Spark of Hope (MacKenny Brothers #3) - Kathleen Kelly Page 0,41

my head and leave the room. With my eyes fixed on the floor, so I don’t have to see the judgment of my friends, I make my way through the clubhouse. Opening the door to our room, I’m grateful that no one is here. Lying on the bed is a duffle bag, and inside it are my belongings.

Tears fill my eyes.

I nod knowing Kyle is done with me.

I don’t blame him.

Reaching in, I pull out underwear, jeans, and a black tank, then I stumble into the bathroom. The sink is full of everything that belongs to me. Even the shampoo and conditioner have been placed haphazardly in it. There’s a box on the floor, so I guess he didn’t have time to put it all in there yet.

I will NOT cry.

Sucking in a deep centering breath, I count to ten as I feel my throat close and an ache radiates out from my chest. Again, I nod and pick up the shampoo and conditioner and put it back on the niche in the shower. The arduous job of getting my clothes off hurts, but instead of blocking out the pain, I welcome it.

I deserve it.

I need it.

The warm water flows over me and washes away the filth from my body. Nothing can take away the shame I feel. My ribs throb as does my wrist. Staring down, the tiles are red as the residual hair dye swirls and goes down the drain while I gaze at it mesmerized by the pattern it’s making on the floor.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door, startling me.

“I’ll be another minute,” I yell out.

The door opens, and Kyle steps in.

He’s seen me undressed before.

But he’s never seen me this naked, this raw.

Without saying anything, he takes off his cut and boots and enters the shower stall.

“I can do it.”

Kyle ignores me and soaps up a washcloth and turns me so he can clean my back. There’s a sharp intake of breath. I can only assume I have more bruises. He washes me, and his touch is soft and gentle. When he’s finished cleaning my body, he squirts shampoo onto his hands.

“You’re all wet.”

Kyle shrugs and puts the floral-scented suds into my hair. More red dye runs down my body. When he’s finished massaging it into my hair, Kyle positions me under the stream of water, and I welcome it. It hides the tears that are falling. This man has always been honest with me, has always taken care of me, and is now treating me like I’m fragile. But I’m not. I can take care of myself. I always have.

Kyle puts conditioner in my hair and drags it through my tangled strands. His silence speaks volumes. The fact he’s packed up all my stuff means he’s done with me. This is his way of saying goodbye, and if I speak or try to get him to talk, I fear he’ll say those words of rejection out loud, and I’m not strong enough to handle that right now. So, I remain as quiet as he does. Lastly, he grabs the washcloth and wipes my face. Kyle is avoiding eye contact as he inspects the abuse of the last couple of days.

That’s all it took to blow my life into a million tiny pieces.

I’ve lost Kyle.

My son has killed.

And my heart feels like it’s trying to burst out of my ribs, it’s beating so painfully fast.

Kyle’s eyes find mine, and he quickly looks away and steps back.

“You’re done.”

I nod.

The finality of those two words cuts through me like a knife, and I say nothing as the man I love walks out of the bathroom, leaving me to my misery.

Turning off the faucet, I grab a towel and try to wipe myself as best I can one-handed. The tears that the shower hid so well now stream down my face, and a sob escapes me. I keep wiping my body as another and then another sob wrenches their way out of me.

I’m no longer holding it together.

With the towel clenched between my breasts, I let it all out.

Closing my eyes so I don’t have to see myself in the mirror, the sobs become louder. It’s then I strong arms go around me. Kyle’s scent invokes a feeling of safety and comfort.

“You’re okay, Lola. You’re okay,” he whispers.

I shake my head.

I’m not.

I never will be again.

Kyle guides me out of the bathroom and sits me on the bed. He has changed into dry clothes. As gently as he