When He Found Me (Road to Refuge Book 1)

by Victoria Bylin

  They traded remarks about the miserable flight, then Manny let out a low whistle. “There’s nothing like a brush with death to make a man count his blessings.”

  “I guess.”

  “You guess?” Manny drew up to his full height. “That doesn’t sound like Preacher Man to me.”

  “I’m all right.”

  Manny’s dark eyes burned a hole in him. “I don’t want to hear that fake happy talk, Riley. How are you doing really?”

  “The knee’s good.” Shane put extra confidence in his voice. “The tryout’s tomorrow.”

  “I didn’t ask about the knee.”

  Shane considered dodging again, but Manny’s middle name was persistence. “Things have been tough since the accident. Preacher Man retired.”

  “Retired?” Manny’s big right hand clamped down on Shane’s shoulder. “What kind of nonsense is that? Christians don’t retire. They get lost, and they get found. They get knocked to their knees, and they stand up again.”

  What could Shane say to that? Manny got knocked down every time his little girl went to the hospital, and he always stood back up. Shane’s bad knee, even his career, were petty compared to a child with a life-threatening illness.

  “So,” Manny said, lifting his hand, “what’s got you in a twist?”

  A man’s voice came from the side. “Mr. Jackson?”

  Shane and Manny turned to the team representative, an intern named Jeff, who advised Manny his limo was waiting. Manny nodded, then turned to Shane. “I wouldn’t let this go, but my little girl needs to get home. Call me anytime. Day or night.”

  Shane nodded but said nothing.

  Manny guided his wife and daughter to a Lincoln Town Car. A few minutes later, MJ emerged from the ladies’ room, steady on her feet and wearing fresh lipstick.

  “Feeling better?” he asked.

  “Much.”

  Jeff approached them with a key fob. “I have your car, Mr. Riley.”

  Shane planned to take MJ to Lyn’s apartment in West L.A., then drive back across town to the Crowne Drake. He accepted the key fob from Jeff. “We’re headed to Santa Monica. How’s the traffic?”

  “At a standstill. A mudslide closed the 405.”

  MJ laid her hand on his arm. “It’ll take hours to get to Lyn’s. I’ll rent a car and drive myself.”

  Shane saw a far better solution. He asked Jeff to give them a moment, then he focused on MJ. “Stay with me at the Drake. Two rooms, just to be clear.”

  She made a small humming sound, a sign she was thinking about it. Not a yes or a no. A maybe.

  “There’s no way I’ll let you drive alone to Lyn’s. It’ll take hours, and you have to be exhausted.”

  “I am.” Her voice came out shaky. “I’m okay with the hotel, but I have to be somewhere in the morning.”

  “What time?”

  “Nine o’clock.”

  “Where?”

  “Santa Monica.”

  He wondered where in Santa Monica but didn’t ask. The tryout was at one o’clock, so he had plenty of time to take her. “If I drop you off, can Lyn pick you up?”

  “Let’s find out.” She called Lyn, made new arrangements, and smiled at him when she finished. “It’s all set. I’ll pay for my room.”

  “No, you won’t.” If the Cougars didn’t spring for it, he would. Before she could argue, he signaled Jeff.

  Phone in hand, the intern approached. “Yes, Mr. Riley?”

  “Would you add a second room to my reservation?”

  While Jeff made the call, Shane went to the men’s room. When he returned, MJ was on the phone to her mother saying they’d landed safely.

  Jeff approached him. “I texted your confirmation numbers, sir. You have two rooms on the same floor compliments of the Cougars.”

  The intern led them to the front of the terminal, where Shane saw a red Dodge Challenger. The sleek lines put his SUV to shame, and for a moment he recalled happily cruising through Malibu Canyon in his Mustang, blasting music, and replaying that night’s game in his head. But then the deer leaped in front of him and he’d instinctively swerved.

  The past and present kaleidoscoped into flashes of light, rain, breaking glass, and the crunch of metal. His stomach did a flip, rattling nerves still frayed from the flight.

  Get a grip, he told himself.

  Inhaling deeply, he waited while Jeff loaded their bags in the trunk, then helped MJ into the passenger’s seat. Shane slid behind the wheel and pressed the Start button. The engine roared with muscle car power, and his nerves settled.

  MJ ran her hands over the leather seat. “This sure beats the Bonneville.”

  “Let the fun begin.” Grinning, he adjusted the mirrors, put the radio on a rock station, and accelerated into traffic. The tires hissed on the wet pavement, and palm trees swayed in the gusting wind. The storm showed no sign of letting up, but he didn’t care. They were together on the ground in a fast car, headed to a first-class hotel and a night alone.

  MJ rested her hand on the center console, her fingers tapping to the pulsing beat of the music. Shane covered her hand with his, warming away the chill, then warming even more when she matched their palms and laced her fingers with his. They rode like that—touching and close—for several minutes.

  “Shane?” Her voice came out husky.

  “Yeah?” His came out even huskier.

  “What you said on the plane—that prayer—it was beautiful.”

  Acid flooded his stomach. That prayer had been a lie. “I did it for Kaylee.”

  “It helped me, too.”

  If she had been comforted, fine. But his back teeth clenched so hard that his jaw throbbed. He gave the car a little more gas, but the traffic kept him in check. Frustrated, he looked for a break between the cars and found it. “Let’s cut through Griffith Park.”

  “Good idea.”

  A mile later, he steered into an oasis of trees and shrubs in the middle of the city, the home of the L.A. Zoo and a world-famous observatory. Animals and the cosmos—a paradoxical tribute to the mysteries of nature—mysteries he wanted to explore with MJ without God telling him what to do and what not to do.

  Shane’s nerves started to settle. But two miles into the park, a box truck sped around a curve and rode the double yellow line. The headlight beams smacked Shane in the face, and a thick fan of water slapped the windshield, blinding him.

  MJ gasped and pushed back in the seat. Shane cursed under his breath and swerved to the right, just missing a ditch as the car fish-tailed. Once. Twice. Finally it steadied.

  Pulse pounding, he snapped off the radio. “Are you okay?”

  “I—I’m fine. It’s just—just—”

  “Too much.”

  “Yes.”

  Bile burned in the back of his throat. “I’ve had enough.”

  “Me too.”

  A sign indicated a picnic area, and he turned onto a winding road that led to a grassy circle filled with ghostly tables and black trash cans. Eucalyptus trees blocked most of the wind but not all of it. Leaves rattled and a branch snapped.

  Shane cut the engine, slumped against the bucket seat, and squeezed the back of his neck.

  MJ touched his arm. “Shane?”

  “I’m all right.”

  He heard the click of her seatbelt, the scrape of her denim-clad legs on the seat. She touched his jaw, urging him to face her. When he did, he wanted to kiss her—needed to kiss her to chase away the fear, his vulnerability, the weakness of being human. Rain pounded the roof of the car. Thunder rolled in the distance—and in his chest. With their gazes locked, he cupped the back of her head, splayed his fingers in her hair, and kissed her deeply, without hesitation or doubt.

  MJ matched him breath for breath, taste for taste. The windows fogged to make a cocoon of sorts, hiding them from the world. Slowly, very slowly, giving her time to tell him to stop, he trailed kisses down her jaw to the silky skin of her neck, then to the soft throb at the base of her throat. Hi
s hand touched the zipper of her jacket. To unzip or not?

  She jerked away, her eyes wide and her breath coming in puffs. “I can’t do this. I’m not— I can’t—”

  Shane battled through a thick sexual fog. “I thought—”

  “I am so sorry.” She buried her face in her hands.

  Why had she apologized? She’d been eager, even encouraging. If she had hesitated at all, he would have taken her lead and eased off. She turned to the passenger window, giving him her back. He let her hide but stroked her arm. “What’s wrong?”

  She turned back to him, her eyes bleak.

  Her remorse didn’t make sense—unless she was full of Christian guilt over being tempted. Shane knew that kind of guilt well. What he didn’t understand was why God made sex so desirable, then told human beings to control themselves. The battle wearied every man Shane knew, married and single. It certainly wearied him, especially now—with MJ’s kiss on his lips.

  He’d endured all the mystery he could stand, so he simply asked the question. “Is this because you’re a Christian?”

  “Yes.”

  He forced himself to sound matter-of-fact, not disappointed, though he was. “Like I said, I respect your faith. You’re being honest.”

  “Oh, Shane—” She stared at him like a trapped animal. “I’m not being honest. I had a plan, but it’s too late.”

  “Too late for what?”

  She squared her shoulders in a way that reminded him of Cody holding a baseball bat. “This is hard to admit, but after that kiss, you need to know. I have HPV.”

  Shane’s teammates joked about HPV in the locker room. They made crude remarks about women who had it and secretly visited dermatologists to seek treatment for themselves. Tongue-tied, he stared at her. “Are you saying you have—uh—”

  “I have human papillomavirus. It’s incredibly common. As common as a cold. It causes—” Her eyes closed as if to hide her shame.

  “Warts,” he finished for her.

  “Some strains do. Not all.” She looked up, her shame naked and exposed by the sheen of tears. “The worst strains cause cervical cancer. I don’t have warts, but I have the worst kind.”

  “You have cancer?”

  “I had it,” she clarified. “I was diagnosed right after having Cody. Dr. Hong caught it early, but it keeps coming back. That’s where I’m going tomorrow morning—to follow up with Dr. Hong.”

  Shane couldn’t think, couldn’t move. Then it hit him. MJ had a serious health problem, one that affected every breath she took. “Are you okay?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “A few months ago, I had another abnormal pap result. Dr. Hong’s repeating the test tomorrow. If it’s positive, she’ll recommend a hysterectomy.”

  In all his salmon-like desire, not once had Shane imagined infections, cancer, even infertility. Repulsed and angry at the unfairness, he took a slow breath. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “It’s all right.” The words rushed off her tongue. “I understand. For Cody’s sake, I hope we can still be friends.”

  “Of course.”

  “Well. Now you know.”

  She refastened her seatbelt; so did Shane. He started to drive away, but how could he leave with so much unsaid? Churning inside, he jammed the transmission into park and faced her. “I want you to know, I heard everything you said. I just don’t know what to say back.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. It’s all right,” she said for the second time.

  “It’s not all right.”

  “It has to be.”

  “It’s not.” His voice rose to a near shout. “It’s so wrong I don’t know where to start.”

  “So don’t.”

  “But—”

  “I want to go to the hotel.” Lips tight, she faced forward, hiding her face from his stare but not her clenched jaw. She blinked hard and fast, no doubt fighting tears.

  If she started to cry, he’d have to hold her, comfort her. She didn’t have leprosy or AIDS, but he had to be honest. The thought of warts, especially warts down there, disgusted him. At the same time, he cared about her. And Cody—Shane adored the boy.

  “All right,” he finally said. “We’ll go to the hotel, but we’re not done. There’s more to this than you know.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know exactly.”

  She stared through a porthole on the windshield, the work of the defroster. “You don’t have to be nice about it. If I were you, I wouldn’t want anything to do with me. I’m a single mom. I have an STI—”

  “MJ, stop.”

  “My life’s a mess.”

  “Stop it. Please.” She was killing him. “The tryout’s tomorrow. I can’t do this right now.”

  “So let’s drop it.”

  He couldn’t stand the hurt in her eyes, the bitter words, or the self-hatred in her voice. Needing to fix things, at least a little, he brushed a tender kiss on her cheek.

  MJ jerked her head to the side as if she’d been slapped.

  Defeated, he put the car in gear and made a wide turn. The headlights swept through the trees and illuminated picnic tables that resembled lifeboats, out of reach and in danger of sinking. He cleared his throat, then realized whatever he said would make the situation worse. Trapped in silence, they drove to the Crowne Drake and went to their separate rooms.

  Chapter 20

  Daisy couldn’t go to the pier in the pouring rain, so she entertained herself in Lyn’s office, editing the seagull pictures she had snapped yesterday. The used camera she’d bought from Mary’s Closet delighted her. She didn’t have to think or plan when she took pictures at the beach. She simply waited for something to catch her eye.

  She liked being spontaneous in that way. Making decisions upset her, and so did the prospect of seeing Shane. He was in Los Angeles and wanted to see her.

  Three weeks ago, Lyn had asked Daisy into her office and closed the door. “Do you believe in luck?”

  Daisy said no.

  “Neither do I.” That’s when Lyn had told her about the call from someone named MJ, who lived in Wyoming and knew Shane. Lyn called it serendipity. “I have to wonder if God’s trying to tell you something.”

  God . . . Her Higher Power . . . The empty chair that listened to her and somehow made her feel loved.

  Was Lyn right? Was it time to face her brother? In an hour or so, he’d step through the door with the woman named MJ. Daisy had to decide—surprise him or avoid him. Lyn said the choice was hers. “Too many people have robbed you of the right to choose. Whatever you decide, I’ll support you.”

  But that was the problem. Daisy hated making decisions, because she always made the wrong one.

  Lyn walked into the office, her phone in hand. “That was MJ. You have a reprieve.”

  “What happened?”

  “A mudslide closed the 405. She’s staying at the hotel with your brother, so you have another twenty-four hours.”

  Daisy slumped against the chair. “So I don’t have to decide right now?”

  “Not yet.”

  Sighing, she studied the seagull on the screen. Perched on a wooden rail, the bird stood with its wings spread wide, ready to take flight. She cropped an inch from the bottom, decided it was too much, and undid the change. “I wish I had an undo button for my life.”

  “In a way, we do.” Lyn pulled up a chair next to Daisy. “Christ wiped the slate clean for us.”

  Daisy didn’t know what to think. She liked going to the Bible study at Maggie’s House, but the talk about sin and forgiveness sounded too much like Shane. Why should she forgive him? He’d been horrible to her. As for needing forgiveness herself, Daisy knew she was trash. What she didn’t understand was why God cared.

  She stared at the seagull but didn’t really see it. “You think I should see him, don’t you?”

  “What I think doesn’t matter, but I have to wonder if God’s nudging you to talk
to him.”

  But what if Shane acted all superior? How would she feel? Would she fall off the wagon and drink? But what if he had changed? She knew about his knee injury, but until Lyn heard from MJ, Daisy assumed he had rejoined the Cougars. Nothing ever went wrong for Shane—until now. Daisy almost felt sorry for him.

  Shuddering, she thought of the boys in the garage and focused back on the seagull.

  “Finish your picture.” Lyn stood and patted Daisy on the shoulder. “Then we’ll go to a meeting.”

  Daisy printed the photograph and framed it. Mary’s Closet sold her work on consignment, which Lyn said made her a professional photographer, a dream that had begun when she was a little girl visiting artisan shows with her mom. Should she confront Shane? Maybe, but she wanted a drink so bad her hands shook. A day at a time . . . A minute at a time when necessary. She carried the photograph into the thrift shop and displayed it among the souvenirs.

  Lyn came up to her again, her gaze on the picture. “I wonder if that’s the gull that pooped on me.”

  Daisy laughed. “Maybe.”

  “I’m still trying to forgive that stupid bird. It’s not easy when someone does that to you.”

  “No. But the bird didn’t mean it.”

  “Exactly.”

  They were talking about Shane and Daisy knew it. The bird hadn’t meant to poop on Lyn, but Shane had deliberately hurt Daisy. He had betrayed her in that filthy storeroom, and he’d let the social worker take her away. He’d stopped surprising her with Fig Newtons and started pelting her with Bible verses that made her feel weak, dirty, and unloved.

  Like right now. She couldn’t think straight. “I just don’t know what to do.”

  “This decision is yours,” Lyn repeated. “But God just might be opening a door for you.”

  “I just don’t know,” she said yet again. Thinking about Shane made her feel stupid. Now she sounded stupid, too.

  “Do you trust me?”

  “You know I do.”

  “Then let’s do this. MJ expects to introduce me to Shane. I’ll meet him first and tell you what I think. It’s your job to pray about it. How’s that?”