They found their way to the office, where the headmistress, Carole Montgomery, greeted them. She was a shorter woman with over-styled light hair, a big smile, and a ton of makeup.
“First-day jitters are normal,” she said as she looked over to John and then gestured into the office. “Come on in.” She was wearing a navy pantsuit and heels that clicked on the floor.
John followed with hands shoved in blue jeans pockets, and Fiona gave Vic an odd look. “Give it a chance,” he whispered. “I swear this school comes highly recommended.” He pressed his hand to Fiona’s back and followed her in.
“Sorry, I only have two chairs. I can grab another one,” Carole said.
“I’ll stand. It’s fine,” Vic said, waiting as Fiona and John took both chairs in front of the desk. He leaned against the wall beside them.
“So everything is set for John to start. We’re just waiting on the school records from Bellevue. John, here is your student packet.” The name on the packet was John McCabe.
“My son’s last name is Marino,” Fiona said, and John leaned back in the chair, saying nothing.
“Fiona,” Vic said. This was his son, and he’d have his name. He just hadn’t talked to her about it.
Carole appeared confused, “Oh, did I misunderstand? I somehow wrote down ‘McCabe.’” She was looking from him to Fiona.
“Leave it as McCabe,” Vic said. “It’s a minor detail that will be corrected soon.” He noticed that Fiona flinched. Then there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Carole called out. “That’ll be Mr. Burnstyne. He’s the school counsellor and is going to help you get settled in your classes today.”
Vic took in the man: average height, light brown hair, conservative and polished. “You must be John.” The man was friendly as he shook John’s hand. “Why don’t you come with me and I’ll help you get settled, introduce you to the teachers, talk about the classes we offer?”
“Sure,” John said, and Fiona was now standing, appearing uncomfortable.
“We’ll pick you up after school,” Vic said to John before he could leave with the teacher, and then he leaned in so no one could hear. “I meant to talk to you about the last name. We’ll talk tonight?”
“No big deal,” John said. “I think it’s kind of cool.” He gave Vic a big smile and then followed the teacher out, and Vic couldn’t get over what a great kid he had. Fiona was staring daggers his way.
“I guess I didn’t realize the name thing. So sorry,” Carole added. “We do have a few parents here with different last names and some kids with hyphenated names. It’s a new era.” She was smiling brightly, and Vic wasn’t sure where she stood, for or against. She was standing up now and taking in Fiona and Vic. Maybe she had questions. Vic wasn’t interested in her treading anywhere in their personal business, though.
“Thank you, Carole, for getting John settled in,” he said, then reached over and shook her hand.
“Oh no, thank you for coming in and for your donation. It was nice to meet your wife and son.”
Instead of letting it go, Fiona interrupted. “It’s Fiona Marino, and John’s father and I aren’t married.”
Great, the fake name that wasn’t going to show up anywhere. He slid his hand over her hip, pulling her back to him and giving it a squeeze. Maybe she knew what he was getting at. He hoped she did. He needed her to stop talking.
“It’s just a formality that will be rectified very soon.” The moment he said it, Carole’s face lit up and Fiona stiffened beside him.
“Oh my, congratulations,” Carole said. “When’s the wedding? John must be thrilled.”
“That’s—”
“Soon, and it was a pleasure to meet you,” Vic said, cutting off Fiona. He’d learned as of late this need of hers to set the record straight, which was way out of his comfort zone. He needed a minute to understand what in all hell he’d been thinking to bring up marriage.
“Ready?” He opened the door, his hand on Fiona’s back still, touching her as if he had every right and leading her out of the school.
Before he got Fiona into his car, she slapped his hand away and wheeled around on him, her eyes blazing. “Just what the hell were you thinking in there, telling her we’re getting married, jumping us all the way from A to Z when there’s so much unsettled between us—and changing John’s last name?”
Vic wasn’t an impulsive man, but as she just stood in silence and the emotions settled in between them like a storm stirring in the distance, he realized he was rushing here. “I loved you so much when we were young, and I trusted you with everything I had in me. When the shit hit the fan and you lost everything…it was like you gutted me with a knife when you blamed me, when you left me and you hated me. I hated and blamed myself for what happened, too, for all these years, but I realized when I found you again that all that hate and love and everything in between us is there still. Every one of those women I bedded and tossed away resembled you. It was you I was looking for, you. I wanted to hurt you for hurting me.” He heard her hiss, and he had her pinned against the car.
“So you want to marry me for what reason, because I hurt you, ran out on you? Or is it just John? I don’t understand. John doesn’t need us to be married. He’s not some little kid who needs that kind of reassurance from mommy and daddy. We’ve done just fine, and he’s an amazing kid with his head screwed on right.”
“I want to marry you, Fiona, because out of all of this and this craziness that brought us back together, I realized I can’t love anyone else. I want more. I want John to have my name, and you, and I’m done carrying all the blame for what happened. I’m moving on, and I need you to as well.” He needed her to understand that her brother was the one who had set everything in motion that night fifteen years ago. And she would, soon, after he was convinced she wouldn’t up and run.
Chapter 31
Fiona hadn’t looked Vic’s way even though she knew with everything in her that he was watching her from behind the dark shades he’d shoved on after he slid behind the wheel. They were almost back to his house, and she was freaking out at the fact that he’d brought up the one thing she’d have wanted him to fifteen years ago: marriage. She was pulling at her throat as if air were in short supply. The fact was that Vic was very good at keeping her boring, predictable life completely shaken up.
“It drives some people crazy when I say nothing for so long,” Vic said. “It’s a waiting game, because people start to panic in silence. It brings uncertainty, unease. It’s natural to start rambling, talking about anything to fill the silence. I rather like it.”
It was such an odd thing for him to say, and it had her turning her head to him.
He smiled as if he knew something she didn’t. “You don’t give a shit, though. Took me a bit to get that. It’s kind of like tit for tat, and I realized you’re not like others. You won’t fill the silence. You’ll just walk away.”
He was right, she would, because she didn’t have time for that kind of bullshit. Walking away was easier, too, as she didn’t like talking to anyone unless she had to. Saying less was always better.
“Why are you trying to hold on to me so tight?” she said.
He didn’t seem surprised by her question, as she watched him glance out his side window, turn left, and speed up a bit. She recognized the street, all the estates, the trees in full bloom and his massive home just ahead.
“You spook easily,” he said, glancing her way and then back to the road.
“What? I do not.”
What an odd thing to say. He was smiling again, and she found it lightened the mood. She liked his smile. It made him seem…approachable, which was odd. “You do,” he said. “It’s in every part of you: your expression, your eyes. That deep brown pulls in and gets bigger, bolder. I wonder if it’s so natural a reaction you’re not even aware you do it.”
What could she say to that? She had panicked that morning when he dragged her into the shower because he had touched a part
of her that was still filled with so much hurt. She didn’t want it open or out there for anyone to see. The underwear had been her excuse because it was believable, even to her.
“I want to take you to bed when we get back to the house. I want to strip you down, taste every part of you, and bury myself in you while you scream out my name, and then again, slowly, breaking away all those walls you’ve put up to keep everyone away.”
She had to shut her eyes and fight the image he’d put in her head. She was warm now, and he wasn’t playing fair.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice that freak-out of yours,” he said. “I just couldn’t figure out why, but when I have you under me, caught up in just feeling, that’s when you can’t think everything to death and hide anything from me. It’s when you allow yourself for a moment to be where you want to be. It’s that vulnerability that shows the real you.”
“Stop.” Her voice was breathless as if he’d kissed her and touched her already. “You have work. I have to take care of my business. I need…”
“You need to stay here and come to an understanding with me, work things through. Thirty days, Fiona.”
“What?” She turned to him as he pulled down his driveway, where a silver BMW was parked. He was frowning and suddenly so serious as he parked and then pulled off his shades. He tucked them in the sun visor and unclipping his seat belt. Her hand was on the door handle, but he reached over and settled his hand on her thigh, which of course had her body heating up again, wanting him.
“You give me thirty days here. No running, no creating excuses or reasons to leave.”
“And?” she said, because this was beginning to sound like some bargaining tool.
“If after thirty days you can’t live with me, you can’t love me, then I’ll let you go, but I’m not kidding—an honest try, no holding back and no running.”
It wasn’t lost on her how small she was in his presence. He seemed to take over everything, every room, and she could see how he’d gotten to where he was. He wasn’t a man to just roll over.
“You’ll let me leave, no more chasing me down or showing up at my café—and John?” Somehow she didn’t think it would be that easy. She’d seen the love he had for John as if it had always been there, father and son.
He glanced out the window, straight ahead and thinking. “He’s my son, Fiona. Him I won’t let walk away. I want him to have my name. He deserves it.”
So there it was. She could leave after thirty days, but Vic wasn’t going to let John go. “What you’re saying is you still expect to have everything,” she said.
The way he watched her was so cold and distant. “No, Fiona, everything is you and John.” He opened his door and stepped out, and Fiona climbed out her own side. As Vic came around, touched the top of her door, and closed it behind her, she knew he was still waiting for an answer, but how could she give this man the answer he was looking for? He had scared the shit out of her because of how he made her feel, and giving him his thirty days could end up destroying her.
“Can I think about it?” she said, feeling his hand on her back.
“Yes, but I want your answer tonight,” he said.
When he opened the front door, she took in a tall, very attractive younger man with deep blue eyes, wavy blond hair, and the body of a linebacker in a suit and tie. He was just standing in the grand foyer, blocked by Nora.
“Vic, tell your pit bull here who I am!” The man was loud, and it wasn’t lost on Fiona that Nora had her arms crossed as if she intended to keep this very attractive man sitting in the front entrance from getting past her.
“Chase?” Vic said, then pulled him into one of those manly hugs guys do, slapping his shoulder. “Nora, this is my brother, Chase. Sorry if he gave you a hard time.”
“None, sir,” Nora asked, looking back and forth between the two. “Will you be needing anything?”
“No, that’s all.”
Fiona watched as Nora walked away, and then there was a hand on her waist. Vic was beside her, pulling her against him. “Chase, this is Fiona. Fiona, Chase, my brother—or one of them,” he added. “Come in.”
His hand fell away from Fiona, and she watched as Vic walked into the living room with this man who bore no resemblance to him. A brother? She’d had no idea he had one. Now who had secrets?
Chapter 32
Fiona, instead of joining him in the living room, had made an excuse and disappeared upstairs. He’d seen her spooked expression, and he wasn’t sure if it was the thirty-day commitment or Chase. It could have been either or something completely different.
A tray with coffee appeared with Nora even though he hadn’t asked, but she knew his wants well and made his life easier.
“Wow, can’t get over this place,” Chase said. “It’s huge, not something I ever pictured you having.” He loosened his tie, rolled his shoulders, and flashed a smile to Nora, who didn’t smile back before leaving. He made a face to Vic. “I don’t think she likes me.”
He could imagine, after what that reporter had done, talking her way in by saying she was his sister. Nora most likely hadn’t been convinced by Chase’s claim, considering he didn’t look like Vic at all.
Vic glanced to the empty doorway. “So what are you doing here?” He hadn’t seen Chase in…how long? Massachusetts the previous year, or had it been the year before that, for dinner and drinks?
“Figured three years was too long not to see my big brother.” Chase poured himself a coffee, added cream and a heaping spoonful of sugar, and then stirred it and tapped the spoon on the edge of the mug. He was stalling. It had been three years, seriously?
Chase blew on his hot coffee and brushed back his dark navy suit jacket. Expensive, probably tailored by some eastern designer. Vic poured his own coffee, taking it black, and watched as his brother took in the art above the fireplace and said nothing as he seemed to study it.
“So you decided to drive across the country and see me, no call, no heads up?” He knew that his brother, although not by blood, was as driven as he was.
“Dad’s in trouble again,” he said, and Vic wanted to roll his eyes. Jerry McCabe was always in for something, down on his luck or owing someone. It was the story of his life and why Vic had walked away. He had his own shit to deal with.
“Dad’s always in trouble. Always has been, always will be. Not my problem,” he said, and it sounded cold even to his own ears.
“Really, Vic? That’s cruel even for you.”
“Chase, you’ve always been a sucker for Dad’s down and out stories. Every time he made a trip across the border to Nevada, he’d stop and play the slots with his paycheck, and then the rest of us were suddenly paying for everything.” That was the reason Vic had stolen his first car, to pay back the bookie his dad had owed money to.
“He hasn’t gambled in years. It’s not that kind of trouble. He pulled it together after he lost the house. Hitting rock bottom kind of does that to a person.”
“You always had a soft spot for him. It seems he could talk you into his side of things,” Vic said. He was still angry at his father, who’d asked only once what Vic had done to pay his debt. He’d lied, said the bookie had been kind and let it go. His dad had said nothing because they both knew that wasn’t the truth.
“Not true,” Chase said. “I just saw what a big heart he had, wanting to help everyone. He couldn’t help himself.”
What was it about Chase? His brother could have convinced him the devil was a misunderstood child. Maybe that was why he was so good at what he did: a congressman’s aide, a powerful name in Washington. He knew it, he’d heard the talk.
“So what’s he done this time?” He shouldn’t have asked, because asking would get him dragged into problems he didn’t want any part of. He had a life with Fiona and John that he was still trying to sort out. This was something he had no intention of adding to his plate.
“It isn’t so much what he did. It’s Mom.”
Vic nearly choked. Shell
ey McCabe had walked out on Jerry and Vic when he was seventeen. Chase had been twelve, and Luc and Aaron had been ten and eleven. Every one of them had mourned her abandonment in different ways.
Maybe Chase had some idea what Vic was going to say, as he angled his head with an expression that told him to get serious, shut up, and listen. “Which is another reason I’m here. Didn’t think you’d hear me out over the phone.”
“You’re right about that.” He wasn’t too interested in what Shelley had to say even though it had been all he’d thought about for years, wondering if it had been him or his brothers, if she’d finally had enough of raising four boys who weren’t hers even though that was all she’d said she wanted.
“Just hear me out. Everything isn’t as black and white as you believe. Mom and Dad had their issues.”
“No, Mom walked out the door one day after cramming her clothes in her suitcase after that last fight with dad over what happened to the savings account to bring it to zero.”
Chase was shaking his head. “And you still blame her for leaving us, too.”
He put his mug down on the side table and rested his hands on his hips. “And you don’t?”
Chase made a face. “Well, yeah, at the time I was pretty pissed at her. She basically left us to raise Dad. Suddenly we went from two parents who barely got along to having to manage Dad, but I got over it a long time ago like we’re supposed to as adults. I’m letting bygones be bygones and forgiving her because I’m not interested in being angry. For fuck’s sake, Vic, they’re family.”
This was the part of Chase he hated, the part that tried to counsel him and tell him how he was supposed to feel. “Good for you for being a bigger man than me, but I have no intention of stepping into any part of this mess. Why the hell is Dad even talking to Mom?”
“I know. Can you believe it?” He gestured dramatically. “I actually had to call Dad back after I took a minute to get my head around it, like what the fuck, Dad? That was after I learned they’ve been seeing each other again.”
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