The Mirror (The Lost Bride Trilogy #2)

He spoke with the landlord, met with the chief of police. He did his best to reassure and advise Marlo and her family.

And when cleared, went back to the house to salvage what he could.

In under ten minutes, after wading through the destruction, he realized he’d easily fill the bed of his truck with what couldn’t be salvaged.

Looking at the kids’ room and the scatter of toys Wes had kicked, stomped on, heaved against the walls added a fresh and vicious punch to the gut.

Just stuff, as Owen had said, but here, especially in what had been a cheerful room with its bunk beds and bright blue walls, innocent stuff, little treasures of childhood.

Monster trucks crushed underfoot, a Spider-Man play set in pieces.

And the worst of the worst?

Wes had used his sons’ crayons to write on their bedroom wall.

Your mother’s a whore!

Because his mind continued to circle to what could have happened if those boys hadn’t been tucked away in a spare room at their grandparents’ home, he left their room for last.

He hauled out broken furniture, bagged broken dishes, glassware, lamps.

Systematically, he worked his way from the living room and kitchen back to the main bedroom.

While Marlo’s mother and sister had packed some of her clothes and essentials, clothes for the kids, some of their toys, what they’d left for later now joined the debris.

“Pissed on the bed, for fuck’s sake.”

As the rage rose up, Trey pushed it down and stripped the bed.

When he heard footsteps, he turned, then his fists unclenched when his mother stepped into the doorway.

“Mom. You shouldn’t be here.”

“And you should do this alone?” Dressed for physical labor in her oldest jeans and a sweatshirt, Corrine looked around the room. “It’s so sad, isn’t it, how a disease like alcoholism can destroy lives?”

“I’m not in the mood to give him much of a damn right now. Marlo’s terrified he’ll get out again and come after her and the kids. She can’t afford to come back here, financially or emotionally, plus she’s still recovering physically. She can’t deal with what he did here.”

“So you are.”

“She’s not just a client, Mom, she’s a friend.”

Despite the bite in his tone—maybe because of it—Corrine gave him a look of utter patience.

“I know that, Trey, just like I know you. I didn’t need your father to tell me you’re handling all this pro bono.”

“She’s got two kids to support, and she’s doing the right thing and getting them all counseling.”

“She’s doing the right thing, and so are you.” Once again, she looked around. “And you’ve made a good start here. I haven’t been in the house before. Is there a washer and dryer?”

“Yeah, back in the—Don’t touch those!” He snapped it out as she walked to the soiled bedding. “He—”

“Trey, I have a nose, and it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve washed sheets someone peed on. I’ll get these in the wash, then I’ll go through her clothes. I’d have a better eye for what’s ruined, what’s not, than you.”

She hauled up the bedding. “Tom and Loreen Arbot own this place, don’t they?”

No stopping her, Trey admitted. And realized her practicality cooled the worst of his temper.

Being mad solved nothing. Doing did.