A Marriage To Fight For

by Raina Lynn

  A light knock on the door tore his attention from one set of devastating problems to another. Maggie stood in the doorway, a grimly determined smile glued to her face. She had an equally determined, one-handed grip on their son’s upper arm.

  Blake tugged nervously on his ear. “I, ah, think we’ll talk about Dad later.”

  He started to leave, but his pager went off. He glanced from the doorway to the phone then back. After a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed the phone and made a call. His face slowly transformed into an uncompromising mask. Fury rolled off of him in waves, and Garrett’s attention was torn between visually devouring the son he hadn’t seen in far too long and trying to figure out what was wrong with his brother.

  Blake snarled some orders into the phone and slammed the receiver down.

  “What happened?” Maggie asked.

  “A five-year-old boy went through a windshield. Wasn’t wearing a seat belt. If his mother hands me a Cousin George story, I won’t be held accountable.” With that he was gone.

  Garrett’s attention latched onto Rick with a heart-hunger for his only child. Rick’s face was carefully blank, but his green eyes—so much like Maggie’s—were mutinous. My son wants nothing to do with me, he realized with sick horror. He couldn’t think of a relevant thing to say. “Hi.” That didn’t come out as insipid as it sounded, did it?

  Maggie stepped into the room, discreetly propelling their reluctant offspring before her. “Hi, yourself,” she chirped.

  She cast a glance at Rick, who turned his face away, the last vestiges of a lost battle of wills. “Since he’s over the flu, I went home to get him.”

  Her grip tightened subtly. If Garrett hadn’t been watching for nuances, he would have missed it.

  Rick jammed his hands into his jeans pockets, hunching his shoulders in belligerent defeat. “Yeah. I feel great.”

  The tone of voice was one reserved for a hated teacher, and Gamett’s heart sank. He wanted to sweep his wife and son into a tight embrace. Only neither attempted to approach him and, for all intents and purposes, he only had one arm.

  During the past three years, work had swallowed his life, and somehow in the unbearable loneliness he’d convinced himself that winning his family back would be easy. How wrong he’d been. How pathetically naive. “I’ve...missed you, Rick. I’m glad you’re here.”

  A wary hunger lit the boy’s eyes briefly before he snuffed it out. “No sweat, Dad.”

  Nothing in those three words or in Rick’s body language allowed for a next step in building a conversation. Garrett’s nervousness transmuted into full-blown fear of failure.

  The boy turned to Maggie, obviously dismissing him. “What’s a Cousin George story?”

  Maggie glanced between the two of them, clearly preferring the conversation to go in a more constructive manner, but she answered anyway.. “Everybody who doesn’t believe in seat belts seems to have a Cousin George who got stuck on the railroad tracks one night. The only thing that saved him from getting hit by the train was that he wasn’t wearing a seat belt and he didn’t have to waste the time undoing it before he got out.” She shrugged, casting a discreet look at Garrett. a subtle pleading for patience and understanding. “RPI is full of Cousin George’s relatives. On our gallows humor days, we call it job security.”

  The words fell lifeless, swallowed by the tension that sang in the room.

  Garrett tried again. “Rick, you’ve grown nearly a foot.” Inane, but better than nothing. “Are you into basketball?”

  The muscles in Rick’s jaw flexed. “Soccer. City youth league. We won the championship last year. Remember?” The last was a challenge.

  Why? Garrett knew he was treading on dangerous ground but didn’t have the faintest idea what was going on, and he glanced at Maggie for insight. Her slender body was as taut as an overstretched rubber band. The slightest increase in pressure, and she’d snap. No clue there.

  “I remember,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t take any leave because of the case. I wanted to be here.”

  Rick stuffed his fists deeper into his pockets. “Nobody forced you to move.”

  “Rick!” Maggie let go of his arm as if she feared she might break it otherwise.

  Garrett locked his gaze onto their son’s face. “I love you, son, and I need to know why you’re angry. And why your mother had to force you to come here.”

  Rick’s face took on a bitter cast. “You’re going back to D.C. as soon as you leave the hospital, anyway. So what does it matter?”

  Garrett took a slow breath and mentally sat on the urge to swear. Just like his mother. If the subject gets too uncomfortable—change it. “I’m not going back east—ever.”

  Their jaws sagged in unison. Another flicker of unguarded hunger lit the boy’s eyes, but suspicion quickly erased it.

  “Why?” he asked belligerently. “It sure isn’t because of me.”

  “You’re a big part of it,” he said softly.

  Rick’s face flamed with disbelief. “Yeah, right.”

  Keeping his peace cost Garrett everything he had. He knew he wasn’t physically up to this right now. Resorting to scorched-earth heroics would only damage future chances to sort out this mess. He needed to talk to Maggie—alone. He needed details, but she didn’t look up to providing them.

  Instead, he reached for her, offering what comfort he could. She stared at his open hand for a moment before slipping her palm across his. Warmth radiated up his arm, rekindling a love he’d never been able to cool. Only God knew whether they had a future together or not. At least she was with him now.

  Rick’s gaze latched onto the ring she wore. His eyes widened in revulsion, and his face darkened with rage. “Mom, where’d you get that?” His voice shook.

  Through Garrett’s grip on Maggie’s hand, he felt her flinch, although nothing showed on the outside.

  “Nothing’s settled yet,” she said. “That’s why I didn’t tell—”

  “You’re gonna marry him again?” The bellowed demand echoed in the small room. His gaze ricocheted to his father. “No!”

  Sick despair ripped through Garrett. Every time he thought he’d finally hit bottom, the black pit opened up a deeper cellar. He exploded. “What’s wrong with you!”

  Maggie raised her hands in a calming gesture and started to speak, but Rick yelled over her.

  “You haven’t come home in a year. In the past two months I called you eight times on the safe line, and you didn’t call me back once! Now you come back and act like you belong or something.” Rick opened and closed his hands as if unsure what to do with them. “Well, we don’t need you!”

  Garrett recoiled, stunned by the venom. “When they assigned that case to me three years ago, no one knew it would open up like it did. The last month was ugly—teal ugly. I didn’t dare call you again until I was out of it. Even then, my head was such a mess I needed another six weeks before I was fit to be around.”

  “You haven’t sent for me in a whole year, Dad,” Rick snapped, ignoring him. “You had days off.”

  “You’re not listening.” Garrett struggled to quash the rising anger. “I didn’t send for you because I wasn’t me.”

  “Oh, give me a break,” the teen snarled.

  Maggie jumped into the battle. “Sarcasm won’t accomplish anything.” Rick rolled his eyes at her.

  “Son, I’d been undercover too long. They were on the verge of pulling me in. I could no longer separate myself from Gary Reeves, the identity I’d assumed. I don’t ever want you around men like him.”

  “Yeah, right, Dad,” he said with a sneer. “You missed my whole life, but it was for my own good.”

  Garrett sucked in a deep breath. Broken ribs screamed, but the pain paled compared to the searing helplessness. When had his son become such a self-absorbed little punk? “That’s not at all what I—”

  “Enough!” Maggie snapped. The authority in her voice stopped them both. Garrett let out his breath slowly, and Rick slumped into the
green vinyl and chrome chair. “We’re not getting anywhere.”

  Rick lunged to his feet. “I’m taking the bus home.” He glowered one last time at his father as he turned away. This time Maggie made no attempt to restrain him. Her head hung slightly, and her shoulders sagged.

  “Rick, get back here!” Garrett ordered, but he might as well have talked to the wall. Maggie sagged into the vacated seat. Her head rolled back, and her brow furrowed.

  “He didn’t hear a word I said.”

  “Welcome to sixteen,” she said, sighing.

  Garrett returned to staring at the ceiling. Just before the crash, he’d wondered about the changes in his son. Never in his worst nightmare had anything like this occurred to him. He suddenly felt so alone. “Would you sit beside me, babe?”

  She stiffened like an animal who feared being pounced on.

  “Please?”

  Hesitantly, she perched on the edge of his bed. He slid his hand along her side, desperate for the warmth of her body beneath her blouse. She shivered, refusing to look into his face, refusing to see his need. Deliberately, seductively, he ran his fingertips up her spine and drew her to him. She didn’t resist.

  Their lips touched, and all coherent thought fled under the onslaught of passion, exhaustion and stress. He drank as a man dying of thirst, and Maggie answered the force of his kiss with demands of her own. They tasted and nibbled, driving each other higher. A moan rolled from her throat and fueled the fire. He wanted to pull her beneath him and bury himself in her right there on the hospital bed. But he couldn’t move, and her efforts to put her arms around him while avoiding taped ribs, a broken arm and a body brace only called unwanted attention to his helplessness.

  Then yet another dawning horror settled on him. His brain was in the midst of hormonal storm, but the relevant part of his anatomy wasn’t hearing the message at all. God, no.

  She must have sensed his mental withdrawal. She backed off enough to look down at him, her eyes questioning, her hair forming a warm curtain around their faces.

  Behind them came an outburst of wordless outrage. Maggie sat up, and Garrett allowed his tenuous one-armed hold on her to slip away. Rick stood in the doorway, looking murderous.

  “I came back to apologize, Mom. I thought maybe I’d hurt your feelings, but I see you don’t think about me any more than he does.” He turned to go.

  “Honey, wait.” The anguish in her voice as she leaped from the bed tore Garrett up as much as Rick’s rejection. In a flash, the two most important people in his life were gone, and he could do nothing.

  Rick’s battered, green Chevy sat in the driveway as Maggie pulled up beside it, and she breathed in relief and dread. He was home, but what could she say? How could she help him when her own emotions hung in shreds? And what exactly constituted help?

  “Kids really ought to come with an owner’s manual.”

  Reluctantly, she walked into the house and called out. No answer. When she reached his bedroom, her jaw dropped. It was clean, not only clean, but dusted. It actually looked like a human being lived here instead of a Neanderthal. Posters of rock stars covered the walls, and a life-size, glow-in-the-dark plastic skeleton stood beside his desk. A sticky note tacked to its forehead read No Fear.

  A metallic clank sounded downstairs followed by muffled grumbling. Curious, she followed the assorted noises.

  She found him in the master bathroom, lying on his back, working industriously inside the cabinet under the sink. A hand and arm appeared, looking strangely disembodied. Fingertips felt around blindly until they brushed a set of vise grips. A quick grab, then all promptly disappeared back underneath the sink.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Oh, hi, Mom,” he said, his voice dull, lifeless. “You said the drain was clogged, so I’m fixing it. I tried that stuff in the can, but it didn’t work, so I’m taking the pipes apart. I’ve about got—” The sound of gushing water accompanied an inarticulate screech.

  Maggie gasped as she remembered the primary ingredient in drain cleaner. “Rick, get in the shower quick, and give me your clothes! That backed up water had lye in it. It’ll eat holes in your skin.”

  Rick leaped into the shower, clothes and all, and turned the water on high.

  “Did you get any in your eyes?”

  “No.” He stripped out of his sodden jeans and T-shirt, then handed the dripping garments over the frosted-glass shower door.

  She ran them into the laundry, then came back to rinse drain cleaner from the inside of her wooden cabinets before it did any serious damage to the finish.

  “Botched up big-time, didn’t I?” he murmured, defeated.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Actually, Maggie silently blessed this little catastrophe. It gave them both something immediate to deal with, something other than the real catastrophe at the hospital. “Just consider this a crash course in better living through chemistry.”

  “You’re not mad?” He sounded so much like a little boy expecting the lecture of his life that she had to grin.

  “I needed to clean out these cabinets anyway. It just wasn’t on my agenda for today, that’s all.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “You okay in there?” she quipped. “Hair falling out or anything?”

  “Ha, ha,” he retorted dryly.

  “Then I’ll leave you in peace.” She laid a clean, dry towel on the counter before heading to the kitchen.

  By the time he joined her, a tremendous amount of tension between them had eased, and she smiled at him. Despite his current bizarre behavior toward his father, Rick was a good kid.

  As she handed him a cup of coffee, she took a good look at the son she and Garrett had created. His auburn hair and green eyes were the only resemblance to herself she could see. It was as if those two features had been placed on a younger version of Garrett’s face and body. Some days, looking at him made her remember things she wished she could forget.

  “What’s with the Mr. Fix-it?” she asked.

  He took a sip and shrugged. She knew that shrug and hated it. It was identical to his father’s I’ve-got-everything-under-control-so-let- me-worry-about-it shrug.

  “Not that I don’t appreciate the thought,” she injected into the silence when it was clear he didn’t want to talk.

  “You’re welcome.” Again, so Garrett-like she wanted to ask if he’d practiced.

  “Your father’s lack of explanations caused some of our worst fights. Today isn’t a good day to see if I’ll put up with it any better from you.”

  Rick’s gaze riveted onto her own. Unguarded rage blazed in the sea-green depths before he masked it. “I’m not like him.”

  “If you say so,” she said mildly, then went on the offensive. “Why were you fixing my sink?”

  “It needed doing.” His body language gave nothing away.

  “And your bedroom?”

  “That, too.”

  “Great projects, but what gives?”

  She could see the turmoil behind his eyes as he weighed different responses, dismissing each in turn. Finally, he looked her straight in the eyes, his expression the bleak vulnerable one of a teenager who’d decided to own up to the truth. “When I was ten, Dad said that a child sees to his own wants. A man looks beyond himself and takes care of what’s important.” Rick glanced in the general direction of the bathroom. “Or tries to.”

  “Honey, what were you trying to do? Pay penance?”

  “Sort of.” He didn’t quite look at her. “I don’t know.” The last came in a very small voice.

  Time for definitive action. She put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry his being away hurt you. I’m sorry he missed your soccer games. I know how important they are to you, but you’ve got your priorities a little out of balance.”

  The answering bark of laughter was bitter. “Give me a break, Mom. Soccer’s not my life.”

  That startled her, but no worse than anything else.

  His young body telegraphed in
decision then stiffened in challenge. “How about this, Mom? Do you know what it’s like to be the only virgin in high school?”

  Maggie’s jaw sagged, praying that her face didn’t betray that she’d just been poleaxed.

  “Dad said sex was too special to treat like a game, that with all the diseases out there I’d be taking my life in my hands. But he didn’t tell me about the razzing I’d get.”

  “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

  He looked appalled. “No offense, Mom, but you’re a woman.”

  “Your uncle isn’t.”

  Rick’s face twisted in misery. “Blake said to use a condom and pray it didn’t break.”

  “Oh, very helpful,” she snapped.

  “We were joking around, and I don’t think he knew I was serious. I didn’t bring it up again.” Clearly uncomfortable, he took another step away from her. “I needed my dad.”

  Your macho was on the line, and you needed him closer than a DEA safe line. More puzzle pieces fell into place, each with soul-jarring clarity. It would have been easier for him if Garrett had died. Rick could have grieved and learned to live with the loss. But rejection—even if only in his own mind—had ripped a hole in his heart that he’d carefully hidden until little remained but a festering wound and all its assorted toxins.

  “No matter what you say is the right thing to do, Mom,” he said miserably. “I just can’t go back to the hospital.”

  She nodded in understanding. There was more to all this, but at least now she had the right pieces to the puzzle. “We’ll work through it, honey.”

  He snorted in disbelief.

  With clench-jaw determination, Garrett concentrated on the pathetically small wavy lines on the computer screen. Electrodes attached to key points along his leg muscles measured the electrical activity of the nerves. Most of the lines were flat, a feat nearly impossible with normal nerve signal in a conscious person, but at least something was getting through his damaged spinal cord.

  For three months, the therapy sessions had been the same, intense exercise, massage, measuring nerve signal and stimulating contractions artificially so the muscles and nerves didn’t atrophy. Even if he regained no more function than he had now, his overall health would be better.