Her Passionate Hero

by Caitlyn O'Leary

  “Do you want me to make you some cocoa?”

  Aliana gave a weak laugh. “I already had some Babička. I’ll be fine.”

  “Hunter, do you have her?” her grandmother asked.

  “Yes. She just had a shock. I’ll take care of her,” he promised as his arms gently tightened. Even now, he was careful of her bruises. “I’m going to get her to bed soon. She still has to meet the book club tomorrow.”

  “She should have warm milk now, anyway, the chocolate would keep her up. You’ll make that for her?”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “Good night, then.”

  Hunter didn’t move. He just stood there holding her. She took comfort even though she knew it was wrong. Eventually, enough was enough.

  “Let’s go back to the kitchen?”

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Yeah. After all, this isn’t about me, this is about Darla. I had no reason to be crying. I need to think of a way to be helping her, not in my bedroom having a pity party. That’s ridiculous.”

  “Alia, you’re one of the most empathetic people I know. Of course, this would hit you hard.”

  She closed her eyes. She pictured the broken locks, then pushed it away.

  “Hunter, let’s finish this.” She pushed out of his arms and headed to the kitchen. She picked up the dishes from the table and they clattered as she shoved them into the sink.

  “Alia?”

  “We have to figure out where Darla is. We need to make sure she’s safe.”

  “We’ll do that, Cariña, I promise.”

  “You need to find that fucker, Mateo and crush him.”

  “That was already on the agenda.” He coaxed her back to the table. “We’re going to use Nicolas to accomplish both of those things. He’s already given us a lead.”

  “I don’t want you to use Nicolas. He’s innocent.”

  “No, he’s not, mi Cielieto, he’s a member of Los Demonios, and don’t you forget it.”

  “I know that,” she dismissed. “But he told you what he’s doing. He’s trying to get people to quit. He’s quietly recruiting people out of the gang. And what are you acting all high and mighty about? You and Zed were gang members too.”

  “Right. Don’t canonize any of us. We all have feet made of clay.”

  “Hunter, I don’t have any of you up on a pedestal, but I can be pretty damned impressed by all of you. Well, except for Zed, I don’t think he likes me. But you and Nicolas are remarkable.”

  Hunter got an odd expression on his face, then picked up her hand, brought it to his mouth and kissed her palm.

  “What was that for?” She was dazed.

  “For seeing me as who I am.” He paused and cupped the back of her neck. “I see you too. I do. I think you’re a remarkable woman, and I’m blessed to have you in my life.”

  Her throat was tight. She couldn’t respond.

  He brought her forward and did the most astounding thing. His lips touched hers. She kept her eyes wide open, staring at him, watching as his eyes closed. His other hand came up and cupped her cheek and his lips feathered over her lips, coaxing. Coaxing what? She felt a tingle, a warmth spreading as she followed his lead. She was no longer looking at him. Her hands were gripping his shoulders, and his mouth settled softly on hers, guiding her slowly into a haze of wonder.

  She started when she felt his tongue trace her bottom lip, but then the soft caress beguiled her into opening her mouth. Their breath mingled as he deepened their kiss. Oh God, she was kissing Hunter, and it was beautiful. The thought flew away as the tip of his tongue touched hers. She heard a whimper. His big hand moved down to her throat, his thumb sliding over her pulse. He did it again and again as if to calm her, but how could she calm down when his tongue was sliding against hers? She held onto his shoulders for dear life. In the distance, she heard more sounds. Gradually his mouth lifted from hers, and he kissed the side of her mouth, her cheek and then her closed eyelids.

  “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

  “Oh yes.”

  “You were whimpering.”

  So that was what that sound was. She opened her eyes. His eyes were dark and mysterious, it was like he held the secrets of the world. No. It was like he held the secrets of her world.

  “Can you do me a favor?” he asked quietly.

  “I’ll try.”

  “Tell me why you asked me to leave you. Tell me what happened the night your dad died.”

  She felt like he slipped a knife into her. Had he kissed her to soften her up so she would tell him?

  He traced her pulse point again, and she realized he still held her.

  “This isn’t an ambush, Cariña. That kiss was a decade too long in coming. Tell me. Make me understand.”

  ***

  Hunter watched this woman, who meant so much to him, go from warm with desire to wounded. He hated that, but he had to do it. This might be his one and only opportunity to get to the bottom of things while she was this vulnerable. It was past time, thirteen years pastime, that he found out why she had thrown them away.

  “Cariña, talk to me.” He drew his thumb upward and brushed her bottom lip where she was biting it. He’d kept his kiss as soft and gentle as he could because even now, her bottom lip was slightly swollen from the explosion. He knew from her reaction, she’d enjoyed it. He also guessed his Alia hadn’t been kissed much. There was too much surprise and wonder in her responses. His heart ached for her.

  “Can you hold me? Like you did under the bleachers?” her voice was so soft, he could barely hear her words. Her nails were still biting into his shoulders.

  “Always.” He led her into the other room and settled them on the couch. She sat away from him.

  “Hunter, I’ve tried to work it out in my mind. I’ve dug out some of the rot, I have, but some of it is rooted so deep, it’ll never come free.” She dug her fists into her thighs, her mouth set in a grimace.

  “God knows, I’ve needed help with shit before. You helped me earlier, just listening about meeting Mamie at the dumpster.”

  She gave him a considering look, then a small smile. “God knows, I want my shit gone, too.”

  “Come here,” he said. Hunter opened his arms. His heart about burst in his chest the way she burrowed into him. He wrapped both arms around her.

  “My Táto seemed happy when I was young. Before he’d been forced to leave Czechoslovakia and move to America, he’d been a professor of literature and poetry at the University,” she said with pride.

  Hunter shook his head. He was impatient to hear about his suicide, but she needed to get this out in her own way.

  “He taught me how to write poetry. His poems were so stark, full of beauty and love.”

  “Like your songs, I bet.”

  “My songs don’t even come close to Táto’s poems. He had two books of poetry published back in the old country. I still have them.” She sounded both proud and sad.

  “He sounds very accomplished. What did he do here in the United States?”

  “He loved the Czech language so much, he didn’t want to learn English. He resented having to flee Czechoslovakia even though it wasn’t safe for him there.”

  “What did he do for a living here?” he asked again.

  “He worked in the foundry for my grandfather. That’s how he met my mother.”

  “Oh, yeah, I knew he worked there.” A picture of a blonde man came to mind, he had always seemed out of place in his work boots and overalls.

  “I didn’t realize how much this bothered him until I was in the seventh grade. I wrote two poems for English class, and the teacher had them put in the school newspaper. I was so excited. Of course, Heather made fun of me, but for once, that didn’t matter. Some of the other kids complimented me.”

  “I remember when that happened. I walked you home that day.” She had been so excited, she had practically danced beside him down the sidewalk.

  “When I presented Táto the school paper
, he hardly said a word. I showed him how I had used imagery just like he’d taught me, but he walked away.” Aliana’s voice was quiet as she told her story, her accent thick like it had been in childhood. “At dinner, Maminka asked me to translate one of the poems into Czech, but it didn’t sound right. The rhymes and rhythms were off. Táto had me read, then repeat them again in English, but I could tell he was getting frustrated when he didn’t understand all the words. He got up from the dinner table and went to bed. Táto didn’t eat dinner with us for three nights in a row, he said he had headaches after work. I thought I had disappointed him. Eventually, I realized that was the turning point.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Before that, Táto always held on to some sort of dream that he would go home to Czechoslovakia, or maybe our block would turn into Little Prague, and he would be mayor. Somehow, he would get to relive his old glory, but that day, when he saw me somewhat acclimated to America, that killed it for him. Something went wrong. His dreams started to slowly die, and it was Maminka and my fault.” She shivered, Hunter rubbed her arms, and she huddled closer.

  “I could have handled it. I was used to people hating me for some unwarranted offense. Maminka had gone from being the apple of her parent’s eyes to living with my father. She adored him, and the more he pushed her away or resented her, the harder she tried to be perfect.” Her voice trailed off.

  Hunter knew as much as she said she could handle it, Aliana would have been just as hurt as her mother. His little Alia always tried to be perfect for everyone, and everyone stomped on her.

  “Tell me.”

  “My mom was eighteen when she married my dad. She went straight from her father’s house to a little apartment her husband provided. There was only ever one car, so there was no need for her to drive. I remember when I was twelve, for no reason at all, Táko got mad at Mom because she couldn’t drive to the big warehouse store across town—she always walked or took the bus most places—I thought he was going to hit her. She didn’t cry, she just apologized for weeks. Her dad was dead, so she had her mom teach her to drive.”

  “He didn’t teach her?”

  “That night, he said she was an anchor, that he had to do everything, that she was nothing but another responsibility hanging around his neck, just like I was. She was too scared to ask him.”

  Hunter felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. He remembered her saying she was relieving him of all responsibility. Was this what it went back to?

  Hunter didn’t bother asking stupid questions, like why a man would think something like that. As far as he was concerned, her father should have kissed the ground his wife and daughter walked on. He was the problem, never bothering to acclimate, spending his time bemoaning the life he had lost, instead of cherishing the gifts he’d been given.

  “So, he was a selfish bastard,” Hunter bit off.

  “Not always. Maminka showed me the yearbooks of the university where he taught. He was praised by all of his students and was constantly going above and beyond. Occasionally, I think I’m like him,” she gave a sad laugh. “Pretty scary, huh?”

  “You’re nothing like him.” Hunter hugged her fiercely. She clutched him back just as tightly. He waited until her breathing evened out.

  “Tell me about the day he killed himself.”

  She flinched against him.

  “I’m sorry, mi Cielieto, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “You didn’t, I just… I just…” She brought her feet up on the couch, her knees to her chest. It was almost the same pose she’d had under the bleachers those many years ago. He wrapped both arms around her, and she tugged them tighter and buried her face in the crook of his arm.

  “I got out of school early, it was parent-teacher conference day. When I got home, the door to the apartment was unlocked. I called out to see who was home. Táto came out of the bedroom and said Maminka was over at Babička’s house making jam. He went back into his room, but he left the door open. I needed to talk to him. I thought he was home because he knew someone had to go meet with my teachers.”

  Hunter could barely understand her. It wasn’t her beautiful accent, it was that her voice was thick with tears.

  “I’m right here. You’re in my arms. You can tell me anything, and you’re safe, right here in my arms. I have you, Alia, you’re safe,” he said over and over again as he stroked her hair.

  Aliana seemed to go inward. He waited, letting her tell the story in her own time, her own way.

  ***

  Aliana had never shared this. Not even with the psychiatrist she’d seen in college who had helped her with so much. But here, in the safety of Hunter’s arms, she could bring the nightmare out into the light.

  Her parents’ room was dim, the curtains were drawn. It smelled of roses. It was her mother’s favorite scent. Her dad stood out, sitting on the flowered bedspread in his overalls.

  “Papa? Are you home to go to meet with my teachers?” she asked in Czech as she stepped into the room. A sliver of sunlight escaped the drapes and hit the barrel of the gun in her father’s hand. He had it pointed upwards at himself. He was staring down at it. The blue-black steel looked evil. Now that she saw it, she couldn’t take her eyes off it.

  “What do you need now? What is it this time that I have to do for you? It’s always about you and your mom. What would you have me do?” he sneered.

  Aliana heard him, but she couldn’t answer. His thumb traced the tip of the gun, the cloying smell of roses was assaulting her nose.

  “Answer me!”

  She jumped and stumbled further into the room.

  “Look at you, you can’t even keep your feet. You whine about being made fun of, but you’re clumsy.”

  “Why do you have a gun?”

  “Protection. In this neighborhood, we need protection.” As he waved the gun, her head moved with it as if charmed by a snake. “Do you want to see it?”

  “No.”

  “Come here.”

  She stayed glued to the carpet. This man wasn’t her Papa.

  “Why are you home from school, Girl?”

  “It’s parent, teacher conference day. You need to go talk to my teachers,” she said, then swallowed, praying he wouldn’t yell at her or worse.

  “Just another goddamn thing that you need. What about what I need? Do you know what happened today? I left the foundry. We parted ways. Seventeen years and that new supervisor thinks he knows more than I do?” Her dad spit on the floor. “He knows nothing. Nobody knows anything.”

  Aliana stared at her father. She had visited the foundry so often when her grandfather had been alive. It was a magical place, but she knew her father hated it, he never said so, but she could tell. He wanted to go back to the university in Czechoslovakia, he wanted to relive his glory.

  “Do you know why I stayed?” he asked her.

  He turned the gun over in his hands. He rolled it over. First, it pointed at him. Then it pointed at her. Sweat popped out on her brow, and fear made her teeth clench. She couldn’t speak, so she shook her head.

  “Answer me. Do you know why I stayed at that goddamn job?”

  “No, Papa, why?”

  “Because of you and your mom. All either of you has ever been is a responsibility that has weighed me down. You flushed my dreams down the toilet, the two of you.”

  “Mama loves you. I love you.”

  “That’s the worst lie of all, saying you love me. You and your mom tied a rope around my neck and pulled me under water too many times. Your type of love kills, Aliana. It kills.”

  Dread filled her as he lifted the gun. At that moment, she had no idea if he was going to shoot her. But if he did, it would have been fine. His words felt like death.

  “Did you run?” Hunter asked.

  “Yes, I ran toward him. I was afraid he would shoot himself, I wanted to stop him.”

  “Fuck, Alia.” He gripped her so tight, it hurt, but she made no sound, she was lost in those hellishly
long minutes in the past.

  Her father shoved the barrel of the gun into his chin. His doughy flesh gobbled up the steel.

  “Don’t!” she screamed as she lunged. The sound of the shot burst through her brain. She couldn’t hear anything. She watched the gun fall to the floor, but didn’t hear it thud. Her father fell sideways on the bed, a rich river of red poured from her father’s cheek and throat. She mashed her hands on both, trying to stem the tide.

  His eyes were open, she saw life. She begged him not to die. “Please Papa, live. I love you so much. Live. I love you.” She pulled up the bedspread and pushed it into the wound, but the blood saturated the blanket like water from a faucet.

  “Papa, can you hear me? Live.” She couldn’t even hear her own words because her ears were still ringing from the sound of the gun going off. She watched as life faded from his blue eyes.

  “No! Don’t go,” she screamed and pleaded. She didn’t know how long she stayed like that, sobbing and pleading. The old neighbor next door, he came, then the police. Finally, her mother. She didn’t remember much. Her one clear thought was to never tell her mother what her father had said. Never tell anyone. Never ever.

  Everyone thought Laszlo Novak committed suicide because he lost his job, and she did everything in her power to perpetuate that myth. She never told anyone until now that it was because of her and her mom.

  “That’s bullshit, Alia,” Hunter roared in a soft, fierce whisper.

  She had forgotten where she was or that she was with Hunter.

  “Do you hear me? I’ll yell loud enough so your grandmother wakes up, and Dalton comes running, I don’t care. What he said was wrong. It’s wrong, mi Amor. Wrong.”

  She took her face out of its hiding place in order to look at Hunter, he looked like he had been tortured. Why?

  She slipped into Spanish, “Darling, don’t worry. I’ve made peace with this. I coped. I did the right things. I made sure my mom never knew what he said. She loved him so much, and it would have shattered her world.”

  “So, you kept this buried inside you, eating away like acid? You said you didn’t even tell your shrink. What the fuck, Alia? Why not?”

  She cringed at his words, and for the first time, being in his arms didn’t feel good. She tried to get up.