Can't Shake You

by Molly McLain

  “Hudson! Jesus Christ!”

  Ears ringing and mind numb, Josh barely registered the arms pulling him off of the low life contractor. It took him a moment to realize Mark had been the referee and that he was helping Alex to his feet too.

  “Go on and get out of here,” Mark said to Alex as he staggered around, trying to regain his bearings.

  “You saw that, right? I wanna press charges,” he slurred, wiping blood from his face.

  “Yep, I saw,” Mark replied. “And you swung first, asshole. So leave. Now. Before I take you in.”

  Alex cursed under his breath, but he took the sheriff’s advice and stumbled away.

  Josh touched his cheek and came away with blood of his own. Then he heard Carissa’s hiccup from behind him.

  He turned to face her, not at all surprised to see her arms wrapped around her waist as she cried, her eyes wide and panicked, her face flushed and wet.

  “Josh,” she sobbed, reaching out for him again, but he stepped back and shook his head.

  “What he just said? There’s gonna be more of that.” He began to walk backwards, putting more space between them. “Let me take the fall, okay? It’s what I should have done from the beginning and it’s the least I can do now.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  They say when one door closes, another opens. This was the thought that floated around in Carissa’s mind as she slowed her car and made the turn onto the long, familiar driveway, early Sunday afternoon.

  She wasn’t convinced the saying was entirely true in her case—at least, she hoped it wasn’t—but it had still propelled her in the direction of a conversation and a visit that was far too long in the making.

  She stopped in the bend of the circular drive and sucked in a deep, shaky breath. She had no idea what she might find behind this particular door, but opening it couldn’t possibly be any more difficult than the one Josh had slammed in her face in Friday night. In fact, this? This was going to be cake compared to the thought of losing the man she loved forever.

  Stepping out into the bright, July sunshine, she took a moment to acclimate and to her surprise, she almost smiled. Not a whole lot had changed. The apple trees in the front yard were maybe a little bigger than she remembered and the wishing well lawn ornament was more weathered. But her mother’s Sweet Williams were still just as beautiful. And her father’s truck was still just as dusty.

  Pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head, she made her way to the house. It was late enough in the day that her father would be up, but hopefully early enough that he wouldn’t be too far gone in his daily inebriation. She hated making such assumptions, but she wasn’t naïve enough to think anything had changed since she’d last been home, years ago.

  The front door was propped open, allowing the warm, humid breeze to flow through the screen door and allow the melodic sound of Patsy Cline’s Crazy to waft out onto the porch. Along with the aroma of...chicken pot pie?

  What the...?

  “Dad?” She knocked on the frame of the screen door, but her curiosity propelled her inside without an invitation. It was her childhood home after all. Knocking was more of a nicety than a requirement, right?

  Once inside, her eyes widened at the scene in before her. The hallway was no longer paneled with the gaudy faux wood she’d hated as a self-conscious teenager. Instead it had been dry-walled and painted a pretty, modern sage green. Her graduation picture still hung beside her brother’s in the same spot it always had, but the other side of the hall, which had been decorated with shelves of her mother’s knickknacks, now sported a beautiful landscape scene.

  A lump lodged in her throat, but before she could fully consider what the changes meant, her father appeared in the doorway, a dish towel draped over his shoulder.

  The last time she’d seen him, he’d had a beard and his salt and pepper hair had been so long, it completely curled over his ears. He’d also been wearing clothes she was certain he’d slept in for days, and he’d wreaked of stale, but potent alcohol.

  Today, he was clean-shaven and his hair, now almost entirely gray, was buzzed short. He was wearing a pair of clean jeans and a snug Henley that showed off the definition in his shoulders and arms. And he smelled like her favorite Sunday supper.

  Carissa nearly sobbed, because for the first time in more than ten years, she saw the man she’d grown up with. The man her father had been before her mother died. Strong and completely stone sober.

  “Hi, Daddy,” she said quietly, so thrown off kilter she couldn’t put together anything more.

  “Afternoon, sweet pea. You’re just in time for an early dinner.” Like they’d seen each other just yesterday, he winked and angled his chin toward the kitchen.

  “You’re kidding me.” She went ahead of him and, sure enough, there on the stove sat a deep, steaming baking dish of her mother’s favorite recipe. “When did you start to cook?”

  “Oh, I’ve always cooked. But I started your mom’s Sunday tradition about a year ago. Makes for great leftovers during the week.” He took a couple plates from the cupboard and went about filling each of them. “Don’t be shy now. Pour us each a glass of milk and have a seat.”

  Still dumbfounded, she nodded like an eager little kid and did as he said. She couldn’t stop staring at him though, expecting to wake up from a daydream and have him morph into the man she thought she’d find today. “You...look really good. You’ve done something different with your hair.”

  He smiled, new lines creasing around his rugged features. “It’s either keep it short or admit I’m going bald.”

  A laugh broke through her shock. “Haven’t you heard? Bald is beautiful.”

  Clay rolled his eyes. “I suppose gray is too, huh?”

  “It’s very distinguished.” She set the cups on the island and leaned forward on her elbows, watching him. Still in awe. And feeling completely, unexpectedly at home. “That smells delicious.”

  “Of course, it does. It’s your mom’s specialty.” He grinned again and made an open appraisal of her as he slid her plate forward. “So, what’s his name?”

  “Excuse me?” Carissa blinked.

  “The guy who’s put those ugly shadows under your pretty eyes.”

  “That obvious, huh?” She pushed her hair self-consciously from her face and exhaled as she sat.

  “I haven’t seen you in more than two years, sweet pea. Something serious has to be going on for you to come all this way just to see your old man. Considering you’re a beautiful, single young woman—last I heard anyway—I have to assume that something is related to a man.”

  “It is and it isn’t,” she admitted. “Mostly I needed to see you, but I don’t think I realized how badly until I got here. I want to clear the air, Daddy.”

  Clay nodded his head. “So do I.”

  “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you more.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. “You’re sober?”

  “Three hundred and forty three days.”

  “Daddy, that’s wonderful.

  He nodded again, humbling stirring his fork around in his food.

  “I’m sorry that I—”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for, Carissa Joy. I pushed everyone away after your mother died. That’s on me, not you.”

  “I could have been more supportive. I could have—”

  “You bent over backwards for me. What I needed was to lose you too, in order to realize what you’d done for me.” He turned to face her, his eyes watery. “I guess you could say I had to spend some time at the bottom in order to appreciate life at the top. It took a while to figure it out, but I knew you’d come around too, once you healed.”

  The ache in Carissa’s chest burst open, as did the dam of tears behind her eyelids. Coming around the counter, her father wrapped her in a hard embrace, and she clung to him like she had the first time she’d fallen off her bike and scraped both her knees and elbows. Like she had when she’d suffered her first brok
e heart. And like she had when they closed the casket and said goodbye to her mother forever.

  “I closed myself off,” she whispered, fat, salty tears wet her lips. “I was so afraid to hurt like that again.”

  Clay smoothed down her hair, kissed her temple, and held her close. “I know, honey, I know. But you can’t go through life without feeling, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. I had to learn that the hard way.”

  “I thought it would be easier,” she said into his shoulder, the cotton of his shirt growing damp. “But pretending I didn’t need any emotional attachments didn’t work out so well. And it sure came around to bite me in the ass, let me tell you.”

  Clay chuckled. “It usually does.”

  “I’ve made some bad decisions, Dad, and, in turn, I’ve hurt people I really care about.”

  “This guy one of them?”

  She nodded and, though telling her dad about her sordid love life wasn’t one of her prouder moments, she didn’t miss a single detail. “I should have followed my heart, instead of trying to fight it at every turn. I knew, Daddy. I knew he was the one, but I still got involved with Reed. It was like I was trying to subconsciously sabotage myself. So that no matter what, I’d never been able to have Josh and never be happy. Never have that love that you and Mom had and therefore never risk getting my heart broken.

  “Worse, I got involved with him again, thinking I could keep my heart out of it, when, really, it’s had the starring role in this whole screwed up situation from the get-go.” She wiped at her face and shook her head. “I know Josh cares about me, but I’ve made things so complicated. I can’t blame him for not wanting things between us to get any messier. We wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for the choices I’ve made.”

  “Now, now, it doesn’t sound like you were the only one fighting your feelings.”

  “Maybe not, but I was the one who took up with his best friend.”

  “I don’t have to tell you that how pointless it is to dwell on the past, sweet pea.”

  She nodded. “I know. But I don’t know what to do now, how to move forward.”

  Clay lifted his hands, cupped her face, and smiled. “You’re like your mother in so many ways, including your lack of patience.”

  She laughed through the emotion straining in her chest. “That’s so true, it hurts.”

  “The answer is right in front of you, Carissa.” He smoothed his thumbs over her cheeks and wiped away her tears. “You need to do what you didn’t before.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Patience, baby doll.” He tapped the tip of her nose. “Don’t hide from your heart—trust in it. And give the boy some time to come around.”

  That was all well and good, and she’d told Josh she’d wait, after all, but... “What if he doesn’t?”

  “He will. I happen to know a thing or two about stubborn men just like him.”

  That he did, and for the first time, Carissa realized just how alike Josh and her father really were. Both men were strong-willed, dedicated, and loyal to a fault.

  “I suppose you do,” she agreed. “And I hope you’re right.”

  “Why don’t we finish up here and then go sit on the porch so you can tell me about this house of yours.”

  Carissa smiled. “As long as you tell me about this one. You’ve made some changes.”

  “Ain’t no future in the past, sweet pea.”

  ***

  The loft above the old barn had been Josh’s secret getaway as a child. When he’d dropped the crystal vase his great-grandmother had passed down to his mother and shattered it into a million pieces, he’d hid up there. When he’d stolen Dan’s dirt bike and buried it in two feet of mud in the back field, he’d hid up there. And when he’d made the decision not to interfere with Carissa and Fletcher, he’d hid up there, too.

  It was only natural that he’d climb up there again to wallow in regret and self-pity now that he’d made perhaps the biggest mistake of his life, letting Carissa slip away once again.

  He sat at the edge of the hay loft door and hung his legs out, elbows on his knees. The corn fields below waved back and forth in the breeze. So long. Goodbye. See ya around.

  If only it were that easy. He closed his eyes against the sun and wished it would dry up the pain and the guilt. Maybe make him feel like less of a stupid SOB for running off on Carissa like he had, leaving her standing there with tears in her eyes and precious words on her lips.

  I love you, Josh.

  How long had he wanted to hear her say that? How many nights did he lie under the Afghan stars, wishing they would have had more time together, so that maybe he could have heard her say those sweet words before he left? So when remembering the feel of her body beneath him wasn’t enough, he could close his eyes and hear her voice in his ears. I love you, I love you, I love you...

  He pounded a fist down against the loft floor. “Fuck me!”

  “Your mother wouldn’t take kindly to hearing that kind of language.”

  Josh jerked around to see his father standing at the top of the loft stairs, one hand tucked in the pocket of his Dockers, the other wrapped around the neck of a bottle of whiskey. Josh turned back to the field. “Good thing she’s not around then.”

  Jack chuckled, the wood creaking beneath his weight as he came forward. “That’s true. It’d probably be a good idea not to tell her about this bottle either.”

  Josh snorted, as his old man lowered himself down beside him. “Whatever floats your boat, Jack.”

  His father sighed, opened the bottle, and took a hearty swig, hissing at the burn, before he passed it over. “So, what brings you up here on a beautiful day like this? If memory serves me correctly, it’s gotta be something pretty bad.”

  Josh took a drink, winced, and shook his head. “Like you have a goddamn clue.”

  Jack narrowed his eyes. “Let’s see, there was your mother’s vase, your brother’s bike, the day before you left for deployment, the day you came back from deployment...”

  “I’m surprised you paid that much attention. Though I suppose, those were all occasions when I’d screwed up, so of course, you’d be right on top of them.” Josh took another pull from the bottle and handed it back to his father.

  “Uh-uh,” Jack spoke up, his finger pointed sternly. “Not once have I knocked your military service.”

  Josh rolled his eyes. “You sure as hell never supported it.”

  “Now, why would you think that?” Jack pulled back and looked at him like he was crazy.

  “The day I came home and told you and Mom I’d joined the Corp, you got up from the table and walked out. That pretty much said it all right there.”

  Jack shook his head. “You ever seen your old man cry?”

  “Yeah, right. Jack Hudson cry?”

  “Exactly.” His father brought the bottle to his mouth. “My boy was a Marine. I couldn’t let you see me lose control.”

  Josh swiveled his head to the older man. “What?”

  “Where do you think I went? After I walked out?”

  “To celebrate?”

  Jack shook his head. “Quit with the tough guy routine already. It’s not working out so well for you.” He looked back to the field. “I came here. Just like you do. Maybe I was hoping you’d come up here, too. Sit with me awhile, so we could work out this rift between us.”

  “There’s nothing to work out. We’re cut from different cloth, that’s all. It’s always been this way between us and I imagine it always will be.”

  “Doesn’t have to.”

  Josh laughed. “Right. I think it’s a little too late to kiss and make up. You’ve given me grief about damn near every choice I’ve ever made. Made me doubt myself instead of supporting me. I can’t forget that. Good news is I’m long over it.”

  Jack looked skeptical. “Is that so?”

  “Maybe you’re a miserable bastard, but you’re not going to make me into one.”

  His
father laughed. “Good God, son, you’re more delusional than I thought.”

  “Excuse me?” Josh nearly reared to his feet.

  “You honestly think I’ve never supported you?”

  “I know you haven’t. In fact, I’m pretty sure you get off on watching me fail.”

  “When have you failed?”

  Josh stared out at the field and said solemnly, “Every time I’ve been up here.”

  “Going off to war wasn’t a failure.”

  “I wasn’t up here because of the war.”

  Jack said nothing, just picked up the bottle and drank.

  “Whenever Dan did something wrong, you sat him down and had it out with him. Whenever I did, you just sat there, just like you are now, not saying a damn word.” Josh snatched the bottle from his father’s hands.

  “You’re not like your brother, Josh. Dan’s a smart guy, but he doesn’t think like you do. You need to figure shit out on your own, stew over it a bit, sort it all out, and chew on it some more. What was the point of having it out with you, when you’d do a better job of figuring out the problem yourself? I always thought that over-analytical tendency of yours was punishment enough for whatever you’d done wrong.”

  Josh shifted uncomfortably. “That doesn’t explain why you give me such a hard time about contracting. My career is the one thing you’ve never been able to shut up about.”

  “That’s because you’ve also had this ridiculous inferiority complex. You worry too much about what other people think of you and you screw yourself over in the process. You’re damn talented, son, and you don’t have to worry about playing second fiddle to anyone.”

  “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “It is, isn’t it? But it’s what you do, most of the time without even realizing it. If I don’t push you to keep reaching higher, you’ll continue to settle for less than you deserve.”