by M. Malone
Finn elbows him. “Get a room, you two. I’m starving.”
The moment is broken and the murderous look on Tank’s face makes up for the embarrassment of almost jumping him in his mother’s kitchen. We all fill plates with pasta and bread hot from the oven. Once I’m seated, Claire holds up one of the wine bottles on the table.
“Red or white?”
“Red will go well with this meat sauce.”
She pours a little in my glass and then some for herself. Tank brings out a beer for himself and one for Finn. He winks at me as he sits down.
There’s no conversation for a while as everyone digs in. It’s the most amazing sound for a cook when everyone is so absorbed with their food that they don’t even stop to talk. I’ve outdone myself on the meat sauce and the pasta is perfectly al dente.
“This is delicious, Emma,” Finn finally says around a huge mouthful of pasta. “You need to come around more often.”
“Yes, she should.” Claire sends a pointed look at Tank. “We’d be glad to see you anytime. That means bring her back, Tanner.”
When she says his name, it reminds me that I wanted to ask her about it. “How did he get the nickname Tank?”
Tank looks over at me, surprised. “Why didn’t you ask me that? I would have told you.”
“Because I want to ask your mom. She’ll give me the real story.”
Finn snorts. “It’s really not a story. He hit puberty and suddenly he hit like a tank. I had the bruises to prove it.” We all laugh at his affected expression.
“You’re hardly a small guy yourself. I’m sure you could handle it,” I respond.
“True but not so much when he was fifteen and I was twelve. The story you really should ask Mom to tell you about is his skills onstage.”
Tank drops his fork and glares across the table at his brother. “You really want me to tackle you right now, don’t you?”
“The stage?” I look back and forth between them. “Was he in the school play or something?”
Claire takes a sip of her wine and glances over at Tank. “He used to perform with me sometimes when I was singing in a cabaret. I used to practice the songs all the time so I’m surprised Finn didn’t know them, too. But Tank would sing with me. Once I realized he had talent, the theatre company cast him in a few small parts.”
“That was a long time ago, Mom.” Tank’s cheeks have a slight flush to them. He’s usually so nonchalant that I’m shocked he seems so bothered by this.
“Yes it was.” Claire looks wistful. “I always wished I’d had the money to hire a singing coach for you, or something. He had a beautiful voice, even in high school. Some boys lose their voice after it changes but not Tank.”
“Can we talk about something else now?” Tank looks mortified. “Let’s talk about Finn and his extracurriculars in school. Oh wait, he didn’t have any. Unless you count convincing girls to meet him under the bleachers.”
Finn acknowledges the insult with a grin. “Hey, that was extra. And it was definitely curricular.”
Claire puts down her fork. “Do I need to put you two in time out?”
“Okay, okay. So, how did you two meet anyway?” Finn takes a huge bite of his roll.
“Emma is a friend of a friend.”
Finn looks confused. “What friend? None of our friends are classy enough to hang with her.”
“I met Tank at the law office where I work. Actually, I know your father, too. He’s been really nice to me. He gave me some advice about college. How to get loans and grants and stuff.”
Silence descends upon the table immediately. Claire puts down her wineglass. “Their father? Maxwell Marshall? He’s back in town?”
There’s a sudden hostility in the air and I’m not sure how to answer. Tank and Finn seem to be having a silent conversation of some kind. Claire looks at me expectantly. There’s a note in the air that I can’t describe. This is more than just the usual post-divorce drama.
“Yes, ma’am. He’s a client of the law office where I work.”
She immediately looks at Tank. “This is why you’ve been so secretive lately? Oh lord, tell me that’s not how you got the money.”
Finn glances at me quickly before putting a hand on his mother’s arm. “Mom, we don’t want you to worry about any of that.”
She doesn’t answer and after a moment, gets up from the table. “Emma, I’m so sorry but I’m not terribly hungry anymore. I’m going to rest for a while.”
“Of course.” I watch as she disappears down the hallway leading to the back of the house. When I turn around, Finn’s watching me with narrowed eyes.
“I didn’t know it was a secret,” I mutter.
“Don’t jump down her throat, Finn. She’s not the one in the wrong. We are. I should have told Mom last time I was here. She would have found out eventually.”
“I know. But not right now. Not when she’s already got so much to worry about.”
Tank lifts his plate and his mother’s from the table and disappears into the kitchen. After he’s gone, Finn reaches out and touches my arm. “I’m sorry, Emma. It’s really not your fault and I have no right to take my frustration out on you.”
He gets up and leaves the table, too. I’m left alone with a plate of spaghetti and a half-empty bottle of wine. I pour myself a little more and take a swig before getting up to search for Tank. The back door is slightly open so I stick my head out into the cold night air. Tank is on the back step, leaning back on his arms and looking up at the night sky. At the sound of the door opening he looks over his shoulder.
“Sorry about the drama, Emma. I told you my family was like a reality show.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” I pull my sweater closer and then sit down on the top step next to him. I’d assumed he was looking at the stars but his eyes are closed.
“Can I ask you a question? And if it’s too painful, you can tell me to mind my own business.”
His eyes open and he angles his body so he’s facing me. “You can ask me whatever you want. I’ve already told you, you’re the exception to all my rules.”
A thrill rushes through me at his words. It’s impossible not to be affected when he’s looking at me like this, like I’m the only thing he wants. The only thing he needs.
I look away and try to focus. “Why is this all such a big secret? I know your parents are divorced but was the breakup really that bad? He just seems so nice. I can’t imagine Mr. Marshall doing anything to intentionally hurt anyone.”
Tank leans back on his arms, his face turned up to the sky. “I’m sure he can seem nice when it’s in his best interest. All the best con men are good actors. He fooled my mom into thinking he was a great guy until he ditched us when I was eight years old. Finn was five.”
“He abandoned you?”
“Yeah. Never looked back either. I hadn’t heard from him since until late last year when a letter showed up from a law firm in California. I actually thought it was a scam at first.”
“No contact in all that time? That’s just …”
“Pretty cold, right? But that’s how he operates. Mom told us a few years ago that he actually came back once. It was a few years after he left. She didn’t want us to know. Figured it was better for us not to be disappointed again if it didn’t work out. That was a good call because it turns out he just needed money. He stayed in town long enough to seduce her and then he took her savings and cleared out again. That’s what he does. He uses people.”
All this time, I’ve been trying to put the pieces together. Why Mr. Marshall would be willing to pay so much just to establish contact with his son. Why Tank seemed so hostile toward him.
And why it all felt so wrong.
Now it makes sense. When I’d told Mr. Marshall that Tank flirted with me, I’d given him information that he’d seen as a possible weapon. He wasn’t just asking me to carry a message to his son. He was using Tank’s feelings for me to manipulate him.
And I’d played dir
ectly into his hands.
I turn to Tank and cup his face between my hands. He’s startled but leans closer, turning into the warmth of my palm.
“If you don’t want to see him, then you shouldn’t have to. Do what your heart tells you to do and nothing less.”
His eyes bore into mine like he’s trying to read the truth of my words in my gaze. Then he leans closer. He glances up at me, giving me plenty of time to back away. To turn away.
But I don’t.
His lips cover mine and soon my fingers get lost in his thick hair. His other arm lifts to hold me closer and the kiss deepens. When he kissed me before, it was all tangled up in heat and urgency. But this is completely different.
His fingers spread through my hair, holding me still as his tongue plumbs the depths of my mouth. All the while his thumb traces a soft path on my cheek. A soft noise escapes the back of my throat and the sound seems to spur him on. The way he touches me is so surprising. He treats me like I’m delicate, something he wants to protect but also like I’m the hottest thing he’s ever seen.
Voices drift from the slightly open door behind us and then there’s the clatter of dishes in the sink. The loud sounds remind me where we are. Claire or Finn could come out at any time and catch us. I pull back and take several deep gasping breaths. Tank is just as affected. His chest heaves and he closes his eyes, fighting for control.
I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t give me immense satisfaction to watch this big, magnificent male creature fighting to control himself around me. But the longer I’m around Tank, the more I realize just how little possibility there is for us.
Even though he doesn’t know it, I’m just one more person that Tank can’t trust. One more person who wants something from him.
“I like you, Tank.”
His eyes cloud and he pulls back slightly. “There’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere. We’re amazing together, Emma. I’ve never felt this kind of chemistry with anyone before. Have you?”
“No but that doesn’t mean it’s right. If it was any other time maybe I’d say we should just go with it and have a little fun. You’re dealing with a lot and I’m still trying to get my education back on track. I think we need some time apart. To think. I don’t have time for distractions and you have distraction written all over you.”
The words seem to please him because he grins, that sexy, arrogant grin. “I’ll give you some time. But I don’t think it’ll change anything.”
“If we let it go any further, I’ll only end up liking you more.”
Suddenly his face changes. Becomes dark again. His mood swings are always so abrupt, they scare me a little. “I’m not sure I can stay away from you,” he admits.
The confession rips at my conscience. He wouldn’t feel that way if he knew why I was really here. Once he knows he’ll hate me.
And that’s what I’m really afraid of.
CHAPTER TEN
TANK
There’s no right way to meet your father again. It’s been twenty years since I’ve seen the man. But after my conversation with Emma a few days ago, I’ve made my decision. Spending time with my father will never be high on my priority list but getting medical care for my mother is. That’s what my heart is saying loud and clear. Save Mom. And that’s what I’m going to do.
Emma would be proud of my decision. I really wish she was here with me now. But she wanted time so I’ll give it to her. Maybe she’s right and it really is bad timing or maybe I just came on too strong. A family dinner may have been too much too soon. Plus all the drama at the dinner table would be enough to scare anyone off.
I knock on the door of my father’s hotel room. A young woman answers the door. She leans back slightly at the sight of my scowling expression. I run a hand over my face and try to look neutral. I don’t want to be here but that’s not anyone else’s problem.
“Tanner Marshall. Come in. Your father is expecting you.” She leads me to a spacious living area. “Have a seat. He’ll be out shortly.”
The hotel is pretty swank. It’s exactly the kind of place I’d expect him to be. “This is a nice hotel.”
“Yes, it is. Mr. Marshall remodeled it last year.” She smiles absently and then turns to leave the room.
“He owns the hotel?”
She gives me an odd look. “Yes, of course. He owns all of the StarCrest Hotels.”
“Of course he does.” Resentment festers just below the surface. Each one of these rooms goes for an astronomical rate. While my mom was clipping coupons and working two jobs, my father was buying hotels.
Briefly, I wonder if I’ll even recognize him. My last memories of him were from the perspective of an eight-year-old boy. What boy doesn’t think his father walks on water? But I’m a man now and I wonder what it’ll be like to meet him again this way. Will he still seem familiar?
If I could have, I would have put this meeting off. Taken some time to prepare myself. But since I agreed to his terms, I have to meet with him in thirty days or less. I don’t want to take any chances. If I keep to his agreed upon schedule then the money in my trust will continue to grow. So I’ll visit with him until I have enough to pay for all of my mom’s care. I may have to visit him to get the money but there’s nothing in that paperwork that says I have to like it.
“Tanner. You’re here.”
I turn at the grizzled voice in the doorway. My face probably shows my surprise but it’s too late to cover my reaction. When Patrick mentioned that my father was ill, it didn’t really hit me that he would look sick. But this elderly man in a wheelchair is not what I was expecting. I don’t bother correcting my name. He can call me whatever. I don’t plan to be here enough for it to matter.
“Yes. I’m here.”
“Would you like something to drink? They have lemonade. You always did like lemonade.”
“I liked it when I was eight, Dad.” The word slips out before I can stop it and it annoys me. I don’t want to call him that. He hasn’t earned the right to that title.
His face falls slightly but he recovers, wheeling himself over to the sideboard. He selects a decanter and pours himself a drink. “Of course. You’d probably be more likely to want a scotch right about now.”
The fact that he’s right only ratchets my irritation higher.
“Actually I don’t want anything. I’m not here for a drink. You already know why I’m here. Mom needs surgery so I need the money. It’s that simple.”
“I don’t have any right to ask but I’ll ask anyway. Why does she need surgery?”
Keeping it a secret out of spite crosses my mind but who would that serve? He can’t hurt her anymore at this point. Maybe if he realizes that she’s sick and needs me, he’ll let me out of these stupid scheduled visits.
“It’s cancer. She has breast cancer.”
He tosses the drink back but before he does, I see that his hand is shaking.
“My lawyer said she was sick. But I didn’t realize it was cancer. I didn’t realize.” He wheels himself over to the window and looks out. In profile he looks almost sad. It’s unsettling to see this display of emotion. I don’t think of him as being sad or regretful.
In my mind, I am always eight years old and he is a spoiled, middle-aged man on a perpetual hunt for youth and excitement. The man before me now, this broken shell of a man, is someone that I don’t know. His pain isn’t something I want to see because it’s so much easier to remember him as a bastard who walked out on his family than to see him as a man who regrets what he did.
“I apologize for forcing you into these meetings. But it was the only way that I could get you here.”
“But why? Why was it so important for you to see each of us? And why the weekly visits?”
He doesn’t meet my eyes. “I have my reasons.”
His evasiveness pisses me off. Again, it’s him pushing us around and structuring things to his perspective. He couldn’t care less about how it affects me, Mom or Finn.
“I just wa
nted to see my children. I may have figured it out too late but you are my greatest accomplishments.”
Despite the heartfelt speech, I can sense that there’s a lot he isn’t telling me. There’s an ocean between us filled with half-truths and assumptions. It’s like yelling across a great distance trying to be heard. And I find I’m just too damned tired to even try anymore.
“Well, you can see me but that’s all. The papers said I had to show up. They didn’t say I had to make small talk.” I sit in one of the armchairs and glance at my watch.
Fifty-five minutes and counting …
After an uncomfortable hour staring at my shoes, I get up and leave. My father looks disappointed. I guess he thought that by forcing me to come here, that we’d eventually talk and make up. That an entire lifetime of him not being there could be erased with a pleasant afternoon.
I didn’t take my bike today and I wish I had. A hard and dirty ride is exactly what I need to purge this restless rage from my blood. My thoughts turn to Emma. She’s right, I know she is, that we need to keep our distance. But now I’m stuck in this endless limbo, wondering where she is and whether she’s okay. That way lies madness so I decide to just drive.
I end up at Finn’s place. His car is still in the same parking space. He must be leaving though since he’s agreed to the weekly visits with dear old dad as well.
“Finn? Hello?”
He appears to my left, coming from the hallway leading to the bedrooms. “Hey. What’s up?”
“Nothing. I just got back from seeing our father.”
“No wonder you look homicidal.”
I put my feet up on the coffee table. The television is on but the sound is muted. It’s one of those news commentary shows where people are always yelling at each other and trying to sound more knowledgeable about world events than they actually are.
“I met our brothers. That was interesting.” Finn sits on the couch next to me. He looks better. More alert. His eyes don’t have the bleary quality they get when he’s taking the pain pills.