Page 146 of Insidious Heart
My dad’s letter, one of many addressed to me, explained all of that as well as what really happened the night of the fire. Beau strangled my mother, hung her from the banister then torched our house with me sleeping inside. I really did wander down the stairs, and my mother fell on top of me when the railing broke, but Cal was the one who ran in to save me, and if I’d been paying a little more attention I would have noticed the burn scars on his hands from doing so.
But I didn’t, and while I wish I had the chance to thank him and get to know the man my father really was and not the one who was forced to bite his tongue in order to protect his children, I feel like I know him now.
In his letters to me, Cal told me all about his life before the club, his parents, where he grew up and how things were for him. My dad shared advice and life lessons, stories and memories, and I even got to see him grieve for my mother, and struggle with how much he still loved her as he fell head over heels for Rochelle.
And I found out that he had plans to take me and my mother far away from the club before she was killed, and while Cal wished that could have happened, he knew he was supposed to stay so he could meet Rochelle and have the boys. He didn’t like it, he didn’t like any of it, but my father did what he had to do and I don’t blame him one bit for any of it.
It was both comforting and heartbreaking to read all of his words written in his messy script, but I felt them all the same, and the love that clicked into place and started to take root when Cal died, grew and flourished tenfold because of them.
Cal Moreland is my father and he was a good man who loved me and his sons.
His sons who are more like him than I would have ever known.
Which helps a lot, too.
Becoming legal guardian to King and Prince—per Cal and Rochelle’s will—was a welcomed surprise, even if it only lasted a little while for King since he turned eighteen shortly after they passed, and having them around all the time because no, I have no intention of letting the older of my two brothers move out, has been a huge help.
A help in getting to know Cal, a help in our shared grief, a comfort in knowing that while it was in trauma, we’re bonded together in a way that no one can take away. It’s been really good, actually, but it’s been hard, too.
The boys watched Beau kill their mother, watched him kill our father, and try to do the same to us. They witnessed everything the same way I did and we’re closer than ever for it, despite the challenges it’s presented.
King withdrew into himself, shut down and tried dropping out of school. He’s known since he was nine that I was his sister and apparently he’s been living in fear of something like that happening ever since. So my big little brother shut down and tried shutting everyone out and funny enough, my ghost was the one to bring him out of it.
Not that I think Victor is incapable of being supportive or helpful, understanding or compassionate. I’ve known all along that he was capable of all of that and more,Torwas the one who took convincing. And taking King out to a gun range to teach him to shoot did the trick.
They went out early one morning and didn’t come back until super late because Victor showed my brother the ropes then let him open fire on anything and everything in sight before my brother finally had the breakdown he’d been refusing to have. And shockingly, my ghost told him all about Toby when he did. The two of them bonded over their losses, over their trauma and how to heal, and even though it’s still hard for King, things are better for him, too.
Since then the two of them have been pals and I’m happy to report King and Tor gang up on me on a regular basis.
Prince, my sweet little boy, is still having a rough time.
Meeting James and the club, hanging out with Papa Little John all the time, it’s all been really good for him and made it easier for him to adjust to the new life we’re living, but Prince still has nightmares and ends up in bed with Victor and I more often than not.
Seeing him like that, seeing both boys go through so much and cope the best they knew how, being there for them through all of it while they supported me, it got me thinking.
And they—my brothers, my parents, and Rochelle—are why I talked to my ghost about what I wanted to do. After countless breakdowns, almost manic episodes, panic attacks and my own nightmares, anyway.
But everything I was experiencing, everything the boys were going through and what our parents went through—Victor refuses to let me acknowledge that he and John’s experiences played a role in this too, but they do—are why I switched my majors to child psychology and trauma counseling, and why I talked to Pope.
Well, my ghost talked to him first but then I sat down with the all seeing gorilla and talked to him, too.
And that talk is what led me here.
I’m still working on my license but I’ve been through some accelerated courses so I could get certified and start counseling kids here at The Heart of Sabine. I want to help kids who have lost their parents, been abused or neglected, or struggle having their needs met whether they be emotional or tangible. I want to put my experience and pain, my trauma and heartache, to good use, and I want to do it in a way that might help others out of situations that could end up like mine.
Save for theobsessed coworker who started a killing spree to get my attentionpart. I’m sure that’s not something I’ll come across very often, especially in children.
And today was my first official day on the job, complete with shiny new office and everything.
A knock on the door has me quickly throwing my purple sneaker-clad feet back on the floor and acting like I was putting my hair up in a bun while I scramble to look professional and not like I was about to take a nap.
My eyes dart to the open door to find Pope leaning against the frame smirking around a Dum Dum sucker. “You ready to call it? Or did you want to admire your space a little longer?”
I give him a sheepish smile as my cheeks heat then blow out a breath. “Sorry, I—”
“Stevie,” he grunts, holding up a hand to stop me before a rare smile touches his handsome face. “It’s fine.”
“Ok.” I blow out a breath, dropping my shoulders as I actually put my hair up. “Ok, yeah. No reason to apologize.”
