Out of the Ashes

by Lauren Giordano

  "I figured," she admitted. "Dinner tonight is sponsored by Clean-Out-the-Fridge Monday. Cheese, apple slices, pickles, ham and turkey sandwiches." She glanced at the assortment of different foods. "Only one chocolate pudding left. I'll have to arm-wrestle you for it."

  Hungry eyes stared at the tray. "If you're willing to trade for that eclair, I'll let the pudding go without a fight."

  "Deal." Surprised laughter bubbled out and for a moment—things felt normal.

  While he waited for her to sit, Curt piled up his plate. "Can we eat first?"

  Shannon startled. "What do you mean?"

  He reached across the table to brush her fingers. "I need to talk to you about today. But . . . can it wait a few minutes?"

  Relief washed over her, the apple slice she was chewing turning to dust in her mouth. He wanted to include her. His admission meant more than if he'd confessed his love. "It can wait until you're ready, Curt. I don't need to know-"

  "I want you to." His gaze burned into her.

  "Okay." Her smile tremulous, she nodded.

  Fifteen minutes later, the tray decimated, save for a bruised banana neither of them wanted, Curt leaned back. "Okay . . . so the woman who showed up today was the girl from my car wreck. Thirteen years . . . and she just shows up out of the blue."

  Her heart in her throat, Shannon stilled. Afraid to ask any questions, she waited for him to continue.

  "Cindy was with me the night of the crash. She . . . took off. Fled the scene. By some miracle, she wasn't injured. But . . . she just left us there."

  Unable to stop herself, she reached across the table, desperate to feel his warmth. Sliding her fingers through his, she held onto them. "You say her name . . ." Her voice barely a whisper, she felt his fingers startle against hers. "At night when you're dreaming."

  "My nightmare is always the last seconds—before we crash. I always know it's going to end badly . . . but somehow my subconscious must think if I try hard enough . . . I'll rewrite history." He swallowed a sip of beer before continuing. "Cindy . . . has decided she's going to the police to confess what she did."

  "How do you feel about that?"

  "I don't know." Curt stared out at the growing darkness. "I've lived with this for so long . . . I'm not sure I want it to erupt all over again."

  "But, she would shoulder some of the blame-"

  "We were both guilty," he interrupted. "What good does her coming forward serve? I paid for us both."

  In the fading light, she couldn't read his implacable features. How would the confession impact Curt? The worst time of his life reawakened—for no real gain. Would the press be interested? She cringed for him . . . for his loss of privacy . . . all over again. And now—with so much more to lose. "Maybe she's hoping to feel better."

  He snorted. "That won't happen. But—she believes it can't be worse than what she's lived with since she ran."

  Releasing his hand, she rounded the table to hug him. "I'm sorry, Curt."

  "Everything will change . . ." His sigh weary, he clutched her to his chest as though half-expecting her to disappear. "I want my life back," he admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. "If Cindy stirs it all up again—I can't even imagine what to expect."

  "I didn't think about it that way." Her heart breaking for him, Shannon sniffed back tears.

  "At least before . . . I knew what my life was. I'd achieved a level of peace. I know who I am," he insisted. "I know what I've done . . . and just barely . . . I live with myself." His voice growing hoarse, he paused. "Maybe it isn't the greatest life. And . . . and maybe it's been sort of isolated—but at least it was mine."

  "You're a different person than you were at twenty."

  "What if she makes it worse, Shan? I've accepted my past. All the years I lost. My physical . . . limitations." He choked on the word. "What if she makes it worse? What if people hate me all over again?"

  "No one will ha-" Shaking, Shannon realized he was talking about Elizabeth. About her. About how she'd tortured him. And he was afraid. Of her. The man she was in love with had nearly been destroyed. By her. Nearly faint with shame and regret, she was grateful for the tears spilling from her eyes. Because there was no way to adequately explain what would appear to Curt like an over the top reaction.

  And still—she couldn't explain. Because Curtis had suffered enough blows for one day. If only she could take it all back. If only she could travel back in time and undo everything. Unpunish him.

  "I could lose my business. What if people hear the story . . . and they don't want someone like me doing their work? People who never even knew . . ." He swallowed convulsively. "Hell, I hadn't even thought of that. It was so long ago."

  Someone like me. As though he were a monster. God, she was going to be sick. "Have you . . . have you told Travis yet?"

  As though in a trance, Curt shook his head. "No one."

  "Do you w-want me to call him for you?" Barely able to contain the tremors enveloping her, Shannon was ashamed to admit she wanted to run. Far. Fast. Away. To fall apart over what she'd done. To pray for forgiveness. Because the last place she deserved to be was there . . . with him. Comforting him. When she'd damaged him so badly.

  "I guess-"

  Tears streaming down her face, Shannon didn't believe it was possible for her heart to ache more. As though someone was sitting on her chest—squeezing the life from her. "Do you want me to go, Curtis?"

  Finally lifting his gaze to meet hers, he released a shaky sigh. "I don't . . . know. I don't know what to feel. What to think. It's like I'm watching this happen to someone else."

  Wistful for something she couldn't have, she leaned in, caressing his cheeks, taking comfort in the rough stubble scratching her fingers. Though his beautiful face blurred in her watery eyes, she kissed him, pouring every ounce of love she had for him into the kiss. Her mouth moved over his as though it was their last moment together. She clung to him as though it truly was. Because when he discovered who she really was, Curtis would despise her. She would lose him forever. Their history couldn't be rewritten. And there was nothing she could do to change it.

  CURTIS WAS STILL SEATED on the deck an hour later. Hearing a truck approach, he recognized his brother's rig. The ping in his engine told him Trav still hadn't found the time to take it back to the dealer. Numb to the cooling breeze—he wondered when he would begin to feel again. He'd allowed Shannon to leave . . . when he'd wanted more than anything to ask her to stay. He needed her warmth. The connection he only felt with her. To a person who always made things better. More than better, he realized. The best. Shannon made him want to experience life again. Her presence reassured him that someday—everything might be right again. And when she'd kissed him, he'd felt as though she'd slipped inside and jump-started his soul.

  She doesn't deserve this. The circus his life was about to become. She might care about him, but she surely wouldn't want to associate with him now . . . with the negative attention he was about to unload on everyone he cared about. Travis and MaryJo. Four Seasons. If he really cared for her, he could wait for the story to unfold. For the press to get bored. For Cindy to do whatever the hell she was about to do. And not drag Shannon under, too. His mess would likely get worse. The last thing he wanted was for her to be hurt by him, too.

  "You're too lazy to answer the door now?"

  Curt mustered a half-hearted smile. "I see you spoke with Shannon."

  "I don't know about you, but I could sure use a beer." Without waiting for a response, Travis stepped through the French doors. Returning a few minutes later, he tossed him a sweatshirt before setting two beers on the patio table. "Okay, spill. What the hell is Cindy doing back here?"

  Chapter 13

  "So . . . this is for her benefit? Somehow she's gonna make herself feel better?" Travis took a pull off his beer.

  Curt had known his brother would be furious over learning that Cindy had been driving. But, he hadn't counted on this. "She thought she'd be able to forget-"
/>   "Forget?" Travis cut him off. "What if Mrs. Marshall could have been saved?" He dragged in a ragged breath. "That bitch left you to die, too. If that car hadn't come along-" His words choked in his throat. "She should be suffering."

  "She was terrified, Trav. So was I." In a perverse way, Curt was warmed by the barely contained fury in his brother's voice. For all the turmoil the last half day had brought him, the fact that his brother was angry—on his behalf, somehow made everything more bearable. "If my legs had worked, maybe I'd have run, too."

  "That's a load of crap." His chair crashed back. "You never would've left."

  If he never acknowledged another thing about himself, Curt knew his brother's words rang true. He wouldn't have fled. But, there was nothing like a big brother to jump in the middle of the fight. Willing to take a few punches while throwing several of his own. An image of his nephews floated before his eyes. Little Curt . . . and baby Sean—barely on the planet three months. Yet, they would share the same bond he held with Travis. Invisible to the eye sometimes, but with the strength of a thousand steel threads—binding them together. His nephews would be lifelong buds. Arguing and wrestling . . . Teasing and embarrassing each other every chance they got. But, they'd also be each other's staunchest defender when life delivered a shit bomb. Twenty-five years from now, they'd be sitting on a deck . . . shooting the breeze. Drinking beers and razzing one another. And protecting each other. No matter what.

  "If there'd been a way . . . you would've dragged yourself over to Mrs. Marshall's car. It's all in the transcripts." Travis' voice still sounded as though he wanted to choke someone. "The paramedics said they had to restrain you just so they could work on you."

  "I remember." A chill swept over him and he shivered despite the sweatshirt. He glanced across the table. His brother—so like himself—yet, so different. Travis had always been there for him. And always would be. The truth whispered over him. For the first time . . . Curt allowed himself to hear it. To accept it. As the gospel truth. Yet, there was so much he'd never told his brother. So much stuff churning inside him . . . Maybe it was finally time to let some of it out. To finally be honest with the only family he'd ever known.

  "I still have nightmares. Every single night, I relive the crash." Releasing the pent up breath swirling in his chest, he continued. "Every night . . . I wake up screaming. It's like . . . I'm trying to change the ending. As if that were possible." The weight of his confession rolled off him like a long-sitting boulder. "That's the reason I didn't want to stay with you after the surgery."

  "Jesus, Curt-"

  "I didn't want you to know," he interrupted, wanting to unload all of it before he lost his nerve. "I couldn't bear the thought of you feeling bad for me over another friggin' thing. Not when I'd already given you enough grief to last a lifetime."

  "All these years-" Eyes glinting, Travis jerked his gaze to the night sky, unwilling—or unable to look at him. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. "We could—damn it, Curt. We could've gotten you help-"

  "I know." He dragged an unsteady hand through his hair. "I . . . wanted to own it. I felt I deserved it."

  "All this time . . . you weren't even driving." When Travis eventually faced him, he shook his head. "You really are an idiot." Releasing a tortured breath, he offered him a half-hearted smile. "But, I'm callin' bullshit on the surgery. Admit it," he ordered. "You were just afraid of Hannah."

  Laughter erupted from his suddenly lighter chest, mingling with his brother's. The rich sound reassured him. "Well . . . that, too." Maybe things really would be okay. Such a huge, heavy confession . . . one he'd kept secret for years . . . and Travis hadn't missed a beat. Embarrassment washed over him. Why had he withheld it all these years? When all his brother had ever wanted—was to help him. The going-it-alone thing had seriously gotten old. Tonight, Curt decided. It would end. Because he damn well needed the help of a big brother. "So—how do I get through this thing with Cindy?"

  "We get out in front of it." Travis set his beer on the table. "You paid your dues. That won't be forgotten this time around." He sighed. "I've got my PR team on standby."

  "Is this necessary?" Curt dreaded what the coming weeks would entail.

  "You're borrowing them." He cut off any argument. "Jeanette will call you in the morning." Travis' eyes flashed determination. "If there's any press, my team will be ready to direct them to the facts. We release the records. If Cindy's story somehow changes . . . we drop the transcripts from that night. The trial records." He paused when Curt winced. "That you took all the blame . . . over the objection of your attorney. All of it. You did your time."

  "Sounds like overkill."

  "Shut up." Travis cut him off with a smirk. "Over your objections, we're going to dust off all the plaques. My team is going to remind everyone how much you've done for literacy in Mrs. Marshall's name."

  He shook his head. "This is gonna be a nightmare."

  "You keep your head down," he directed. "Your brain focused on work. You don't speak to the press unless Jeanette or her team tell you to."

  He stared at Travis, for the first time seeing him as a highly successful businessman instead of just his older brother. "And then it blows over?"

  Travis shrugged. "Basically."

  He took a pull from his longneck. "And then what? I get my life back?"

  "Yeah . . . but better. What do you want?" In typical brother fashion, he lobbed it back at him.

  Curt sat back in his chair, absently peeling the label from his bottle. "I want . . . to keep doing what I do now . . . but maybe without the guilt hanging around my neck. I'd like . . ." He released a startled breath. What the hell? He was going for broke tonight. "I'd like to not hate myself so much anymore."

  "I was hoping you'd finally get there someday." Travis averted his eyes, probably worried he'd start bawling. Several minutes passed . . . almost peacefully before his brother leveled his gaze at him. "You have the rest of your life back. What would you like to accomplish?"

  A strange sense of well-being began trickling through him as he realized it might be true. He'd never viewed his life as something holding promise. It had always been something to endure. To get through the best he could . . . while trying to make up for what he'd done. "I think I have what I want professionally. My business. Eventually, when the time is right . . . I want to expand."

  "What else?" His brother's voice held challenge. Maybe to see how honest Curt was willing to be.

  "You know . . . the usual stuff. Eventually . . . get married. Have a couple kids . . . in a few years."

  "You realize you're thirty-three, right? Kids aren't something that get easier as you age."

  "This new life hasn't even started yet—and you're trying to marry me off?"

  Travis' expression turned serious. "You know . . . for everything I've achieved professionally, none of it means much."

  Curt raised an eyebrow. "Dude—we came from nothing . . . and now you run a multi-gajillion dollar business. How can that mean nothing?"

  "I love my work, sure. I love Tiberius," he admitted.."I enjoy the challenge of creating new software. I like being successful." His brother's eyes were animated in a way Curt had never seen before—as though for this one night, he'd remove his mask, too. "But, none of it ever made me happy. None of it ever made me feel . . . anything. I got so used to the numb, empty space inside, I thought it was supposed to be there."

  "What are you trying to say?"

  Travis leveled a stare at him. "I'm saying I never knew what being happy meant until MaryJo. It's not that I was unhappy, exactly. But, meeting MaryJo—that's when I finally understood what happy feels like—to normal people."

  "I don't know what that means, Trav."

  "It means-" He sighed. "I could lose all of it . . . I could lose Tiberius. I could lose my house . . . and I'd be—fine." He waved a hand. "You know what I mean. Not fine, but like—whatever. I'll get it all back," he dismissed. "But—if I lost her-" He swallowed hard, reveal
ing a depth of emotion Curt had always assumed resided there, but was well hidden behind a joking smile. "MaryJo. My kids." He leveled a stare at him. "You. That's it. That's all I need."

  Heat scorched through his chest. Curt wanted to throw out a joke to cover the awkwardness—to make the sudden, hot rush of emotion go away. Yet, for all the years they'd never achieved anything close to this, he couldn't bear to do it now. "I feel the same way about you."

  "Good. Let's never talk about this again."

  He cracked up, relieved to break the tension. "As great as your life is, I still have a lot of baggage to work through before I can handle being someone's go-to guy. Give me a few years." His smile dissolved. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the table. "Have you ever wondered about me? Like—if I hadn't gone to jail . . . what would I have ever amounted to?"

  Travis' gaze lasered in on him, his eyes too much like his own. The scrutiny made him shift uncomfortably. "No. I've never thought that. Because if you hadn't turned yourself around, I would've eventually beaten it out of you."

  "But—would I have done it on my own?" He persisted, deeply curious. "I was directionless. If Felix hadn't taken me on-"

  "What does it matter now?" His brother leaned over the table, deliberately closing the space between them. It was his go-to intimidation move. "There's nothing special about you, Curt. You think you cornered the market on stupid?" He took a pull on his beer. "You can't change the past."

  "I've spent thirteen years proving that." Though his words held humor, Curt's heart thudded with the acknowledgment that he'd never reached this point before. Could he finally be ready? To move on? "But, I've been this way for so long. Am I really capable of changing?"

  Travis shook his head. "Sorry, no free pass from me." When his brother's gaze intensified, he sat up straighter. He recognized that look. He was about to get blasted. "Everyone is capable of changing if they want something bad enough."

  "Yeah, but-"

  His brother smirked. "Sack up, Curt. You're finally free to have whatever you want. All you have to do is go for it. We overcame the odds, bro." Sitting back, he tipped his bottle at him. "We survived hell as kids. And we walked out in one piece. The way I look at it . . . we're already lottery winners."