by Teresa Hill
"I don't know, Zach. What do you want to happen? You don't even seem angry."
"I don't have the right, do I?"
"I don't know," she said, her voice rising slightly. "I think I'm mad at you for not being angry. I mean, you find another guy coming out of our bathroom half dressed, and me sitting here naked in our bed.... Our bed, Zach. It was ours. And it looks like you don't feel a thing."
"I could ask him to come back so I could knock him down, if that would help," he said, finally getting mildly irritated.
"You don't care, do you? You don't care that I slept with him."
"Yeah, I care." It annoyed him that they were here, playing out this scene. But he knew exactly where this was coming from, and he'd started it, dammit. "What do you want me to say?"
"I want to know how you feel."
He shook his head. "Stupid. I feel really stupid, and I don't like it." Gwen would understand. Her IQ was nearly a perfect match to his.
"That's it?" she asked, anger winning out over regret.
"That's all I've got," he said. "All I can come close to identifying. I feel stupid and frustrated beyond belief. I'm sorry. Sorry we've come to this. I didn't want to hurt you."
"Well, I wanted to hurt you."
"Yeah, I got that part."
"I don't want you to understand. I think I wish you had hit him, and that you'd yelled at us both, and that you'd cared. But I don't think you do."
He threw up his hands and shook his head some more. What was a man supposed to do when it was his own actions that had brought them here?
"I think you should leave now. Find a hotel or something. I'll be here for a few days handling a problem at campaign headquarters," she said, glaring at him. "Where will you be?"
"I'm not sure."
Okay, that was a lie. The first one he could remember telling her. He was going to see Julie, if he could make himself go to Baxter.
"Is this it, Gwen? Are we over?" he asked, because maybe she was thinking more clearly than he was, and he always told clients to try not to make decisions while they were feeling crazy. "Just tell me what you want."
"Why?" she asked. "If I tell you, are you going to give it to me?"
"I don't know," he admitted.
"Well, that's just perfect."
He went into the other room, picked up his bags, and left.
* * *
Zach still didn't want to go home.
No, that was too mild a description of his feelings. He was breaking into a cold sweat just thinking about it.
A part of him said it was time to deal. A time comes when running is no longer an option, lying a luxury a man can no longer afford. He lectured clients on this, and it was good advice. He didn't think he could run anymore.
There was something really pathetic about a grown man who was scared to go home, scared to face up to what was inside him. It wasn't like anyone back there was going to crucify him or anything like that. They'd do anything they could to help him. The thing was, he didn't know if anyone could help.
Maybe that's why he still wanted to run. Right now, he had the luxury of lying and thinking things might get better, that this whole mess might go away. That maybe he'd find the strength to handle it. But if he went back and spilled his guts to his family, they wouldn't let him run. They'd make him face it all, and then he'd know how bad it really was.
He felt his breathing going shallow and fast, started counting as he inhaled and exhaled, trying to take deeper, slower breaths. Sometimes he could make that happen. Sometimes it helped.
* * *
It took less than an hour to get to Baxter, Ohio.
The road took him past his sister Emma's first. She'd take him in and not tell anyone he was there—at least for a day or so. But her kids would blab or someone would see him or his car, and his secret would be out. Plus, she had this nasty habit of trying to play shrink with him lately, something she never used to do.
She'd probably see through him faster than anybody.
He kept driving.
Grace had a tiny apartment on the wrong side of town, but she was probably working in the studio with his mother today. Plus, Grace wouldn't hide him.
He could go home, the only one he'd ever really known. His sanctuary. His saving grace. An old Victorian, lovingly restored and cared for over the years by the only man he'd ever think of as his father, with gray siding, blue trim, a high pitched roof and the most beautiful stained-glass windows, which his kind, generous mother made.
He loved them so much it hurt, and it was hard as hell to think about facing them now.
Zach pulled over to the curb four houses away, a spot that might buy him five minutes if the two little old ladies across the street weren't home at the moment. Damned if he hadn't ended up nearly in front of Julie's old house.
Way to go, Zach.
He stared at it like a man going down for the count, hurting and his head spinning, his heart aching.
He wanted to be there with her.
He wanted her arms around him, wanted to be able to press his face against the sweet, warm skin of her neck and get drunk on the feel and the smell of her. He wanted to get lost in her, the way he had that awful, crazy night, and he knew she'd let him. She'd listen and understand and give him anything he asked for.
Because she thought she owed him? That thought sure didn't sit well with him.
Because it was nothing to her?
No, he just couldn't accept that. She couldn't possibly have sex like that all the time. Could she? Because he didn't think anybody did.
And no fucking way it was nothing. Sex always meant something. Granted, he didn't know what it had meant to her, but he'd swear it was something. So he wouldn't listen anymore when she claimed it was nothing. Even when it was just understanding and caring and let-me-take-away-the-hurt sex, it meant something.
But did it mean she cared about him? Or that she thought she owed him? Zach really didn't want her rolling around on the floor with him to pay him back for anything, no matter how lousy he happened to feel, and he'd be damned if he'd let himself use her that way. Not again.
So he couldn't let himself go inside, but he had to talk to her.
One thing about coming back, hideously hard as it was: it meant he could see her, talk to her. Zach picked up his cell phone and dialed. She answered on the first ring, sounding breathless and a little sad herself.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi," she said, more cautious now. Then, "What's wrong?"
The tension inside him eased just a bit. He hadn't said more than one little word, but she knew. And it was nice to have someone who listened to the nuances of each little word and who worried about him. He hadn't quite known what to do with that until this point, but maybe it was okay. That she worried and she cared.
"Bad day," he said, trying really hard to hold it together there in the car.
"Another one?"
"Yeah. Tony got life. Not as bad as it could have been, but..."
"Still bad," she answered. "I'm sorry, Zach."
"Me, too. How are you?"
"I'm a coward. How are you?"
"A coward," he agreed readily. After all, he was sitting in the car outside her house, not about to let himself go inside. He was also having a hard time admitting what it meant that he'd come here, to her, when he was hiding from everyone else.
"You've never been a coward in your life," she insisted.
"Oh, yes, I have." It had taken him this long to get here, after all, and hell, he still hadn't said anything he really needed to say.
If he said, Run away with me, Julie...
But he wouldn't say that. Any more than he'd say, Let me in.
He was afraid of what he'd do if he got too close.
He had some work to do, truths to face, things to make clear, quickly, because once he did, he could let himself inside her house with something of a clear conscience. She'd open up her arms and help him forget everything for a while. Nothing would seem
so bad anymore or so overwhelming with her by his side.
"Why do you think you're a coward?" he asked, all too happy to let her explain first.
"Because I should have talked to Peter today, and I didn't. Or... I did. Kind of. He yelled at me through a locked door. Does that count?"
"Yeah, I think it does."
"I went to see him and promised myself I was going to get somewhere with him today, and all we did was yell through a locked door at the group home. He hates me."
"No, he's just mad at the whole world, and you're the most convenient target. Give it some time."
"I'm trying. You said to come back, that it was the right thing to do—"
"But I never said it would be easy."
She laughed a little bit. Kind of. She kind of sobbed. He really wished he could hold her.
"Well, you could have told me that part, Zach."
"Not while I was trying to get you back here."
"Thanks a lot. Does me a lot of good now that I'm here, miserable, and don't know what to do."
"Just keep talking to him. Keep showing up. Things will get better. Maybe tomorrow won't be as horrible as today," he said. "Somebody told me that recently when I had a really lousy day."
"And was I right? Was today any better?"
"It seems a lot better to me now," he said.
She caught her breath. He thought maybe he'd said too much, but, hell, he was always the one who was telling her to stick with the truth. What exactly was the truth here?
"What's going on, Zach?"
"I'm not sure," he said. It wasn't completely a lie.
"Why do you think you're a coward today?"
Good question. "Go to the front door."
"What?"
"The front door, Julie. Open it."
"I'm not sure that's a good idea," she said.
"It's fine. I'm not there."
"Oh."
Was she disappointed? He wanted her to be.
He looked back to see her fling open the door and look all around.
"I'm in the car in front of the Wilson sisters' house," he said.
Her gaze locked on his. He was close enough to see her mouth fall open, no words coming out. He could see her tighten her grip on the phone and take that first step toward him.
"Don't," he made himself tell her.
"Why?"
"Because I can't let myself come inside." And dammit, he was a little uneasy about what he might do on the street in front of her house if he got within arm's length of her.
"Why?" she whispered.
"Because it's been a really bad day, and there's only one place I want to be, and I can't let myself be there. It wouldn't be fair to you or to... well..."
"Gwen?" she asked. "I know her name. Gwen."
"It wouldn't be fair to either one of you." He could tell Julie he was going to end it with Gwen, but didn't every guy who'd made a commitment to one woman and want another one say that?
He'd handled this badly enough already. Time to try to do this right—if there was a right way to go straight from one woman to the next. He couldn't just latch on to Julie because he needed her so badly. That wouldn't be fair.
"So... what are you doing here, Zach?"
"Trying to clarify some things in my mind."
If he hadn't known before he'd pulled up in front of her house, he sure did now. This was where he wanted to be.
Now he just had to figure out why, and he had to find out what she thought of the whole idea of her and him. When all he really wanted was to lock his arms around her and hold her tight.
"So... did you figure out anything?" she asked.
"Yeah. I miss you."
Her breath caught and held. He could feel her gaze on him, searching his face from the distance, could almost feel her body pulling him closer.
"I miss you, too," she said finally.
"Well, that's something." Something very, very good. Heat unfurled in his body, and his heart kicked up a notch—in a good way.
"I'd let you come inside," she said.
He made a choking sound. God, he wanted that. Wanted it right now. All he really had to do was get inside the door, and he could have his hands on her. The way she sounded tonight, he could have absolutely anything he wanted from her.
Still, he said, "Julie, don't—"
"I mean... I know I shouldn't. But I would."
Shit. That heat started pooling in his groin. He flashed back to that night, her on top of him, his hands gripping the tantalizing curves of her bottom. Her leaning over him to kiss him, her hair falling around them like a curtain, while he was driving inside her for the third time that night.
"Gonna be noble, Zach?"
"Tryin' my damnedest," he admitted. "And it is not easy."
"Okay. So... you're going to be home for a few days?"
"Yeah," he said.
"Five doors down?"
"Uh-huh."
"But you're not coming into my house?"
"That's right."
"How long do you think that's going to last?"
"Not long," he admitted, seeing the absolute lunacy to his whole plan.
To hell with everything else. He could drive back to Cincinnati tonight and talk to Gwen. If she isn't in bed with another friend of mine. Which really, really wasn't fair, and damned if he hadn't always prided himself on being a fair man. Any woman he was involved with deserved better than this. Especially Julie. Way-too-vulnerable Julie. Life had been screwing her over for way too long.
He wasn't going to be one of those men who treated her badly. Not anymore, at least. He wondered if any man had ever truly been good to her. He wanted to be the one who was, who was better to her than any man had ever been.
"I just have to settle some things," he said.
"Okay."
Just like that. No demands. No harsh words. Pure acceptance. What had he ever done to deserve that from her? But she was giving it to him anyway.
"I'll try to hurry," he said.
"That would be good." She took a breath, gave him a slow, knowing smile that said she was his. He could have her right now, if he'd let himself.
It took everything he had not to get out of the car and take her inside. But he knew how badly he'd bungled this already.
To his right, a screen door banged shut. One of the Wilson sisters showed up on the porch, peering at him and frowning. "Zach McRae?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Forget your way home, boy?"
"No, ma'am."
"It's just down that way." She pointed to the right. She was about eighty now.
"I'm going," he said.
"Good thing. I was about to call the police on you."
"Yes, ma'am."
He took one last look at Julie on the porch, telling himself it was time. He had to face home. He couldn't be with her until he did.
Chapter 11
He sat in the driveway for a long time, remembering the day he'd first seen this house. He'd been sitting in the back of a complete stranger's car, a social worker he later knew as Rachel's aunt. Grace hadn't even been walking yet. Emma had been trying her best for days to take care of them all. When the police had arrived at their motel room. Zach had thought they were going to jail.
He remembered telling them over and over again that his mother was coming back. But it had already been so long, and the nice lady from social services had taken them away from the motel where they were supposed to wait. Zach was worried that their mother wouldn't be able to find them.
It had been a terrible day.
And then they'd ended up here.
Walking up to the door and going inside couldn't be any harder now than it had been then, could it? He sat stubbornly in the car, fighting the urge to get out and pace, counting as he inhaled and exhaled. Two, three, four, five. His heart was racing wildly but he told himself it didn't really hurt. It was some kind of phantom chest pain, scary as shit but not real. He knew that, but still...
He though
t about all the clients he'd seen over the years, scared to death, imagining all sorts of horrible possible outcomes to their legal troubles, and him telling them to tell him the truth and trust him to help. He'd been a complete stranger. Why the hell would they trust him when they were scared to death? And here he was, having a hard time telling his own family about his problems.
He groaned and took as deep a breath as he could manage. He opened up the car door to let in some air, because he was sweating, when it wasn't more than fifty degrees out.
Sometimes lately, he'd felt like he was coming apart at the seams, like all his feelings were too much to be contained and would end up oozing out of him.
He was terrified, something that seemed a terrible weakness to have to admit to the people he loved. His earliest memories were of feeling like this. Of that man who now claimed to be Zach's father taking his fists to the woman who'd once been his mother. His mother sobbing, blood coming from her nose, eyes swollen, lips busted. He remembered. The memories had become so much more vivid since he'd seen "that man" six months ago.
Zach got out of the car, grabbed his suitcase.
That first time he'd come here, snow had covered the ground. It had been cold, and he'd been hungry. It had felt like he'd been hungry his whole life. He remembered his first good look at Sam, who'd seemed like a giant, with a gruff voice and a stern manner that had scared Zach right off the bat. Sam, who'd turned out to be nothing at all like the animal of a man whose blood ran through Zach's veins.
He and his sisters had found a home here and as much love and understanding as any child could want or need. He'd never complained about the life he'd led, had always been grateful for all the things he'd been given.
Then his old man had gotten out of jail. Zach's nice, neat little life had gone into a tailspin.
Time to deal, Zach.
He heard the front door open, looked up to find his mother there, a smile on her face. "Hi, stranger. You coming in, or are you going to stand outside all night?"
"I'm coming in," he said, thinking it was a good thing she'd caught him. He couldn't turn around and run now. She'd come after him.
"It's about time." She stopped him in the doorway and hugged him tight. He kissed her on the cheek, and for a minute, he didn't think he could let her go. He was shaking, he realized. Did she know?