by Wendy Warren
She curled her right hand into a fist and thumped it against his chest. “Dammit, Jase. I thought you were dead.” His shirt muffled the last, sobbed, word.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
They stood for a long moment, he just outside her front door and she on the threshold. They clung to each other, attempting to pull themselves together. Finally, Willa leaned back to peer at him through the blur of her tears.
He was leaner now. Almost hollow. His clothes were far more casual than the designer shirts and suits he’d once favored, their starched-and-pressed perfection gone entirely. The Jase she remembered could have stepped out of a menswear catalogue. The man in front of her looked disheveled.
“Any chance you’ll let me in?” he asked, uncharacteristic hesitation shadowing his words.
A tiny hiccup escaped her. “Of course.” She stood back and held the door wide. “Please.”
Jase stepped past her into the cozy cottage she’d so carefully set for seduction and glanced around with abject curiosity. “You...uh—” he cleared his throat, running a hand over his stubbled jaw “—expecting someone?”
“Yes.” The blood surged hotly to her cheeks as she nudged the door shut with her hip. “But not for an hour. Sit down.” She gestured to the sofa.
Awkwardly, he nodded, sitting on the edge of a cushion as if he couldn’t quite commit.
“This is a nice place,” he said.
She shrugged. The house they’d shared in California, a remodeled Mediterranean that he, especially, had loved, had been four times the size of this one. “It’s small. But I like it. It’s home now,” she acknowledged simply.
He nodded. Long fingers, perfect for a surgeon, curled over his knees. “I rehearsed what I was going to say. You know? And now here I am, and...” He shrugged, getting to his feet, his body a bundle of nervous energy that refused to let him settle. Willa watched him cross to the fireplace as if he knew exactly what he’d find there.
Slowly raising a hand, he touched the framed photo she’d kept in her bedroom the past several weeks. Tonight she had brought it into the living room again, because she wanted Derek to see it.
“This is the only photo I took with me when I left,” Jase commented. “It’s my favorite.”
Willa felt the muscles in her stomach clench. She forced herself to inhale. “Mine, too.”
The picture showed their daughter, Sydney, at age ten, in a photo snapped right before her fifth-grade spring dance.
“Everything made sense before she died. Nothing made sense after,” Jase said roughly. “I honest-to-God don’t know how you went through it stone-cold sober, Will. You were the strong one.”
Willa’s body gave a little jerk while her mind tried to process that. Did simply surviving mean she was strong? Hiding in a new town, in a tiny bungalow meant for her alone, sidestepping human entanglements? She hadn’t felt strong at all. After their beautiful Sydney died, the world turned upside down and stayed there, until just recently.
She looked at her candles, smelled the prime rib still cooking, remembered the nightie. Unbidden, anger joined the myriad other emotions rocking around her body. For so long, she’d dreamed of the moment he would show up unexpectedly, and she would realize he was still alive. But that moment hadn’t come. Now, without a call, without the merest hint of warning, he was here.
“Where the hell have you been, Jason? It’s been two years of pure torture. I thought you were dead. We all did. You sent me divorce papers and a note that told me basically nothing except that you couldn’t handle our marriage anymore. You haven’t even contacted your parents in all this time. After losing a child yourself, how could you—” She slapped her hands over her mouth. She’d relegated rage to the back of the line behind worry and grief. Now it was front and center, poised to launch an arrow straight into Jase’s heart for leaving her to handle so much on her own and for making them all grieve twice.
“Go on,” he said when she stopped. “Whatever you have to say, I deserve it. And I’ve probably already said it to myself.” He returned Sydney’s picture carefully to the mantel and faced his ex-wife. “I was a fraud, Willa. I loved medicine, but I worshipped the idea that I could fix whatever was broken, and when I couldn’t help our own daughter—” He blew a frustrated sigh at the ceiling. “The guilt drove me to my knees. I damn near—” Raw emotion twisted his features. “I didn’t think I was going to make it. Leaving everyone seemed like the right thing. I’m not saying it was, only that my mind made it seem that way. I’ll never be able to tell you how sorry I am for putting you through everything I did. I don’t expect you to give me your forgiveness. I just need you to know that I’m asking.”
Outside, a dog barked. A siren rose then faded into the distance and a car whooshed down the street, too fast. Life in Thunder Ridge carried on, oblivious to their struggle.
There were so many questions, but Willa knew the most important ones couldn’t be answered. Not in this lifetime. They would never understand why they had been so lucky, so blessed with the magic that had been their family. Or why it had all had to end.
Jase managed a wobbly smile. “Thanks for keeping my lawyer in the loop about where you’re living.”
Wordlessly, she nodded.
He glanced around again. “You’re building a life for yourself here.”
“Trying to.”
“I’m proud of you, Will. You’re a survivor.”
Silent tears slipped down her cheeks. He had come to give her the gift of closure on a marriage that had taken her from girl to wife to mother. He’d given her Syd, and the truth was that as long as she lived she would be Syd’s mother, her favorite role of all. In return, Willa could give Jase the one thing he couldn’t give himself.
“You’re forgiven,” she whispered. “Believe it, Jase. You’re forgiven.” She wasn’t sure who made the first move, but suddenly they were in each other’s embrace for one final hug.
The familiar arms tightened briefly before he leaned back to look at her. “How long did it take you to believe you really could move forward?”
“I think...it took until just now.”
They shared a long moment of understanding neither would ever have with anyone else. The doorbell jarred them both.
Through the picture window to the right of her front door, Willa saw Derek, standing close to the glass. Close enough for her to see that he wasn’t merely standing on the porch; he was staring into the house at her and Jase.
It didn’t take long for her to react. She left Jase’s arms immediately and ran to the door, flinging it open. “Derek! Come in.”
A burst of cold air entered with him. Willa felt so overheated, she welcomed it.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, the words rushing out. This was so not how she wanted him to find out about her life as a wife and mother. Her mind raced as she tried to figure out what he was thinking.
“I’m early.” Voice and expression grim, he stared at Jase as he asked Willa, “Bad timing?”
“No,” she lied and gestured to Jase. “We were...” Oh, boy. What?
Derek looked at her. His shoulders squared, his brow lowered, he had an I-could–kick-this-guy’s-ass-easily look on his face. Yet, underneath, she saw an uncertainty that made her want to kiss him until he looked like Derek again.
“I get the feeling I’m interrupting,” Derek deadpanned.
“No. I am.” Stepping forward, Jase extended a hand. “Hi. I’m Jason Holmes. And you are?”
“Derek Neel. Sheriff of Thunder Ridge.” Warily, he reached for the outstretched hand, his expression puzzling out the connection. “Holmes? You’re related to Willa?”
“In a manner of speaking. I married her about fourteen years ago, just out of high school.”
Derek went pale. A long, awkward moment of silence
followed before he found his voice. “In that case, I suppose you two have a lot of catching up to do. I’ll leave you to it.” Turning, he strode through the still-open door.
“Derek,” Willa called, gripping the doorknob, “don’t go.”
He crossed the porch and headed down the steps toward his truck.
“Derek, you don’t understand.” Willa ran after him. His driver’s side door slammed. “Please wait!” But he couldn’t hear her over the roar of the engine or the angry squeal of tires as he drove away.
* * *
It took every ounce of strength, emotional and physical, for Derek to walk calmly into his house, excuse the sitter on the pretext that his stomach was acting up, and spend the rest of the evening watching dumb movies with Gilberto. Every time the phone rang, Derek ignored it, grumbling about telemarketers until he eventually just yanked his landline from the jack and put his cell on “vibrate only” to stave off Gilberto’s innocent questions.
Willa had called at least six times, but he was in no mood to talk to anyone, especially not to her, not yet.
Gilberto seemed to sense that he was struggling and actually went into the kitchen on his own to make Derek a cup of tea laced generously with honey. Then he made sure the throws were tucked in around Derek’s legs. The boy’s clumsy, well-meaning ministering was the only thing that kept Derek from tearing his house apart, stud by stud.
Once Gilberto found the antacid bottle in the medicine cabinet and offered “something for your sick tummy,” he burrowed in next to Derek, peering up every so often with such tender adoration that Derek could barely swallow around the lump in his throat. The kid was so sweet, looking at him as if he hung the moon, when in reality, Derek felt his world crumbling around him.
She was married. Married to her high school sweetheart, yet hadn’t considered that important enough to tell him. What a fool he’d been. After all the opportunities he’d given her to tell him the truth about her mysterious past, she had a damned husband. One to whom she was obviously still pretty close.
And here he was, the complete dumbass, showing up at her front door, thinking forever was in the cards.
Blood surged through his body like molten lava. Muscles tensed, fists clenched, he muttered an expletive under his breath. Gilberto squirmed around under his blanket and peered at Derek curiously.
“Do you need to throw up? Cuz, if you do, I can go get you a bowl.” He looked worried.
Derek inhaled deeply and made a concerted effort to reassure the child at his side. “No, little buddy, I think I just had some heartburn. It’s going to be fine, and you know why?”
Gilberto shrugged. “No.”
Derek looped an arm around the child’s shoulders and pulled him close. “Because you are the best doctor in the whole world. That tea you made me? Has me feeling almost a hundred percent. I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know what I’d do without you here to help me through this rough patch.”
Gilberto puffed like a peacock. He nodded manfully. “’Kay. I think you probably should go to bed now. I can tuck you in.” He looked at the clock and calculated. “It’s already past ten, so I’ll turn off the TV and let Captain out. You go upstairs, put on your pajamas and brush your teeth, and I’ll be up there to say a prayer and stuff, okay?”
Derek pulled the kid up against his chest and ruffled his hair. If Willa had sent fissures splintering through his heart, Gilberto was the sealant that kept it from breaking altogether. “You’re the best, buddy. I’ll meet you upstairs after you take care of things down here.”
Thrilled at the opportunity to play master of the house, Gilberto completed his chores and met Derek, who had watched everything from the top of the stairs.
“You know, because of your help tonight, I feel good enough to tuck you in, dude,” Derek said. “I think you totally cured me.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been thinking ’bout being a doctor.”
“No kidding? I always hoped I’d have a doctor in my family.” He’d already told ’Berto about Roddy leaving, letting the confusion and grief and anger sit for a day or two before mentioning that Jeanne was trying to find someone who could keep Gilberto safe and take care of him until he was an adult. Then Derek had shared that he’d told Jeanne he wanted to be that someone.
Now, as Gilberto heard Derek say the word “family” in relation to them, his mouth dropped open before he snapped it shut and acted too cool for his shoes. He turned away, but not before Derek caught the beginnings of an enormous grin. Another crack in Derek’s heart filled as he followed the boy to his room. They were almost through their good-night routine when Captain began to bark incessantly.
Gilberto sat up in bed. “Captain hears something.”
Derek had heard a car a couple minutes earlier when Gilberto was starting to nod off during their book time. “Probably some pest getting into the garbage out there. You go to sleep, and I’ll take a peek outside, okay?” he said, though he was pretty sure it was Willa.
’Berto nodded and yawned, scooting back down in the bed and rolling onto his side. “If it’s a burglar, call me and I’ll come and kick him in the yayas for you, okay?”
“Will do.” Derek had never had a deputy offer to kick anyone in the yayas for him. He gave the boy a fist bump and left the room telling himself that he and the kid would be fine, just fine on their own. If Willa was outside? She could stay there. He was in no mood to hear an explanation now.
A soft but insistent knocking had Captain doing his ancient best to guard the fortress from attack. Unfortunately, the rusty barking and doused porch light failed to sway Willa, who continued to knock in a restrained way Derek knew was intended not to disturb Gilberto. Hovering at the top of the stairs, he watched her move to the plate glass window. She cupped her hands on the glass, trying to catch a glimpse of life.
He stood silently, willing her to go.
“Derek, I know you’re there. Please open up.” There was a slight pause. “It’s freezing out here.” She knocked again. Harder.
He wavered. Just a little.
“Derek?” Gilberto’s voice, sleepy yet filled with worry, called out from the bedroom. “I think Willa is here.”
Derek sighed in heavy frustration. “I’m on my way down to talk to her. You go to sleep, okay?”
“Okay.” Gilberto sounded hesitant. “Good night.”
“’Night, partner.”
Captain was working himself into an early grave, clawing at the door and whining now that he realized who was there. Using the need to save his dog as an excuse, Derek pushed himself off the top step and walked heavily down the stairs. Flipping on the porch light, he opened the door. Willa huddled inside her coat and rubbed her ungloved hands together. Instantly, he wanted to haul her into his arms and warm her.
Sucker.
Steeling himself, he said, “Willa, go home. I don’t feel like talking.”
“Derek, hear me out. That’s all I’m asking. I was going to tell you everything tonight, but Jase... He showed up and beat me to it.”
Her auburn hair was loose, the way he liked it most, cascading in angel-soft waves around her face and her shoulders. Her features looked strained and tense, and her splotchy cheeks told him she’d been crying. His jaws clenched tighter than a vise.
“It’s freezing out here,” she reiterated. “Let me come in for a few minutes to explain. Please.”
He hesitated, and her face filled with uncertainty.
I don’t care.
But he did and damned himself for it.
They hovered on the threshold until finally he took a step back. She walked past him.
Shutting the door, he fumbled with a lamp that sent a yellow glow throughout the room.
“Sit.” He gestured to a chair in the living room and moved to stoke the fire that he and Gilberto h
ad let die. Shyly, she moved to the chair nearest the hearth and sat, shivering.
“You should have worn mittens.”
“I ran out of the house too quickly.” Her teeth chattered. “I left right after Jase did.”
Jase. “I’m going to get a cup of tea. Want anything?”
“No. I’m good. Thank you.”
“Okay. Tea it is.” Abruptly, he turned and strode to the kitchen.
No matter what she said, no matter her reason for refusing to share with him a fraction of what she had obviously shared with Jase, he wasn’t going to give in to his heart, which was once again telling him to let it go, to listen, to love her. His heart was such a dumbass. Well, he was all through letting himself get whomped in the gut. If the question was, “When are you going to learn your lesson?” the answer was, “Right now.”
* * *
Willa knew Derek could tell she was freezing. Even though she’d caused him great pain, he was still worried about her.
She leaned forward on the sofa, her chilly palms pressed together and tucked between her knees. As he clattered around in the kitchen, she tried to remember everything she needed to tell him tonight, so she could get it all out before he tossed her on her ear. She wouldn’t blame him if he did. What he’d walked in on tonight would have thrown anyone for a loop.
After five of the longest minutes in Willa’s life, Derek returned with two steaming mugs of tea, their bags bobbing in the water. He pressed one mug into her hands then sat in the recliner across from her. Fair enough. An involuntary shiver racked her entire body, and she sloshed her tea. Derek stood, dropped a throw in her lap then returned to his own chair.
“Okay.” His sigh was filled with a mix of impatience and resistance. “What do you need to tell me?”
“Everything. From the beginning. Which is what I’d planned to do tonight, before Jase showed up. His arrival was totally unexpected.”