sighed. “So, the fucker ain’t kicked the bucket yet.”
A sharp noise came through the phone. “You still have time to make things right between the two of you. You still have time to make things right with God. You can denounce the devil in your soul, Brother Michael.”
Rev ignored the devil and God shit. Instead, he concentrated on the bullshit of making things “right” between him and his father. “How’s he gonna make things right with me? He gonna apologize? He gonna let me do the things he did to me, and to Sarah, to him?”
More silence. Silence that was telling as fuck.
“Apologize for trying to raise you and your sister the way the good Lord intended?”
Christ. His stomach was churning right now. Abso-fuckin-lutely churning to the point of sharp pain. “What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s being tested by pancreatic cancer.”
Rev doubted pancreatic cancer was some sort of test from God. Even so, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. “You try a prayer circle? You all believe that’ll cure what ails ya.”
Matthew inhaled sharply. “I can see Satan’s tight hold on you is making you unwilling to take the healing steps I hoped for. You have a blessed day, nephew. I’m sorry about Sister Sarah. May she rest in peace and in the glory of God.”
“You’re not fuckin’ sorry!” Rev screamed into the phone even though his uncle had already hung up. “You’re not fuckin’ sorry,” he whispered, tossing his phone onto the picnic table. He dropped his head in his arms, felt a foreign sting in his eyes, and his breath stuttered. “You ain’t fuckin’ sorry at all.”
Fuck them.
Fuck. Them. All.
He started when a warm body pressed against him and fingers plucked gently at the spiky hair at the top of his head. He cleared the thick from his throat and blinked a few times to rid himself of the sting, then reluctantly lifted his head.
Reilly stood with a hip pressed to his arm and her big green eyes turned down toward him. “You okay?”
This wasn’t her being her normal nosy self. Genuine concern tinged her voice. That made the ball of tension in his chest grow until he thought it would burst through his skin.
“Yeah.”
“Liar.”
He didn’t put any energy behind his soft, “Go away, woman.”
Like he figured, she ignored him and, using his shoulder for balance, climbed between the attached wood bench and picnic table to sit next to him, wrapped an arm around his back and pressed her cheek into his bicep. “Bad news?”
The answer to that question wasn’t simple.
What he considered good news wasn’t the same as what others might. Most wouldn’t consider his father dying good news. To Rev, he knew it should’ve happened years ago. Preferably before he left and by his own hand. But back then he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t take a life no matter how much he wanted to. How much he dreamed about it. Almost tasted it. But at fourteen, even fifteen, he didn’t have the balls to do it, he couldn’t follow through.
Now? Things would be different. So very fucking different.
What he considered bad news was the fact he’d been located. And he still didn’t know how. That bugged him since he doubted his uber-religious uncle was tech savvy. Worse, he never thought one of those severed ties would be tugged on in an attempt to pull him back.
Why was he even still thinking about this? It was his past, it should stay there, even if it involved blood.
Blood wasn’t always family. Blood could use the “good” word of God to be pure evil while wearing a mask of righteousness.
Sometimes what came out of one’s mouth didn’t reflect what was in one’s heart and soul. What was on the surface wasn’t the same as what was found at the very core. A piousness only skin deep.
Hypocrisy.
Deception.
Words he learned the true meaning of the older he got. When he looked back once he was free.
Now he recognized the brain-washing. The fight his parents took on to keep their children from having their own thoughts, their own beliefs. Their own free will.
Basically, their way was the only way. Any individual or differing thoughts would be beaten out of them.
With a switch, a belt, a large hand.
The “cleansings” didn’t last as long as the prayer circles.
Rev didn’t know which one he hated more. They were both miserable in their own way.
But it was what that bastard did to his sister that would never be forgivable. How his father took his sister’s cleansing a step further.
He needed to call her. Because he needed to share this with someone else. He couldn’t keep this to himself. If he did, he might explode.
He should order Reilly to go back inside. To go back to her office. To leave him the fuck alone. To let him deal with his personal demons by himself.
To allow him to keep his secrets as just that.
But he couldn’t tell her to go. Her being this quiet was a rarity since her attitude was normally larger than life. Surprisingly, that quiet strength as she leaned into him was what he needed right now.
Especially to make his next call.
He reached under the table, planted his hand on her thigh and squeezed. Her hand settled over his and they kept them there. Connected.
They both knew if someone came out and saw her arm around him, with his hand on her thigh, words would be said. Warnings given.
But at the moment he didn’t give a fuck.
Everyone else could fuck right off.
He stared at the phone in front of him. He left it on the table, scrolled through his contacts with one finger and found Saylor’s number. He pressed the Call symbol and then the speaker icon.
This should be a private conversation between him and his sister, but again, he didn’t give a fuck. In the back of his mind, he didn’t want to deal with this alone.
“I’m busy,” was Saylor’s abrupt answer.
“Busy doin’ what? Daisy’s at school.” Normally, he’d give her a rash of shit about her attitude, but he couldn’t muster up any right now.