Now the right thing seemed that Becca and the babies would be better off without him. He’d provide support, of course, but he really was starting to believe he would be of more service to them if he focused on his job and didn’t try to have much of a personal life.
He’d said it before, he was married to his work, and medicine was a jealous spouse. The ER seemed to be the place where he did the most good and wreaked the least amount of havoc.
“I keep waiting for you to tease me about the lengths I’d go to to get out of that hospital tour,” Becca said.
He nodded, and he thought he smiled—he meant to—but he kept his eyes pinned to the road. The town had put up the decorations the day after the tree-lighting ceremony. Now all of downtown Celebration was decked out in its yuletide finest.
“Did your dad’s plane get in?”
“It did.”
He’d texted him that there’d been an emergency, apologized and told him he’d meet him later at the inn. He purposely left the details vague because he didn’t want to worry him. His dad had sounded genuinely delighted when he told him he was going to be a grandfather. Another part of him didn’t want to start off this potential reconciliation with the thoughts so you ruined this relationship, too wedged in between them like the proverbial elephant in the room.
“Nick?”
“Hmm?”
“Did he take a cab to the inn?”
“Yes. I would assume so.”
Nick glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was close to eight o’clock. It was getting a little late for dinner, but he’d get over to the Celebration Inn as soon as he could. As soon as he got Becca settled at home.
“Are you still going to go see him?”
“Yes.”
Becca was quiet for a few beats.
“Would you like to see him alone tonight? I’m eager to meet him, but I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that maybe it would be best if the two of you met by yourselves first.”
“Sure.”
“Nick, talk to me.” Becca reached out and put her hand on his arm.
“About what?”
“We could start with why you’re being so quiet. You’ve barely said a word since you got to the hospital. The words you have uttered have been all but monosyllabic. Are you mad at me? Because you know the accident wasn’t my fault. It was an accident.”
He pulled up to a red light, rolled to a slow, gentle stop before looking over at her.
“Of course it’s not your fault. That kid ran a stop sign.”
The light turned green, and he trained his attention on the road again.
They rode in silence until they got to Becca’s condominium complex. Nick parked, got out and walked around to Becca’s door, intending to open it, but she’d already let herself out of the car and had started walking toward the door.
Oh, boy.
“Becca, wait.”
He caught up with her at the door. She was fishing her keys out of her purse.
He suddenly didn’t know what to say. He could tell she was upset. Hell, he was upset—not with her, but it had just been one of those days.
With the accident and the fear of losing his children compounded with seeing his father again, which was dredging up all kinds of unwelcome memories, he was starting to feel a little claustrophobic.
And the burning question kept raging through his head: What if she had died? What if they hadn’t gotten so lucky and she had died? Like his brother and his mom—
He shook away the thoughts. He couldn’t let himself go down that slippery slope. Because once he started, he might not be able to pull himself out.
The attending on duty in the Southwestern ER who had examined Becca had given her the green light. She’d said she felt fine—no bumps and bruises. She’d only been a little shaken, as most people were when they were involved in a minor accident.
Nick knew the best thing he could do for both of them was to give her a chance to rest and him a chance to gather his wits—and he still had to go see his father. Since he was in town for only two nights, Nick couldn’t very well bring him here and then blow him off.
Becca had gotten the door unlocked. The porch light wasn’t on and she’d had to use her phone as a flashlight.
He could’ve helped her instead of standing there with his hands in his pockets, but she was so capable, so strong—so better off without him.
He took a step back. She took a step inside. Priscilla ran around in circles as she barked a greeting. When Becca turned to look at him, hurt, anger, confusion—probably all of that and more—clouded those beautiful blue eyes.
He should hug her.
He wanted to hug her.
Why couldn’t he move toward her? What the hell was wrong with him? He had no idea, which proved that it would be best for both of them for him to clear his head before he did something irreparably stupid.
“Get some sleep,” he said.
She shook her head and closed the door, leaving him standing there in the dark.
* * *
The last time Nick had seen his dad, the two of them had exchanged words. In his junior year of high school after his mom had died, and Nick had gone to live with his father, Nick had admittedly been a little hard to handle.
Ronnie Ciotti had been a tough customer. Blue-collar from his crew cut to his work boots, Ronnie had been an electrical worker, a union man, a wiry guy with a fierce temper who played by the rules and expected no less from his smart-ass son.
After Nick’s parents had divorced, Ronnie hadn’t come around much. Back in the day, Nick had taken it personally, on behalf of himself and his mom. But now with the clarity that hindsight offered and the perspective that came from maturity, he realized the divorce must have been just as hard on his father as it had been on his mother.
Ronnie Ciotti didn’t like to lose. From this vantage point, it must’ve been damn difficult to lose his entire family the way he had.
This afternoon, Nick had glimpsed a similar feeling when for several excruciating moments he hadn’t known Becca’s condition after Kate had called him to tell him about the accident. She wouldn’t have told him the worst of it over the phone.
The sad thing was, he’d prepared himself for the bottom to fall out of everything. He’d braced himself for that sickeningly familiar feeling of having someone he loved ripped away from him, having his heart torn right out of his chest and thrown on the floor. When it didn’t happen, when he’d realized Becca and the babies were fine—and he was so grateful they were—he also realized he didn’t want to render himself so vulnerable.
He’d make a terrible father, anyway. If he kept his distance, he could provide for them without actively screwing up their lives.
Over the years, he’d managed to keep from getting involved. Now he knew why. When you opened yourself to love—especially with someone like Becca—you opened yourself to potential pain and loss. That realization made him want to retreat back into his world of emergency medicine, where he was good at what he did, where he could fix people but not have to get involved. In the emergency room he had control over most things—not all things, but he was removed from the things that were out of his control, the losses faced by other people at the cruel hands of fate.
Nick walked into the lobby of the inn and looked around for his father. He’d texted him as he was leaving Becca’s, saying he’d be there within ten minutes. It was after eight-thirty now. If the guy hadn’t gotten himself something to eat, he must be starving by now.
“Welcome to the Celebration Inn,” said a perky redhead who was manning the desk. “Are you staying with us tonight?”
“I’m meeting someone.”
Nick had no idea what he was walking into, if his dad still had the same volatile temperament, or if he’d mellowed over the y
ears. It was just nerves on Nick’s part, he knew it. The knot in his stomach was testament to that. Besides, would the guy have come all the way from Florida to Texas just to have words with him? He could’ve done that over the phone; he could’ve hung up on him. Nick reminded himself his dad had been agreeable.
Maybe time had mellowed him.
The front desk clerk motioned toward an adjacent doorway. “You might want to check the sitting area.”
When Nick entered the room, he caught a glimpse of someone sitting in a chair in the corner reading a newspaper and sipping a cup of something that Nick assumed was coffee. The room smelled as if someone had just brewed a pot.
“Dad?”
The guy looked up and smiled, and it reached all the way to his dark eyes. He looked a little older, and he’d gone a little soft around the middle. There was more gray than brown in his close-cropped curly hair, but Nick could see back through the years to the man he hadn’t talked to in nearly two decades.
Ronnie stood and offered his hand. Nick shook it.
“Son, it’s good to see you.”
“You, too. Thanks for coming all this way. Are you hungry?”
Ronnie nodded. “I could eat a bite. But where is your lady? Isn’t she coming with us?”
Nick glanced around the quaint sitting room, at the white wicker furniture that looked more decorative than comfortable despite the bright floral-patterned pillows that covered the seats and backs.
He was suddenly exhausted and couldn’t bear the thought of having to explain the accident. Becca and the babies were fine. He and his dad had so many other things to discuss.
“She couldn’t make it tonight,” he said. “Maybe tomorrow, though. We’ll see. We’d better get going. Celebration rolls up the sidewalks at ten o’clock. Are you up for walking? The place I have in mind is just down the street.”
“I’ve been sitting so much today, a walk would do me some good.”
The inn was located right across from Central Park. As they walked out the front doors toward the restaurant, the lit Christmas tree caught Nick’s eye. His thoughts tumbled back to the night of the tree-lighting ceremony and how right Becca had felt in his arms and how happy their friends had been learning the news.
Everyone seemed to be taking the news well, actually—not that it should matter if anyone didn’t. It wasn’t anybody’s business but his and Becca’s. Why was it, though, that Nick still couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around parenthood and fatherhood? What was wrong with him? But the even bigger question was, how come every time he allowed himself to get close to someone, tragedy struck?
He was a scientist. He wasn’t superstitious. But sometimes you just had to look at the writing on the wall.
The accident was his fault. He shouldn’t have insisted that they go to Southwestern. The fact that Becca and the babies had escaped unscathed was making him think that maybe they’d be better off if he took a more hands-off approach.
Maybe he just needed some space to think and to figure things out. But first, he needed to catch up with his dad.
“That’s a nice Christmas tree over there in the park,” Ronnie said. His deep voice was a little gravellier than it used to be. He hoped his dad had kicked the cigarette habit. He hadn’t smelled like smoke, the way he used to—Ronnie’s aftershave had always mixed with the smell of cigarette smoke, creating a close, almost suffocating calling card that had permeated their whole apartment.
“Yeah, this is a nice, close-knit little town. The residents take a lot of pride in doing things like that. In fact, the foundation that Becca works for was instrumental in organizing the tree lighting. The whole town turned out for it.”
Ronnie nodded. “That Becca of yours sounds like quite a woman. I hope I get to meet her while I’m here. I don’t know when I’ll make it back for a visit. Then again, maybe the two of you could come and visit me in Florida.”
Nick’s first thought was maybe after the babies were born, but he didn’t know what their situation would be. But things seemed to be going well with his father, and Nick was hesitant to introduce any bit of negativity.
Instead of answering, Nick gave a noncommittal nod. By that time, they’d reached Taco’s, Nick’s favorite restaurant in downtown Celebration.
Nick approached the hostess stand. “Are you still seating for dinner?”
The blond smiled at him as she gathered up two menus. “Yes sir, we are happy to seat people until 10:00 p.m. I have a table available for you. Please, follow me.”
The place wasn’t very busy, so they’d no more than settled in when the server came over and took their drink orders—cold draft beer for both of them. Then they were both quiet as they perused the menu.
Taco’s was located near the square, and it was his default restaurant when his refrigerator was bare or he was short on time and needed to pick up something quickly—which was most of the time.
He ordered the chicken enchilada platter. His dad, the same. It struck Nick as a little odd that Ronnie, who had always been so full of strong opinions and my-way-or-the-highway stances, seemed to be deferring to his son. It was only beer and enchiladas, but Nick couldn’t remember a time when the guy he’d always butted heads with deferred to anyone.
With their orders placed and the cold mugs of beer in hand, the two of them began the slow, cautious journey of catching up.
Of course, they’d both been busy. Ronnie was still working, even though he’d moved from San Antonio to Florida. He’d wanted a change of scenery—a new start.
“It’s really good to see you, son. You’ve done a good job. Really made something of yourself. You’re my idea of a self-made man.”
Nick didn’t know about that. He made a good salary and he saved a good portion of it, but he certainly wasn’t Rockefeller rich. That was his idea of a self-made man. But he could see why he might think that. He took a lot of pride in not asking anyone for help. He liked his job. Did he like his life?
Until he’d met Becca and moved to Celebration, he hadn’t really had a life outside of work. Maybe that’s one of the things that was plaguing him, making him question what should be the best thing that had ever happened to him.
The truth was Nick thrived on change in work environments, but personally, in much the same way that he always returned to the chicken enchilada platter at Taco’s, he found comfort in the sameness of his personal life.
Becca stirred things up. Not in a malicious way, more like holding up a mirror so that he could see his life reflected back at him. It had thrown him out of his comfort zone and into chaos.
But the truth was, if not for her, he probably wouldn’t be sitting here with his father right now. They were both stubborn men. Who knew if either of them would’ve ever made the first move toward reconciliation if not for Becca.
You have to forgive yourself before you can move on.
The comfort of sameness was an illusion. It was also a bandit that robbed you of time and relationships you might never recover.
You have to forgive yourself...
“What happened, Nicky?” Ronnie asked.
The question threw Nick, because the last time he could remember his father calling him Nicky was before Caiden died.
“Why have we not spoken in all these years?”
A silent growl of defensiveness wanted to pop off something smart-assed and hard-edged. But he wasn’t seventeen years old anymore.
Ronnie must’ve mistaken his silence for blame, because he said, “Whatever it is that I did to you—it’s been so damn long ago that I don’t even remember—I’m sorry.”
Nick hardly recognized the man sitting across the table from him. His father was apologizing?
Apologizing. And it sounded as if he was willing to shoulder the brunt of the blame. That wasn’t right.
“It wa
s my fault. I should never have taken my eyes off Caiden. If I’d done what I was supposed to do, he’d still be alive and I’m sure our lives would’ve all turned out differently. Mom might still be here—or at least I’d like to think she would, because the two of you probably wouldn’t have gotten a divorce—”
Ronnie held up his hand. “I loved your mother. I don’t want you to ever think that I didn’t. But our marriage had been in trouble for a long time. We just worked hard to hide it from you and Caiden. The cruise was supposed to get our relationship back on track. But it didn’t.”
“Well, it might have if Caiden hadn’t died. And that’s my fault.”
Ronnie stared at Nick for several beats. “Son, I know you blamed yourself after everything happened. I even lied to myself and thought that the reason you needed to get away was because losing your brother was just too painful. It was hard on all of us. But one thing I know right now, sitting here with you, is that I made a mistake letting you go away with so much guilt in your heart. If anyone was to blame, it was your mother and me for allowing you to shoulder the responsibility of your brother. You were just a kid. And you need to know your mother and I never blamed you.”
Nick’s instinct was to throw up the shutters. To clam up and retreat deep inside where he didn’t have to deal with these feelings. He’d spent a good portion of his life burying them because they were simply too painful to deal with.
“Of course you blamed me. It was my fault. I was the one to blame, and I will carry that with me for the rest of my life.”
Ronnie slapped his hand down on the table. “Well, you’re not the only one who has been carrying this guilt with you. How do you think it feels to know if I hadn’t been fighting with my wife that day my younger son wouldn’t be dead and I wouldn’t have ruined your life and driven you away from me? If I hadn’t been fighting with your mother, all of our lives might’ve turned out different.”
Strangely, there was an odd comfort...well, maybe not comfort, but it was reassuring to see that his fiery father hadn’t completely changed. No, it wasn’t comfort. It was a completely new perspective on guilt to which Nick had always thought he owned the exclusive rights.
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