“Would you like to tell people you know me?”
Mason nodded.
“Then, yes,” Sullivan said. “Even tell them we played baseball together and I gave you this hat.”
“Wow, so cool,” Mason said then took off, running to the picnic table, throwing his glove into the air to hit the grass a second later. “I need to feed my muscles.”
Sullivan laughed to himself, his chest warm and light. He’d been so worried all day about this meeting, but truth was, Mason was a great kid. Funny. Clever. Curious. Strong. A definite mix of him and Clara. As he watched everyone laughing and talking, he realized he’d been so selfishly focused on forgetting his life in River Rock he forgot all the good here.
After Sullivan removed his glove, he scooped up Mason’s on the way over to the others. The steak dinner with salad and side dishes were set up on the long table next to the grill. Obviously, the family had big dinners like this often.
Sullivan waited with Hayes off the side while the women and Luka began filling their plates. Hayes all but glared at Luka, and Sullivan held back his laugh. Apparently, Luka wasn’t raised with the good ole’ boy hospitability found in River Rock.
Hayes finally turned to Sullivan. “Maisie told me and Beckett earlier what maybe we all knew all along.” He gestured toward Mason. “Must have been a shock to you.”
Sullivan snorted. “A shock is putting it mildly.”
Hayes chuckled before his smile faded. “You did good today. Couldn’t have been easy coming here, facing all this.” The side of his mouth curved. “Especially with the Carter sisters watching your every move.”
The thought had crossed Sullivan’s mind, but he’d hoped his earlier gesture helped his case. “Ah, you’re a cop. I figured they’d be on their best behavior.”
“As if I can control any of them,” Hayes said, dead serious.
Sullivan laughed, his gaze falling back to the table as Luka picked up his plate and began scooping up his food before Amelia. “So, when did this happen?” Sullivan asked, gesturing to Luka.
“A year after you left. They met in college,” Hayes said.
Sullivan had always pegged Beckett and Amelia for marriage. “What happened with Beckett?”
Hayes scowled at Luka then gave a knowing look. “That’s a good question, and one Beckett refuses to answer.”
When Amelia and Maisie finished making their plates, Clara made up one for Mason and set it in front of him before quickly making her own. Sullivan scooped up more food than his stomach probably needed, but he wasn’t about to pass up on a home-cooked meal. He took a seat next to Hayes. Which happened to be across from Clara. When he noticed the spot next to her was open, a part of Sullivan liked that. That Clara had never filled it with some guy no one liked and who didn’t let her eat first. The other part of him didn’t like she’d been alone for so long. Maybe she had one-night stands to forget too, but she deserved more than that. Hell, she deserved everything.
Breaking the silence around the table, Mason said with a full mouth, “Jordan is going to the zoo tomorrow.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Clara rebuked, and then her voice softened as she added, “Did he tell you that at school?”
Mason chewed fast and nodded quickly. After swallowing, he continued, “Can we go? Please, please, please.”
“Yes,” Sullivan said. Then his brain caught up. All eyes came to him, and the silence was heavy, daunting. He cleared his throat, grabbed his napkin, and wiped his mouth. To Clara, he gently added, “Of course, only if that’s all right with you. Sounds like a fun day.”
Clara held his gaze for a moment, her eyes searching his. Hesitation was written into every hard line on her face. “Okay,” she eventually said to him. Then she turned to Mason and added, “Would it be okay if Sullivan came with us too?”
“Yes!” Mason bounced in his seat. “I want to see the snakes and tarantulas…”
He went on and on, and everyone seemingly exhaled a long breath and returned to their dinners. Clara’s gaze met Sullivan’s, and her small smile told him he got this right. After all the fuck ups he’d done lately, this felt a whole lot better. Familiar. Like he was finding his old self.
Ending his speech, Mason said, “Today at school, Nathan said ‘poop’ in front of the whole class, and Danny farted.” Mason giggled.
Maisie burst out laughing.
Clara set her fork down and her firm stare on Mason. “We don’t talk about poo or farts around the dinner table.” To Maisie, she added, “And it’s not funny. It’s rude.”
Maisie leaned forward and winked at Mason. “It’s a little funny.”
Hayes leaned over to Sullivan and said, “Welcome to the regular show at the Carter family dinner.”
Sullivan laughed, but became absorbed in Clara reprimanding her son, Maisie still laughing, and Amelia smiling at it all.
Yeah, he liked this.
Long after Mason had gone to bed for the night, Clara sat on the chair next to Sullivan and stared in the crackling fire burning brightly in the firepit surrounded by the Adirondack chairs. Amelia and Luka had left long ago to her bedroom. He’d never been one to sit around the fire. Maisie and Hayes were inside, getting more drinks and some snacks. But knowing Maisie, she was probably giving Clara some time alone with Sullivan to talk. And the more Clara thought about it, the more she knew she and Sullivan needed to break that barrier and heal things between them, and if anything, find a way back to friendship for Mason’s sake. “I think today went well,” she said to him, breaking through the silence.
Sullivan glanced sidelong and nodded in agreement. “He’s a cute kid. Reminds me a lot of you.”
“Sometimes too much,” she said with a laugh. The fire crackled, sending embers dancing up to the dark sky full of stars.
A long pause followed. Then, “Did I…was it—”
“You did great,” she said, finding his tormented gaze on hers. “Mason likes you. Can’t ask for more than that right now.”
“I suppose you’re right,” he said, glancing back at the fire.
She still couldn’t shake the images of them playing baseball together from her mind. The sweetness of it. Hell, the wish that maybe all this could work out and Mason would finally have a father figure in his life. One step at a time, she reminded herself, not letting herself get too carried away with whimsical thoughts that may never be. But even so, it was easy to remember the Sullivan she’d loved. This guy tonight seemed so much like him. His legs were stretched out, crossed at the ankles, relaxed, and enjoying the quiet night. “How long has it been since you’ve done something like this?” she asked.
“Seven years.”
“Seriously? Seven years?”
The light from the fire was impressively bright, revealing the chiseled lines of his cheekbones. “Life is different in Boston,” he explained, gaze on the sky. “Not so quiet. And when we travel for games, we always play in big cities. I don’t get the chance to get out to places where the city lights don’t hide the stars.”
She looked to the sky herself, spotting the milky way. Over the years, many of her old high school friends had moved away with big city dreams. She’d never had those dreams herself, loving small-town life. The old Sullivan she knew would have hated the big city too. She figured she better get to know this Sullivan. “Do you like the big city?” she asked.
“Parts of it,” he said. “Some parts, I don’t.”
She smiled, dropping her head to the side to watch his expression. “Like the bars?”
The side of his mouth curved before he glanced her way, lifting an eyebrow. “You saw the tabloid article, then?”
She nodded. Everyone saw all the articles about him. Every week, on a new issue in the grocery store line. “What’s going on with all of that? The bar fights and stuff?” And, of course, by “stuff,” she totally meant women.
Obviously picking up on that, Sullivan’s mouth quirked up at the corner again. “Does the stuff wear dr
esses and high heels?”
She sent her gaze to the fire. “It’s none of my business. You don’t have to talk about it. It’s just…”
“Just what?”
She felt his stare. “You were always a one-woman type of guy. What changed?”
“Nothing,” he said in a quiet voice. She dared to look at him then, and his jaw was clenched, tension creasing the lines around his eyes while he watched the fire burn. “The women, they’re a distraction.”
“From?” she pressed, not even sure why she wanted to know the answer so bad.
The heat from the fire became all-encompassing as he drew in the longest, deepest breath then blew it out through his nose. “From the shit that gets heavy in my head.”
She froze, shocked by his answer. Of all the things she had expected him to say, that certainly wasn’t it. For fun. Because I don’t want anything serious. Something like that, not anything deep.
At the silence, he turned his head to the side, watching her closely. “Distractions help me take a break from that.”
“I suppose they would,” she agreed gently. She had seen the guy she loved fade when his mom passed away, but he was lost forever when his father’s abuse started. But right here, right now, she could almost see the guy he’d been when his mother was alive. The good guy, the guy who wouldn’t simply vanish from someone’s life so cruelly. “What about this bar fight that got you suspended?”
“It never should have happened,” he said, looking back to the sky with a heavy sigh. “I’m careful not to drink too much, to always stay in control, but that night, my control slipped.”
She took a guess. “Because of your dad dying?”
“I suspect my dad’s death had something to do with it, yeah.” The shame on his face was more punishment than anyone should endure, and the orange hue from the fire detailed every bit of it. “We were leaving the bar, me and a bunch of teammates, and we came across an asshole fighting with his girlfriend. He was screaming at her, and then he pushed her, and she fell.” He stopped to take a deep breath before continuing. “I didn’t know them. I had no business interfering. But something in my head snapped, and I acted before I even knew what was happening.”
“Wait,” Clara said, trying to understand. “Why didn’t you say that the guy was hurting his girlfriend? I’d say that’s forgivable. You were protecting her.”
“Because I’m no better, Clara,” Sullivan said, dryly. He turned his head then, revealing many years of pain in his eyes. “I put my hands on someone in violence, in rage. That is unforgivable.”
She tried to see it his way, but failed. “No, you were giving the guy a taste of his own medicine. Seriously, Sullivan, people would have sided with you.” She watched him for a moment, looking for a single flicker of agreement with her on his expression. Trying to understand, she asked, “So, instead of explaining that, you took the suspension?”
“That’s right.”
She processed, scenting the piney aroma from the trees hugging the firepit. Nothing felt…right. Something was missing. She sat up straight, scooting to the end of her chair to face him fully. “Why are you home, Sullivan?” she asked.
His brows drew together. “You already know why. To get my head right.”
She considered all this again, but something seemed off. “I know what you told me. A bar fight led to a suspension, and you came home to deal with your past because of the fight. But to avoid all of that, all you had to do was tell the truth about what happened. So, again, why are you here?”
Their gazes held before he looked back at the fire. It seemed like he wasn’t going to answer her, but then she almost wished he hadn’t. “When I sobered up that next day at the police station, I knew I was on my way to becoming him.”
“Your father?”
“Yes,” he said slowly.
Clara’s heart squeezed painfully, her breath all but gone.
Before she could even think up a reply, he added, “Of course, not completely. I still think the guy I hit deserved it. But I realized I became the very thing I hate. I pushed all the bad shit down deep enough that I felt nothing. Just rage. Until it all exploded.” He turned his head again, torment swirling in the depths of his eyes, and said oh-so softly, “My dad did that until there was nothing left of him, until only rage lived in the spots that were once good. So, that’s why I’m here, Clara. To face the shit that makes me feel uncomfortable so that doesn’t happen to me.”
The world seemed to slow as coldness swept across her. Not knowing what to say, she looked to the fire because, just like that, the years vanished. This was the Sullivan she did know, and she, behind all the hurt and worry for Mason’s well-being, loved this man. But he was drowning in the dark misery and desperately wanted a way out, but unable to find it.
“Clara.”
His soft voice pulled her focus to his warm, gentle eyes.
“I’m sorry for leaving you the way I did.” His voice blistered. “I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to be what you needed.”
Tears welled in her eyes, and nothing could stop them from rolling down her cheeks. For as long as she could remember, she’d wanted an explanation, an apology. Now she had those things, but only one truth remained: they’d both done their best in a terrible situation that no one deserved. As much as she wanted to blame Sullivan for leaving and breaking her heart, she couldn’t. Her aching heart reached for him. “I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to help you.”
Everything around Clara vanished. The firepit gone. The trees gone. Only a deep-rooted, forgotten love remained.
At whatever crossed her expression, emotion touched Sullivan’s gaze as he reached for her hand and said softly, “Clara—”
The backdoor slamming closed snapped Clara’s hand away before Sullivan could take it. Immediately, she was hit by the smoky aroma of the fire. Unexpected heat flooded her, and she couldn’t decide if she was happy for the interruption or not.
“Who’s ready for S’mores?” Maisie asked on her way toward the firepit with Hayes by her side carrying the metal marshmallow sticks.
“Me,” Clara said, jumping out of her chair to sit next to Maisie. But, no matter the distance between them, she felt Sullivan’s heated stare, right down into her soul, begging her to come back.
7
Hours after Sullivan left, Clara tucked herself away in bed, but she couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning, feeling like she needed to hear what Sullivan had wanted to say before Maisie interrupted them. She considered calling. But that didn’t seem like enough. Instead, with Amelia keeping an eye on a sleeping Mason, Clara hopped in her car and hit the road. When she pulled into the long driveway leading to Sullivan’s apartment, the gravel crunched beneath her tires. She rolled to a stop off to the side of the weathered red building. The house to the right was bathed in darkness. Old man Bart, sound asleep.
Raw emotions led her feet as she exited the car and then headed up the steps of the barn. When she reached the worn old door, she froze, a million thoughts crossing her mind. The night lay still around her. I need to say more. I don’t hate you. I hate your father for what he did to us. I hate that you’re still carrying around all this pain after all these years. I hate that after all the love we had, we ended like we did. I want to forgive you. I want to move on. What did you want to tell me? She drew in a long, deep breath, hoping to hell she got this right, and then she knocked.
No response.
She knocked again, and when the door opened, Clara only just managed to stop her mouth from dropping open.
Sullivan’s brows went up. “Clara? What’s wrong?”
He opened the door wider, and a slow-building heat rolled over her. Sullivan had always been a good-looking guy, but now, he was pure man, with a body that looked cut from a fitness magazine. His hair was wet from an obvious shower, telling her he couldn’t sleep either, and a towel was wrapped around his wide bare shoulders. Her fingers tingled to reach out and touch him, and her breath became ragged
as she let her gaze follow a path down his squared chest to his six-pack to that sexy V at his hips to his gray sweatpants that left absolutely nothing to the imagination as to what he had beneath them. And she really, really liked what he had. Scratch that, she suddenly really, really wanted what he had.
She swallowed deeply, and by the time she glanced back up, Sullivan’s eyes were hot and hungry.
A beat passed.
She could nearly taste the energy pinging between them. The heat burning. The want to make all that had gone so wrong better. “Sullivan—”
That’s all she managed before he had her in his arms, kicking the door shut behind them. She went willingly, forgetting what she’d wanted to hear. Because this was both an apology and an acknowledgment of them taking back all they had lost. His woodsy-scented shampoo infused the air when his mouth met hers, and she tumbled into everything the kiss promised. His kiss was familiar, and yet different, older, wiser, more patient and knowledgeable. Every slide of his tongue and deep, passionate press of his lips had her reaching for more.
When he finally broke the kiss, long minutes later, they were both breathless. He cupped her face, heady emotion dancing in his eyes. “I love kissing you, Clara. In fact, I want to kiss you until we forget why we shouldn’t be kissing, but I don’t want to hurt you again.”
“I won’t let you hurt me again,” she told him, dead serious. “I’m not that young girl who blindly loved you.” She slid her hands up his huge arms, feeling each muscle flex under her touch. “Your dad stole something from us. I want it back.”
Sullivan pressed his forehead against hers. “I’m not staying in River Rock. When my suspension is over, I’m going home. This can’t last.”
She cupped his face now, bringing his tormented gaze back to her. For all the confusion and the worry of wondering what to say to him, now it became all too clear. “We were never meant to last, but we can choose how we end it this time. To take back what was stolen from us, and give ourselves what we should have had—a proper goodbye. To finally heal all that went wrong. Then we can finally put all this behind us and go on with our lives.”
Feisty Red: Three Chicks Brewery #2 Page 7