Broken Vow (Brutal Birthright #5) - Sophie Lark Page 0,64

got away,” she repeats. “I had the baby. Not here—over the border in North Carolina, on Cherokee land. It was the only place that felt safe. The only place Ellis couldn’t go.

“My friend who helped me . . . his family took me in. His sisters helped me with the birth, and with the baby. I was afraid that I might not feel everything that I should for the baby after it was born. Because I thought it might remind me too much of Ellis. But from the moment I saw Raylan, I loved him like I’d never loved anything. More than my parents or siblings or my own self.

“I stayed there for six years. My friend . . . became more than a friend to me. We were married. He had always treated Raylan like his own son. After we had two more children . . . it seemed wrong to make unnatural divisions between them. I always meant to tell Raylan the truth. But the truth was so ugly.

“And they adored each other. Even though Raylan wasn’t technically his son, they were more alike than Waya and his own blood children.

“We were so happy; no day seemed like the right day to tear that happiness apart. To put such an ugly burden on Raylan. Especially because Ellis died. So there was no chance of him ever finding us.

I can see tears in the corner of Celia’s eyes. Not tears of sorrow—tears of happiness, remembering that time when she was free again, and married to a man who actually loved her, with three beautiful small children running around.

“I waited too long,” she says. “We got this ranch. We moved here, all together. The children grew up so fast. Time flew away from me.

“Raylan found my old wedding certificate in a box in the attic a week before his 18th birthday. He did the math and realized the truth. He was so, so angry at us. He felt betrayed. I think, though he’s never said this, he felt like he no longer belonged to this ranch or to our family in the same way. We promised him it didn’t matter—that all three of the children would inherit the ranch, as we’d always said.

“I don’t think he believed us. He enlisted right after.

“Waya said it was alright. Raylan would go and see more of the world, his anger would fade, and eventually he’d come back to us.

“But then . . . ” now her tears are certainly tears of sorrow. “Waya was killed in a car crash. He was driving Bo home from a party. Another car ran them off the road—we never knew who. If it was intentional, or drunk driving, or a stupid accident.

“Raylan came home for the funeral. We hoped he would stay. But . . . ”

She breaks off, pressing her fingers into her eyes and taking a moment to compose herself.

“I think the guilt was too much for him. He never had a chance to reconnect with Waya. To tell him . . . that he knew Waya was his father. Regardless of blood. And that he loved him. Waya knew all that, of course. And Raylan knows it, too. But when you don’t get to say the words . . . ”

I understand that.

I often find it hard to say out loud what I actually feel. To tell people what they mean to me.

If Cal or Nessa or my mother or father died, or Uncle Oran, I would have many regrets. Things left unsaid that would eat at me.

Knowing that, you’d think I’d call them right now and let it all be said.

But that’s not so easy, either.

My sympathy for Raylan is intense. For Celia as well.

That’s another thing that’s hard to express. How can I tell her how much I appreciate her sharing this with me? How can I tell her that my heart hurts for her younger self? That I admire that she did manage to leave, and that she kept Raylan safe?

All the words that come to mind seem pithy and weak.

I swallow hard, and say only, “Thank you for telling me that, Celia. I . . . care about Raylan. And you know when you care about someone, you want to understand them.”

That doesn’t seem like quite enough, so I add, “You were so brave to leave. You’re very strong.”

Celia squeezes my shoulder gently.

“I haven’t talked about that in a long time,” she says. “But I wanted you to understand why