A Love Restrained

by Becky Flade

  There would be no more questions today, no more insights. The truth should have been comforting, but it wasn’t. Did I ever know him? Certainly, she didn’t know him as well as her parents.

  “I’m going to go for a walk. Would you keep an eye on Brady? I’ll be back before dinner.”

  Her father had looked at her with sad eyes when he nodded. She wanted to hug him. Tell him it was okay. Have him tell her the same. I can’t. Just can’t. They kept so many secrets from me. Out of loyalty to him.

  These new revelations shouldn’t upset her, but they did. The people she had trusted most had kept things from her. They had good intentions. But it still hurt. She walked, but wanted to run through the pain and the heartache.

  All those years she struggled with the paradox of Jayson Donovan. She knew him to be a kind, funny, generous man with a big heart. Everything her father told her reinforced that perception. The man she’d loved had fathered her child. The persona had been his cover identity; that was the lie. He never pretended to be that man when he was with me. She hadn’t known then she had the real him. She knew him. Just not the details. And knowing them now should lessen her burden. Why am I still at odds?

  When he spoke of what he’d sacrificed for another man’s ambition, the timber in his voice, the twist in his lips, and the look in his eyes reflected her pain. That’s why I’m still at odds.

  She raised her head. Saw she’d circled the entire block. Her mom stood on the front step, watching her.

  “Are you okay?”

  Dad didn’t waste any time.

  “Yeah.”

  Her mother planted both hands on her hips. Mary Parker always knew when one of her children lied.

  “I will be.” She smiled when her mom rubbed her back just as her father had.

  “Right or wrong, we did what we thought best. You know we’d never hurt you or Brady.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “When I told you Jayson had sent the plants, you acted surprised.”

  “I was surprised. The last contact we had with him, he was in Baltimore. I didn’t know what to think. And I wanted to talk to your father.”

  They sat together staring at the street. Does mom see a broken, bloodied little boy sitting on their curb? Her parents saved Jayson.

  “You’re not the only one who loves him.”

  “I don’t love him anymore. Even if I did, I had to put the past behind me years ago. And I have to find a way to heal. Starting now. You have a problem with my inviting Jayson to dinner?”

  “That’s a fine idea.”

  * * *

  His heart beat louder than the throaty growl of his Harley. He’d laugh if he was capable. His childhood had been rife with violence. He’d seen combat in the Middle East. He had gone undercover for ten years with one of the most dangerous drug organizations on the east coast. But I’m terrified of the Parkers.

  He put the bike in gear and pulled into the driveway. Brady’s voice rang out above all others a heartbeat before the back door banged open and closed. When he pushed open the gate, Brady and Kylee stood on the small deck waiting. Everything I’ve ever wanted.

  “Hi.”

  “Hey, little man.” As he reached the landing, he turned to her. “Thanks for inviting me.”

  “Thanks for coming. It was short notice. You know all the adults, but we’ve added some more kids since you were here last.” She pulled open the door. “Enjoy the Parker Family Circus.”

  He hesitated.

  “They’re not a firing squad. Relax.”

  “I remember you saying something similar to me a long time ago.”

  “Just as true now.”

  He stepped into a kitchen that looked and smelled different every time he entered. But somehow always felt the same. It felt like home. When he’d been small and broken, he’d wished with all his heart it was his.

  Mrs. Parker rounded the corner, a toddler on her hip, his hands fisted in her shirt as he babbled nonsense. She stopped when she spotted him. He wanted to run to her, and he wanted to run from her.

  “Hi.” Don’t look at your feet, she deserves more than that from you. But his instincts told him to look down and shuffle his feet, like he had at twelve years old. She deserved respect. He didn’t.

  She crossed to him, passed the baby to Kylee, and wrapped her arms around him. “I should beat your ass, handsome.”

  “I missed you, too.”

  “Feeling better?” They stepped into the dining room. She wasn’t looking at him. She made faces at her nephew while the baby giggled around the fingers he had jammed in his mouth. Brady held his hand. This could’ve been us. We could’ve been a family.

  “It’s not over yet. I still have to face your father.”

  She snorted. “You had more to worry about from my mom.”

  “I doubt that. Where is he anyway?”

  “Gram sent Pop to the store,” Brady answered. He dragged Jayson into the living room. Waited until a quiet moment and announced: “This is my dad.”

  His heart swelled. The room stilled and quieted.

  “Wow. That just happened.” Pat’s laughter eased the tension in the room.

  If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought no time had passed. The kids were bigger, and there were more of them, but her siblings hadn’t changed and they didn’t ask rude questions. His nerves had started to abate when Mr. Parker returned from the store. Shit. He stood and nodded when the man entered.

  “Sir.” Every eye and ear in the room trained on them. He could feel it.

  “It’s good to see you. You look well. We’d worried.”

  “We should speak in private.”

  “There’s time for that. My dinner is getting cold, and my beer is getting warm. Let’s eat.”

  It was an event, getting all the children seated. During the chaos, he’d lost track of Kylee.

  “Where’s Ky?”

  “Where’s Mommy?” Brady repeated.

  “Your mom is doing me a quick favor, baby boy. She’ll be back in a minute.”

  His grandmother’s response satisfied the child. But JD suspected something else. He smoothed a hand over Brady’s hair before checking the kitchen. He could see her through the window. Excusing himself from the room, he stepped out onto the deck.

  “Is my dad back?” She didn’t look up.

  “Yes.” She stood and stretched her back. He couldn’t help but feel she avoided making eye contact. “Are you okay?”

  “I am sick of being asked that. Of course, I’m not okay. Are you?”

  “No. But I’m getting there.”

  “Good. That’s good.” She blew her cheeks full of air and released. “I’m trying.”

  “I know.” He pulled the door open for her. “Let’s eat.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  She had never felt so alone. Anger seethed through the knot in her throat as she ran harder. She pushed until she felt nothing but the pain in her muscles. Everyone is on his side. I should forgive him. I should understand. He did it to protect you. Her family, her friends, everyone, on his side. Except for Matt—whose constant vitriol had her defending Jayson. You’re mad because Brady wanted his dad to take him to a birthday party instead of you.

  The admission shamed her. She slowed as she turned. Jayson’s car pulled into her driveway hours before she expected. She pushed down the anger and the hurt, sprinting the last few yards. She came up alongside the vehicle as it stopped.

  “Why are you early?”

  “Brady isn’t feeling well. I think he has a fever.” He opened the car door.

  She watched, feeling helpless, as he lifted their son from the back seat.

  “My tummy hurts. I think I’m going to throw up.”

  Brady’s face was pale, but for the flushing of his cheeks. She dug the key from the small pocket in her running jacket, opened the back door, and held it wide as Jayson carried Brady. The small boy hiccupped and moaned. His eyes went to hers.

  “He’s not going to mak
e it to the bathroom. Get him to the sink.”

  He held Brady over the sink while she murmured reassuring nonsense. His little body shuddered and heaved.

  “Okay, you’re okay. Jayson, could you take him upstairs and help him into whatever jammies he wants? I’m going to clean this up.”

  “You sure?”

  She feathered her fingers through Brady’s hair and kissed his forehead.

  “Yeah, I’ll be right behind you.” She used hot water, the garbage disposal, and a liberal amount of lemon scented dish liquid to clean the basin. I should have insisted on taking him to the party. He’d have been sick regardless, but she would have been there with her son. Instead, she was running and wallowing in self-pity—she hadn’t even taken her cell phone with her.

  When she was satisfied with the condition of the sink, she made the living room loveseat into a tiny sick bed. She found the two men in Brady’s room, their heads close together.

  “Hey.” She leaned against the doorframe. They hardly need me.

  “We had two trips to the bathroom.”

  “I’m Batman,” Brady rasped.

  She smiled. He wore his Dark Knight pajamas. With his throat sore from vomiting, he sounded like the bi-polar super hero.

  “Yeah, you are.” She stepped into the room and held up the thermometer. “And I’ve got something for your utility belt.”

  She sat down on the floor with them and then ran the tip over his forehead. She looked at the display—one hundred one point two. She showed it to his father before clearing the screen and giving the gadget to Brady.

  “Medicine time.” She smiled again at the face he made.

  He nodded, sighed, and with a mature, resigned expression held out his hand. She stuck her tongue in her cheek, scooped him into her arms for a hug before standing to carry him back downstairs. “I have you all set up in the living room. What do you want to watch?”

  “Scooby-Doo.”

  She settled Brady down on the sofa tucking him and his wubby in tight. She put on a DVD and slipped into the kitchen. She recorded time and temperature on a white erase board when Jayson came up behind her.

  “You’re good at this. Smooth. I thought I was having a panic attack until we got back here.”

  “I have practice.” She capped the marker and turned. “Which isn’t a dig.”

  “I didn’t think it was.” He shoved his hands into his pockets.

  “The first time he had a fever, I almost called nine-one-one. Mom had to talk me down off the ledge. Every parent experiences that same panic.”

  “You had to do it alone. And I’m doing it five years late. Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better. But thanks for trying.” His shoulders rounded. “I should go.”

  She didn’t get the feeling he wanted to leave. This just keeps sucking. “Can you wait until after my shower?”

  He nodded.

  “If he needs to be sick again, use the little trash can and then toss the bag out. Extra bags are in the closet.”

  She leaned down and kissed Brady’s forehead before going upstairs. By the time she got out of the shower, his fever should be down. If it wasn’t, she’d call the doctor. Until then she could keep him comfortable and hydrated. His father can do it as easily as I can.

  Her head and her heart were a mess, but she was doing what was best for Brady. She’d get through the rest. She laid her forehead against the cool tile as hot water beat down on her shoulders. I need a minute. After her shower, she dressed in yoga pants and a large, soft shirt, refusing to treat the evening as anything but utterly routine. But when she padded down the stairs and into the living room, he sat on the floor, his back against the couch. Oh, yeah, totally routine.

  “I think his fever broke.”

  She leaned over the arm of the sofa to retrieve the thermometer from under the blankets. Ran it over Brady’s forehead and smiled. Normal. She showed it to Jayson. He grinned at her.

  Their noses were close to touching. Her heart stuttered over an extra beat, and she felt a flutter she hadn’t in a long time. The air around them thickened. His smile faded as a familiar light flared in the deep blue of his irises. I remember that look. I used to dream about him looking at me that way. She stepped back, but tripped over his foot. He reached out a hand to steady her. The skin tingled under his touch.

  “Mommy?”

  Jayson released his grip on her leg as though scalded.

  “Hey, baby, I’m sorry I woke you up. I tripped.” She squelched the moment of awareness, and the resulting alarm and confusion and stepped closer to her son. “How are you feeling?”

  “My tummy hurts.” He pushed his lower lip out in a pout.

  She rubbed his back.

  “I know. Do you want to try to eat some toast? Water?”

  He shook his head again.

  “Why don’t you try taking a nap? We do our best healing when we’re asleep.”

  Jayson scooted back to Brady’s side when she stood.

  “Little man, I’m going to go home. Let you and your mom do your thing, alright?”

  “No, Daddy. I want you to stay.” Brady looked up at her. “Can he sleep over?”

  Her eyes bolted to him. Oh, that was the first time Brady called him daddy. I don’t want him here. She didn’t want to be affected by the unshed tears in his eyes. How can I say no?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Between the threatening headache, the muscle cramps in her legs, and Brady’s repeated trips to the bathroom, she didn’t think she’d gotten more than an hour sleep. She stared at her alarm clock. Two fifteen in the morning. She rolled onto her back.

  He was going to kiss me. And not out of anger.

  Her heart pounded. Her body warmed to the idea. She remembered. Tangled limbs and soft moans in the glow of the late afternoon sun. It had been beautiful. She shuddered. I can’t believe I’m tripping down memory lane with Jayson asleep on my sofa. Am I that stupid?

  No, it’s just been too long since I’ve gone out on a date. Longer still since I’ve had some good, hot, sweaty sex, and it’s time I took advantage of the extra freedom an additional parent affords.

  She threw her legs over the edge of the bed, stood and stretched. She crept past Brady’s door and down the stairs, sparing a glance at the thick lump on the sofa as she continued into the kitchen. After setting some water on to warm she reached into the cupboard for a mug. Someone approached in her peripheral vision. She hurled the mug in her hand at the intruder.

  Jayson caught the projectile before it could fall and shatter, and then leaned against the counter, rubbing his sternum with the heel of his hand. He was barefoot and his jeans weren’t fastened. His hair was sleep tousled, and his voice was thick when he spoke. He looked like every dirty dream she’d had in the last five years come to life.

  “I forgot you used to play softball. Guess I should be glad you don’t have a gun anymore.”

  “I still have a gun. Lucky for you I don’t carry it when I make hot chocolate.” She snatched the mug from his hand. “Sorry. You startled me.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Is Brady okay?”

  She wished he wouldn’t watch her. He’s always watching.

  “He’s all right. I think he might sleep through the rest of the night. Unlike me. Muscle cramps in my legs and a bit of a headache are keeping me up.” She shrugged. “It was a vigorous run. I’m suffering for it.”

  “Hot chocolate helps with that?”

  She grabbed Irish cream from the liquor cabinet and the ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet. With one bottle in each hand, she made a “ta-da” sound before putting them on the counter next to the instant cocoa.

  “Hot damn. Can I have one of those?”

  They stood in the dimly lit kitchen toasting each other with steaming mugs of laced hot cocoa. She closed her eyes as the first sip of warm chocolate washed down the pain reliever.

  “You’re wearing my boxers.”

  “Pardon?” She opened her eyes.

>   “Those are my boxer shorts. You kept them. You’re wearing them.”

  Shit. The boxers she’d pulled on, the red ones with the black polka dots were her favorite pajamas. And years ago they were his. He’d left them here. At first, she couldn’t bear to wear to them; even looking at them hurt. Then for a while, she’d found comfort in wearing them. She’d felt closer to him. But eventually, they’d just become a pair of shorts in her drawer. He thinks it significant. I think it’s sad.

  “They’re just my pj’s. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Right.” He put his mug down on the counter with more force than necessary. “Just like we didn’t have a moment earlier?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She put the empty cup in the sink. What was it about me, Jayson and this damn kitchen? She tried to step around him. He put his arm out, and she stopped a hairbreadth from touching him. I should’ve stayed upstairs.

  “Bullshit.” His voice was low, sexy and dangerous. “I saw it on your face, in your eyes. You wanted to kiss me, wanted me to kiss you. And it scared you. It scares you now because you still want it. So do I.”

  She titled her head, considered him. “When you were arrested and beaten up, did you take many hits to the head?”

  “You got jokes, huh?”

  “This whole freaking thing is a joke. You’re going to hit on me with our five-year-old son sick upstairs? Why? Because I held onto a pair of shorts you left here six years ago?”

  He stared at her.

  “I know what I saw, what I felt, what I feel every day. I know you! Some things don’t change. We’re pulled toward each other. Always. Whether you want to admit it or not.”

  “The last guy I screwed left a sock here. You think he’d feel the same?”

  He reared back as if she’d struck him. Braced both hands against the counter. When he looked up, his expression reflected the hurt she’d dealt. But she wouldn’t apologize.

  “Did you think I’d been celibate all this time?”

  When she reached the bottom of the staircase, she looked back. He stood where she’d left him; framed in light, leaning against the counter, head down, back bowed. Everything about his posture indicated suffering. The image of a man in pain. Stifling the urge to go to him, she went to bed.