by Various
“Huh?” Brian struggled to his knees. Two guys came over and jerked him to his feet. He swayed but was able to keep his balance.
Razor stalked toward him. “You ain’t gotten through me yet.” He cracked the knuckles of one hand and then the other. He wasn’t a big guy, but he inspired fear into anyone who messed with him.
Brian swallowed his dread and straightened as best he could, his body throbbing everywhere. Just one more. Just one more, and then it would be over. Then he’d be free and could go home.
Razor’s first shot hit him in the stomach. Brian gagged and retched onto his high-tops, provoking laughter from the others. He kept his good eye focused on Razor. No fear, no fear. It was almost over. The next succession of blows backed him against the brick building on one side of the alley. Blows to the stomach, the ribcage, the face.
The more he hit, the crazier Razor became, enraged that Brian didn’t cower or go down. With a furious kick, he struck Brian right between the legs, causing him to double over and retch again, this time all over Razor’s expensive sneakers. Incensed, he grabbed Brian by the hair and lifted him into a standing position. With both eyes swollen shut now, Brian could barely see. Through the blood and rain, he saw Razor’s arm cock back. Then a powerful blow hit him in the throat. Something cracked.
Razor let go and Brian slumped to the ground. He couldn’t breath! Grasping his throat, he struggled to get air into his lungs. Panicked, he reached out for somebody, anybody. Somebody help me! he tried to yell, but only a gurgling sound spilled from his mouth.
“Shit, man. You killed him,” shouted one of the members. “Let’s get outta here!”
Rain drizzled onto Brian’s bloodied face. Through the slits of his swollen eyes he saw the gang scatter into the darkness. In the distance, he heard sirens. I did it, Mr. E, I did it. You’d be proud of me. I’m free.
Chapter 23
John paced the family room and checked the mantel clock for the umpteenth time. “You’d better have a good reason for missing your curfew, young man,” he muttered. His eyes fell to the small box on the tile counter. Despite his anxiety over Brian’s whereabouts, he grinned and picked up the velvet parcel, flipping it open. A diamond solitaire winked brilliantly in the overhead lights.
John’s heart turned over. He was really going to do it. The thought had him nervous and excited all at once. Tomorrow he was meeting Sam at her place to talk about the future. Although the thought of being a real father to her baby still scared the hell out of him, the thought of walking out of her life scared him even more.
He couldn’t wait to see Brian’s reaction. Last night, the boy had been razzing him for his odd relationship with Sam. “It’s only obvious you guys love each other. I mean, you’d have to be a moron not to marry her, Mr. E.” Then with a goofy grin, he’d added, “But then again, you are a moron so—” He’d never finished that sentence because John had tackled him to the ground and pinned him until he’d retracted his words.
John closed the box and set it on the counter, glancing again at the clock. Maybe he should call the — Someone pounded on the front door. He rushed to the entry way, his anger rising even as relief washed over him. Not only was the boy late, he’d also forgotten his key. What kind of discipline did tonight call for? This parenting thing sure wasn’t a cake walk.
Flinging open the door, the stern reprimand on the tip of his tongue froze when he saw the two uniformed police officers on his door step.
“John Everest?” one of them asked, her face expressionless.
“Yes, is there a problem?”
“Are you the guardian of a Brian Carsten?”
Damn. What kind of trouble had he gotten himself into now? “Yes, I am. Has he done something wrong?”
The officers exchanged a look, and the woman officer cleared her throat. “There’s been an accident.”
John rode downtown with the officers. As the ER nurse led them into a room to reveal a sheet-draped body on a gurney, John was reminded of all the movies in which he’d seen this same scene. The sheet would be pulled back and then the victim’s family would identify the body, break into sobs and turn away in their grief.
But this wasn’t a movie. If it were, his heart wouldn’t feel as if it had been ripped apart as he saw Brian’s bloodied and distorted face. He wouldn’t feel as if a wrecking ball had just slammed into his world, shattering everything in its path. If this were a movie, he would be able to gaze at the boy with nothing more than pity and appreciation of the good make-up job. This, however, was real. The credits weren’t going to roll at the end.
John stared at Brian, his eyes burning from unshed tears. Hesitantly, he reached out and touched the boy’s hair, the short strands feeling no different than they had last night as they’d wrestled on the floor of the family room. Heaving a loud sigh, he dropped his hand. Nodding curtly to affirm the identification, he swung away.
The next few hours were a blur. Alex came to the station, the two men answered countless questions about Brian, John signed some papers, then Alex drove him home.
Later, alone on his deck, John crumpled the beer can in his fist and flung it into the darkness. It landed with a metallic PING against the others on the lawn. He reached for another. When it was empty and had joined the can mortuary, he leaned back in the lounge chair and stared at the sky, the Seattle lights from across the lake coloring the cloudy horizon orange.
Rain wept onto his face and plastered his clothes to his body. He should have been freezing, but he was numb to all feeling, his gut and soul as empty as the half-dozen beer cans on his lawn. The rain plinked a sad song against the tin.
Brian had died in the rain. He’d lain in an alley and died in the rain.
Alone.
John wondered if he’d listened to the raindrops as they hit the pavement. He wondered if he’d felt the chill of his wet clothes. He wondered if he’d felt pain.
The whole thing was enough to make John want to vomit. Instead, he reached for another beer, downed it, flung it.
He’d failed the boy. He’d tried to steer him clear of gangs and that sort of violence, but he’d failed. With all their progress, Brian had still turned to that lifestyle and now he was dead, the victim of a brutal initiation as far as the police could tell. Why had he ever thought he could be a father to the boy, that he’d have what it takes? He’d spent the past twenty years convinced he didn’t have the right to be anyone’s father. Why had he changed his tune with Brian? Maybe if he hadn’t, the boy would still be alive.
“An eye for an eye.” His father’s words mocked him from the depths of his mind. “You’ll pay the rest of your life for the deaths of those little girls.”
John cried out in anguish, pressing his palms to his temples as if he could squeeze away the reminders. He pressed harder and harder until his head felt ready to explode from the pressure.
The skies opened up and an onslaught of water drenched him. He reached for another beer.
Sam realized she’d gnawed her thumbnail to the skin as she looked at the clock again. Nervous yet excited butterflies danced around her stomach as she waited for John to arrive.
The baby gave a resounding kick as if her nervousness agitated it. She rubbed her belly. “Daddy’s coming,” she whispered, liking the way that sounded. “Daddy.” She smiled and hugged herself.
Today, they were going to decide on their future. The thought had her blood racing the Indy 500 through her veins.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs and she raced to the door, taking a couple of deep breaths before reaching for the knob. A rush of cold air blew in when she opened the door. “Hi,” she said, blushing.
John’s expression was strange as he met her eyes. “Hi.”
She stood aside to let him pass and detected the distinct smell of Mexican food before she noticed the bags in his hands. “Mm, Taco Bell. I was hoping you’d bring something to eat. I’m starving.” She reached for the bags and headed into the kitchen. She realized he hadn’t fol
lowed her.
Turning, she saw he hadn’t moved from the front door and hadn’t yet taken off his coat. He looked pale beneath his tan. “John?” She stopped taking food out of the bags. “Are you okay?”
He lifted his chin and inhaled a long breath through his nose. “Brian’s dead.”
She blinked a couple of times, thinking she must have heard wrong. “What?” When he repeated the terse words, she clutched her throat and whispered, “When? How?” Her mind’s eye conjured an image of a scrawny boy with haunted eyes and an endearing smile.
“He was beaten to death. Gang initiation.”
“A gang—?” She shook her head. “No. Brian had no reason to join a gang.”
“Well, apparently he thought differently, didn’t he?”
Sam’s heart went out to this kid whose life was snuffed out so brutally at such a young age. Tears slipped down her cheeks. Squeezing shut her eyes, she hugged herself, crossing her arms over her swollen belly. “Oh, God. Oh, God.”
After a moment John’s arms wrapped around her. His warm breath fanned her hair and his body trembled against hers. She pulled back, feeling selfish. “Are you okay?” One look at the deep well of pain in his eyes told her he was not.
He stepped out of her embrace. “I’m fine. It’s not like Brian was my kid.”
She knew he was far from fine, but she also felt the wall he’d built around himself. She moved toward him. “Let me take your coat. Then I’ll make you a cup of—”
“Look, Samantha,” he said briskly. “We need to talk.”
Although her heart wept for Brian and for John’s pain, she managed a smile. “Yes, we do. But in light of everything that’s happened today, it can wait—”
John shook his head. “No. It can’t.” He nodded toward the takeout. “You’d better eat that before it gets cold.”
“I couldn’t possibly eat now.”
He continued to stand by the front door. Finally, he moved to the couch, sat, then rose again. He crossed to her bookshelves, staring straight ahead, his whole body rigid. Compassion rose within her. She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his back.
He pulled away and turned to face her, his eyes still not meeting hers. “We have to put an end to this, Sam.”
Her brows drew together in puzzlement. “To what?”
He waved his hand back and forth between them. “You and me.”
The bagel she’d eaten earlier felt like an acidic boulder in her gut. “What?” She pressed a hand to her heart as if to slow the frantic beating.
“I know we talked about trying to make things work between us, but it’s no use.”
This was not happening. “Why not?” Her voice trembled. But she knew why not. “You had nothing to do with Brian’s death.”
“Are you sure about that, Sam? Are you really, truly comfortable believing that?” He glared at her and must have seen something in her eyes he didn’t like. “See. You think it, too. It scares you.”
She shook her head. “No. No. It’s just a coincidence.” But fingers of doubt crept up her spine.
“A coincidence?” he shouted. “Again?” He stalked across the room, shoving fingers into his hair, not facing her.
Feeling dizzy, she moved to the couch, sitting on its edge. This wasn’t happening. “I know Brian’s death is difficult for you. Let’s wait until it’s not so fresh before we make any decisions about—”
“No!”
She jumped back into the couch cushions at his ferociousness.
“Try to understand what I’m saying,” he enunciated. “A few days, a few months won’t matter. We’ve been fooling ourselves for far too long. Like you’ve said, when you play with fire you’re eventually going to get burned. We need to end this now before one of us gets hurt.”
“It’s too late for that.” She closed her eyes. “I love you, John.”
He whipped around. Emotions battled in the blue depths of his eyes. After a long look during which Sam almost thought he’d come over and embrace her, he shook his head. “Don’t.”
She almost laughed. “What do you mean, don’t? It’s not something I can turn off.” He was just scared. Scared and bereaved. She was scared, too. But he overrode all of her fears right now. He needed her. She stood and stepped toward him. “I love you, John Everest. I want you to be the father of our baby. Please.”
His hands clenched at his sides so hard that his knuckles turned white. “First Kate’s baby, now Brian. How many more will it take to convince me? How many more to convince you? Maybe one more?” He pointed a finger at her stomach.
Feeling as if he’d physically struck her, Sam wrapped her arms across her belly.
“See. You’re scared. You think I’m right.”
She shook her head, and tears fell down her face. “No.”
“Yes. You do. I can see it in your eyes.” He pointed again to her tummy. “That’s your baby, Samantha. Your. Baby.” His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. “Not mine.”
She stepped backward from what she saw in his eyes. It was hatred, raw and unmasked. Turning, she fled to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
John stood where he was a moment, empty and lifeless. He’d spent twenty years trying to make up for the accident, trying to do good for others. And for what? Brian was dead. That poor, innocent boy had entrusted himself to John and now he was dead. He wouldn’t allow that fate to happen to Sam’s baby. He had no choice but to break things off with her. It was the only choice.
Loud, hacking sobs echoed from Sam’s bedroom. She loved him and had wanted to marry him. His hand reached toward her room, clenched into a fist, then pulled back. Damn this cursed life of his, he thought, shoving trembling fingers through his hair.
He’d broken her heart.
And he’d hate himself for that until the day he died.
Rain drizzled from gunmetal gray skies at Brian’s funeral. Its soft pitter patter against the canopy was the only disruption to the minister’s words.
John stood beside the boy’s mother, who looked dead herself, her face ghostly pale and her expression blank. But, small blessing, she was sober. Alex was there with his current girlfriend, Zoey, as were the group of kids from the weight-training program. The two girls from the group, Tanya and Robyn, clutched each other, crying quietly.
John turned away from the sight. He was cried out. He had nothing left inside him that felt anything, good or bad. He’d lost the two people who mattered most in his life. Brian and Sam.
Sam.
He couldn’t even think her name without his gut twisting like a wrung out handkerchief. Looking at her was even worse. He glanced to where she stood alone at the corner of the canopy that shielded the group from the rain. She hadn’t looked his direction since their eyes met when she’d first arrived. It had been a wrenching moment. The sadness in her gaze had torn at his soul and he’d had to tear his eyes away.
It was so good to see her, yet horrible at the same time. Each day since walking out of her condo, he’d died a little bit more inside. He’d thought he’d had nothing left inside him to die. Until he saw her here.
He had plenty left.
After the service, the small group of mourners dispersed. John glanced at Sam. Despite the swell of her belly, she looked like she’d lost weight, like she hadn’t been eating. He wanted so badly to hold her, comfort her, tell her he loved her more than a man could possibly love a woman, but he couldn’t. She turned as if sensing his gaze, her eyes misty with tears. Stifling a sob with her handkerchief, she spun away and headed toward the others.
Sam approached Alex and touched his arm. He enveloped her into his large embrace. “It’s not a good day, but it’s good to see you.” He released her. “How are you?”
She knew he wasn’t just referring to Brian’s death. “I’ve been better.”
“You coming to the reception at my house afterwards?”
She shook her head. “I can’t, Alex,” she said, her voice bre
aking slightly. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”
He squeezed her shoulder then leaned toward her until his mouth was by her ear. “Don’t give up on him, Sam.”
“It’s not up to me.” She forced a smile to her trembling lips. From the corner of her eye, she saw John approach. She quickly said her good-byes to Alex and his girlfriend, then scanned the meager crowd for someone to talk to. She spotted Tanya sitting alone on one of the folding chairs, looking dazed.
“Tanya?” Sam sat beside her, taking in the girl’s pallor, her feel-sorry-for-herself mood gone. “You okay?”
Tear streaks glistened on Tanya’s ebony cheeks as she shook her head. “This is the worst day of my entire life.”
Sam reached forward and brushed away the thin braids stuck to Tanya’s wet face. “I’m sorry, honey. It’s hard to lose someone you care about, isn’t it?”
Tanya gave a small nod, then must have heard something in Sam’s voice because she asked, “What’s with you and Mr. E?”
Sam cleared her throat. “We, uh, aren’t together any more.”
Tanya’s brows furrowed and she looked pointedly at Sam’s swollen belly. “But that’s his kid, right? He just knocks you up and lets you deal with it yourself?”
“It’s not like that.” Tanya just stared at her, clearly not convinced. “It’s a long story,” she said.
“I never knew my dad,” the girl said in a flat voice. “He doesn’t know about me either. Or so my mom says.”
And her baby would never know its father, either, Sam thought, choking back a sob. Although that had been her original intent, she couldn’t stomach the thought now.
“Ms. Rossi? Are you okay?”
Sam wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist. “Like you said, it’s been a hard day.” She sniffed. “Were you and Brian close friends?”
Tanya shrugged. “Sort of. I mean, we talked and stuff. He used to be a real asshole until he went to live with Mr. E.” And in the next breath, “So, is Mr. D serious with that lady or what?”