“Oh, shut your fat face,” Jennifer sneered.

“Yeah. We’re not done with the story,” Brandi added.

“What story?”

“The truth Grams was too ashamed to tell you. About the night your mom died.”

She remembered wanting to ask . . . and not wanting to know. Not that Brandi and Jennifer had given her a choice.

Jennifer had pinched her arm harder and leaned in to whisper in her ear. But she never whispered. She thought it was funnier to yell in Molly’s ear at close range.

“Listen,” Brandi hissed.

“The night your mom died? She wasn’t alone. You were in the car with her.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Of course you don’t, stupid. You were, like, two. Anyway, your mom drove to the railroad tracks late at night and left the car there.” That’s when Jennifer’s eyes glittered. “And she left you sleeping in the car. See, she realized after coming back here that she didn’t want a fat, ugly kid like you. She knew you’d never fit in and no one would like you. So she was gonna make it look like an accident that you died when the train hit the car.”

“But you climbed out of the car window,” Brandi inserted. “Your mom tried to catch you, but you hid in the ditch. That’s when she knew her plan wouldn’t work, so she got back in the car to move it.”

“That’s when the train hit her and killed her dead. So it’s your fault she died.”

Molly fell on the ground, spewing out her morning milk and Raisin Bran. Her stomach muscles spasmed even when she had nothing left in her belly.

Brandi dropped onto all fours beside her, making the same retching noises and laughing.

Jennifer crouched on the other side. “They found you wandering along the railroad tracks the next morning. Grams knows your mother didn’t want you. She didn’t want you either, but she felt so guilty that your own mother tried to kill you, so she took you in.”

The images went black, and she struggled not to let that darkness suck her in. As a child she didn’t have that ability. It’d taken her months to crawl out of that pit of despair.

“Babe.” A pause. “Molly.” Another pause. “Darlin’, look at me please.”

Deacon’s insistent voice broke through the sensation of her being underwater. She looked at him, but his face was a blur.

He wiped her tears. “How old were you when that happened?”

“Eight. It sounds far-fetched now, but when I was a lonely eight-year-old girl, it was all too easy to believe. They knew I was too mortified by the possibility it could be true to ever ask Grams. And even if I had found the guts to ask and there were questions about where I’d heard the story, Jennifer and Brandi would both claim they’d never said anything like that and I was lying, making up stories to get attention. A couple months later, my logical brain had picked the story apart completely. There wasn’t any way that anyone knew what’d happened that night. And living in a small town that size? If I’d been found wandering on the railroad tracks after the accident, I would’ve heard about it.”

“I hate that you had to go through that.”

“I hate that I even told you. You must think I’m the most pathetic woman on the planet.”

“No.” He got right in her face. “Fuck no. I . . .” He rested his forehead to hers. “I’ve had ugliness like that in my life too.”

“Will you tell me about it?”

“Someday. Not now. Right now I’m taking you into my bed.” He placed a possessive kiss on the spot on her neck that he’d claimed as his. “I’ll make all that bullshit disappear.”

•   •   •

WARM woman. Soft, bare flesh nestled against him. Deacon had his hands on Molly, but he needed his mouth on her. Needed to feel her squirming and moaning beneath him. Needed urgency and a reminder of the passion between them.

Last night had been about comfort. About making her mindless and boneless as he made love to her. Wearing her out so she slept without bad dreams and bad memories.

Thankfully she’d slept like a rock, so she hadn’t known his restlessness.

He shifted his weight, moving over her, bracketing her hips with his knees. He smiled when she turned, seeking his body heat. Yeah, she liked sleeping naked with him, despite her half-assed protests.

Deacon backed down the mattress until his head was directly above the thin strip of hair covering her mound. Keeping his knees pinning her legs together, he closed his eyes and let her scent be his guide in the darkness as he lowered his head.

She smelled of flowers and sex. He parted her slit with his tongue, tasting her warm musk. She moaned. By the fifth long lap, she’d become aware, if not fully awake. Her hand landed on his head and she tried to spread her legs farther apart.