“Don’t forget your seat belt,” he gritted out as he locked his shoulder harness into place, turned on the ignition and pulled out.
He didn’t say another word for a good ten blocks. Then he abruptly changed lanes and pulled off the main boulevard they’d been traveling and onto a residential street. Lips pursed, he scouted the area ahead, then pulled smoothly into the first open space at the curb.
Pulling on the parking brake with a jerk, he switched off the engine before finally turning to face her.
“Why, Colleen?” he demanded. “Why the hell have you let me think for all this time that you didn’t love me enough to stick things out? Why the hell not just tell me it was your parents who objected all along?”
Eight
On some level, Colleen realized, she’d been waiting for Gavin to ask her this very question ever since he’d first approached her at Nick and Gail’s reception.
Not that there’d been a logical reason for such an expectation. After all, she’d never told anyone about the afternoon all those years ago when she’d answered the imperious rap on her dormitory-room door and opened it to find her mother standing outside.
Just as she’d never repeated a word of their subsequent conversation, the one that had precipitated her decision to end things with Gavin.
Or shared how, once she’d finally stopped crying hours later, she’d sat awake in the dark the entire night, trying to plan exactly what she was going to say to him, while doing her best to anticipate his every argument and decide how she’d counter it.
“So?” he said impatiently now. “Are you just going to sit there? Or are you finally going to have the decency to explain? You owe me that, Colleen, at least.”
He was right, of course. She squeezed her eyes shut, asking the Almighty once more for the wisdom to choose the right words. And praying that whatever else happened, she wouldn’t hurt Gavin more than she already had. Because if she did, she didn’t think she could bear it.
She took a deep, steadying breath. “First, I want you to know that it’s not fair to blame my parents for what happened. Despite the impression Mother may have given you tonight, ending things was my decision—and mine alone.”
“So what are you saying? That I should just forget everything she said tonight? That the truth is your mother couldn’t wait to have me for a son-in-law?” He made a rude sound. “I don’t think so.”
“You’re right. She didn’t think we should be together, much less marry. But not for the reasons you think.”
“Oh yeah? I can’t wait to hear this.”
She felt a prickle of irritation and did her best to ignore it. “When she came to see me, back while we were in college, she told me she’d heard we were dating…and that people were saying it was serious.
“And yes, Gavin, she was concerned. About me, but also about you. She said she’d known you since you were seventeen, and that no matter what I thought, I hadn’t lived long enough to appreciate how hard your life had been—or understand how deep your pride ran. She feared that being with me would ultimately destroy you.”
Gavin made another rude noise, but Colleen ignored it. “After all, she pointed out, I would have a million dollars. If we used it to live on, you’d be labeled a gold digger. But if I gave it away, you’d blame yourself for not being able to provide me with the kind of luxuries I’d grown up with. There was no way you could win.”
“Right. So what you’re saying is, you dumped me for my own good? Because you cared about me so much?”
“Yes! No! Darn it, Gavin, don’t twist my words!”
“Me?” he shot back incredulously. “Listen, sweetheart, I’m not the one who pledged my undying love, then went off to become a nun. Or did you only do that to please your father?”
This time she felt a definite surge of temper. “Papa may have hoped I’d find my place in the religious life, but the last thing he ever wanted was for me to feel pressured or coerced. And I wasn’t. By the time I fell in love with you, I’d been hearing God’s call for a long while. I knew He had plans for me, I just wasn’t sure what. And as it turned out, ultimately I made a mistake.” One she’d paid for with hundreds and hundreds of hours of soul-searching and heartache and prayer.
“Yeah? Well, that makes two of us. Because while all this is fascinating, it still doesn’t explain what’s been going on the past few weeks. Or does it? Tell me, Colleen, what am I to you…really? Just another Barone-family charity project?”
She knew he was angry. But try as she might to tell herself that he didn’t really mean what he was saying, his words cut to her heart. “Of course not,” she flashed back. “But as long as we’re on the subject, maybe I ought to ask you the same. Because while I know that I hurt you all those years ago, for which I’m truly, genuinely sorry, it’s also true you didn’t put up much of a fight to keep what we had. One bump in the road and you were gone so fast you practically left scorch marks on my carpet.”
He didn’t give an inch. “At least I don’t tell people I love them when I don’t mean it.”
“I wouldn’t know,” she retorted, trying to keep the hurt out of her voice. “Since recently you haven’t felt compelled to say those words to me. Which pretty much tells its own story, doesn’t it?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, looking straight ahead, he lapsed into a stony silence. Then he started the car and pulled onto the street. There was no mistaking the unyielding set of his jaw, which was perfectly visible every time they passed a streetlight.
Yet Colleen didn’t care. All she knew after they’d traveled a few more blocks was that she found the silence unbearable. “Where are we going?” she demanded for lack of a better question.
Gavin gave a harsh, humorless laugh. “We aren’t going anywhere. I’m taking you to your place. Then I’m going to the Independence. Where I belong.”
She took one last stab at finding some kind of common ground. “If we could just talk rationally about this—”
“I don’t think so, Colleen,” he interrupted harshly. “Whatever’s happened between us, now, in the past, whenever, it’s over. You can bet the rent money on that.”
Once again he turned his attention back to the road, not saying another word until they finally reached her place. Pulling to the curb, he reached over, shoved open her door and sat back. “Be sure and tell your mother thanks for dinner,” he said with an edge of sarcasm that was razor-sharp.
He impatiently drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, looking less approachable than Mount Kilimanjaro in a blizzard.
While Colleen wasn’t a quitter by nature, she realized she didn’t have anything left to say. Her heart breaking, she did the only thing she could. Clinging desperately to what little was left of her composure, she climbed out of the car and forced herself to walk away.
She managed to make it all the way to the vestibule before the tears came.
Poised in the doorway of her office, which had in a previous incarnation served time as a broom closet, Colleen considered the piles of paperwork stacked in precarious towers on every possible horizontal surface.
If these files were lions and this was the Colosseum, I’d be the afternoon snack, she thought bleakly, not particularly surprised when even her minor attempt to amuse herself fell flat.
But then, in the week since she and Gavin had last spoken, that was pretty much the way everything had gone, she reflected, picking her way around the piles to reach her desk, which was actually an old closet door one of the janitors had thoughtfully placed atop a pair of two-drawer file cabinets.
In point of fact, it was actually a rather apt description of her life recently. As well as a fairly accurate picture of the state of her heart.
Both were flat. Utterly and completely without buoyancy. Bleak, humorless, leaden.
Goodbye, bright helium balloon. Hello, tasteless, wizened, hit-by-a-steamroller pancake.
But at least she was going to participate in one happy ending, she reminded herself as
she sat down on the hard wooden seat of her creaky swivel chair. Reaching over, she plucked a file from the top of the nearest pile and set it carefully down in front of her.
Brett’s name, in her own familiar handwriting, filled the index tab, and for the first time in days she felt an urge to smile.
Although it had taken some doing, she’d managed to hack through a jungle of red tape and get the Department of Child Services to sign off on a plan that would declare Brett an emancipated teenager and still provide him with a good, stable home while allowing him to spend regular time with his mother.
If he agreed—and the fact that it was his decision to make was the very best part, in Colleen’s opinion—he’d have supervision, but not too much; he’d get to live with someone who genuinely cared about his future; and he wouldn’t have to change schools or leave Jefferson Heights, both of which he’d repeatedly made clear to her mattered to him.
God Bless Emmett Crypinski, she thought a little mistily. Her gruff but secretly marshmallow-hearted landlord hadn’t hesitated when she’d approached him with the idea.
Sure, why not? he’d said with one of his familiar shrugs. The kid wasn’t really so bad, and he himself wasn’t getting any younger. He wouldn’t mind having someone around who could help out occasionally. And since she’d be just down the stairs, it wouldn’t be as if he’d have sole responsibility for the boy, now would he?
All Colleen had left to do was sell Brett on the idea. Which shouldn’t be that hard, not once she let it drop that Emmett had said it might not be a bad idea to teach the youngster to drive, as the Boston traffic was starting to be too much for a man his age.
With an amused shake of her head, Colleen took one last fond look at the worn file cover. Although she hadn’t had to compile the usual caseworker studies or dozens of other documents in triplicate, since this was to be more a gentlemen’s agreement between Emmett, Brett, herself and the State of Massachusetts, there were a few things she did want to clarify with Brett one more time, such as his birth date, his father’s last known whereabouts, any phone numbers where his mother might be reached in case of an emergency.
Plus, it probably wouldn’t hurt to toss out the notes she’d scribbled to herself the past few months as she’d pondered how best to see that the boy got the kind of future he deserved. Those sorts of things were always open to misinterpretation, so it would no doubt be best for everyone if they got filed in the garbage can.
Except that somebody had already beat her to it, she saw as she opened the manila folder.
Her heart, which had actually felt lighter for the past few minutes, sank like a stone. Because there was only one person she could think of who would’ve found the file contents of interest.
And that, unfortunately, was its main subject.
Gavin stepped briskly out of the elevator. With his head of security, James Maddux, bobbing along in his wake like a tin can tied to a bumper, he set off at a brisk pace down the carpeted corridor, trying hard not to lose his temper.
“At this point the last thing that concerns me is cost,” he informed Maddux in no uncertain terms. “Just go ahead, have Lee Ellen in personnel set up the interviews and hire as many people as you think it’s going to take. Our first priority—always—has to be guest safety.
“You know where I stand on this, Jamie. We’ve discussed it before. If our guests don’t feel secure when they climb into bed at an O’Sullivan hotel, then none of the rest of it matters. Not our gourmet food, our beautiful accommodations or our first-class service. And I’m getting tired of having to repeat myself. Almost as tired…” Sweeping into the reception area that fronted the executive offices, he grabbed the sheaf of papers that Carol, his secretary, was holding out for him with one hand, while at the same time motioning her not to interrupt when he saw her part her lips to speak. “Not now,” he murmured without breaking stride. “I’m making a point.”
“But—”
He ignored her protest and picked up with Jamie. “As I said, I’m almost as tired of having to go over the same points again and again as I am of the whole damn place going to pieces every time I take a few mornings or afternoons off. So do your damn job, would you? Because that’s why I’m paying you.”
Satisfied that he’d made his point, he pushed open his office door and sailed inside.
Only to be brought up short as he saw a familiar figure standing at the windows, looking out. “Brett? What in blazes are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry, sir.” Carol, appearing more than a little flustered, skidded to a stop beside him. “But I did try to warn you. First he showed up without an appointment, then he barged right in like he owned the place and insisted you wouldn’t mind if he waited inside. Are the two of you related, by any chance?”
Gavin sent her a cutting look that had her beating a swift retreat, but not before she sent him a saccharine smile warning that, unlike the rest of the staff, she was done putting up with the foul mood he’d been unable to shake the past week.
“I’ll hold your calls,” she informed him in a dulcet tone of voice.
“You do that.” He waited until he heard the door shut before he approached the youngster who continued to stare moodily out the window. “What’s up? Is something wrong? I didn’t forget we had a lunch date, did I?”
Brett slowly shook his head. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he turned. “Naw. I just came by to let you know I’m not going to be around for a while.”
“Ah.” Clamping down on his escalating alarm, Gavin nodded, then walked over and sat down on the nearest of the two leather couches that formed one of several casual conversation areas in the big room. “So.” He stretched out his legs. “Where are you going?”
Brett shrugged. “I’m not sure, exactly. But somewhere for sure.”
“Well, that sounds like a hell of a plan. You want to tell me what’s going on?”
The kid remained silent, but just for another few seconds. Then he cracked, information spilling out of him like the yolk from a dropped egg. “It’s Ms. Barone.” Leaving his post at the window, he paced toward Gavin, anguish and anger mixed on his young face. “Man, I thought she was different! I thought I could trust her. But now—now I know she’s just like all the others,” he exclaimed.
Yeah? Well, I could’ve told you that, an ugly little voice in Gavin’s head whispered.
Except when it came to Brett, she did care. Gavin knew it, with an utter, clear-down-to-the-bone certainty he didn’t think to question. “What exactly did she do?” he asked carefully.
“I thought she was my friend,” Brett responded bitterly. “I explained to her that I couldn’t just take off, move across town or somewhere to live with a bunch of strangers and leave my mom here alone. As bad as things get sometimes, she still needs me to check up on her, to make sure she eats and has a place to live and stuff like that. And Ms. Barone, she seemed to get it.”
“So what did she do?” Gavin repeated.
“She sold me out! I went into her office today, to talk to her about…stuff.” For the first time the boy avoided Gavin’s gaze, and with a slight shock Gavin realized that most likely the “stuff” the kid had wanted to discuss with Colleen was him. “But she wasn’t there.
“So I was waiting around, just hangin’, when I knocked over this pile of papers, and there, right on top, was my file. And inside—” Brett stopped, his young mouth trembling slightly before he regained control “—inside there was this stuff about how smart I was, but I was too young to know what I wanted, much less needed, and then there was a list of phone numbers with the one for the State Foster Care coordinator circled and a note that said to be sure and give him a call, let him know that things were proceeding…” He shook his head.
Gavin frowned. As tempted as he was just to agree with the boy, to let his own feelings about Colleen take precedence over logic, there was something wrong here.
“Think about what you’re saying,” he said slowly. “Why would Ms. Barone go
to all the trouble of putting together the mentoring program if she was secretly planning to send you off to who knows where? It doesn’t make sense. Besides—” the next words came harder, for all that he knew in his gut they were true “—I don’t think she’d do that. It’s not Colleen’s nature to betray people she cares about.”
Hell, had he really said that? Did he mean it?
Telling himself firmly that this wasn’t the time for such questions, he forced himself to concentrate on the issue at hand. “Plus, why would she think it would be best if you left the Heights? Not that it wouldn’t be—” he sent the boy a look that effortlessly quelled Brett’s instinctive protest “—but that’s not the point.
“The point as far as you’re concerned is that Colleen’s made it her home. She really believes that as long as you try hard enough, good can come out of anywhere. Although where she came up with that particular piece of fantasy is anyone’s guess.”
“Yeah, right.” Brett gave him the sort of get-real look only a teenager could pull off. “That’s easy enough. It’s you. Even old Mr. C figured that out. He said something real sappy, like how he thought you were her inspiration for seeing to it that us kids got a fair shake. Or something like that.”
Gavin stared hard at the boy. No way, he told himself immediately, was he going to start putting stock in some kid’s opinion. Much less that of an old codger like Crypinski.
After all, neither of them knew the whole, unvarnished truth. Not about his and Colleen’s past. Much less about what had gone on between them these past few weeks.
And yet he couldn’t entirely quell the sudden hope stirring to life inside him. Or stop himself from wondering… What if by some chance they were right?
He sank more deeply into the chair.
“Aw, hell,” he murmured as he slowly began to look at the past few weeks from an entirely different perspective.
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