The Good Father

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “I have one more favor to ask,” she said, resting her hand on the baby mound beneath her shirt.

  “So ask.”

  “I need to know how I’d go about scheduling a visit for someone at the Stand. Not a woman. Or a child.”

  “You want to bring a man here?”

  “Yes. My husband. Ex-husband. My baby’s father...” She was blabbering. Talking too fast. Brett was probably never going to agree to the visit.

  “I’d like him to meet you and Sara...”

  “I’m happy to arrange a visit,” Lila said. “I can’t guarantee I’ll be available, but certainly one of the counselors can be. We don’t often deal with adult male victims since we aren’t equipped to house them here, but we’ve counseled a few.”

  “I’m not even sure he’ll agree to come with me.”

  “Don’t be disappointed if he doesn’t. From what you tell me, it could be a harder sell than he’s able to take on.”

  “Believe me, I know.”

  “But if you can get him to agree, you call me. I’ll arrange something.”

  “Tonight?”

  Lila’s pause prompted her to say, “If I can get him to agree, I want to get him to go before he has a chance to change his mind. I need to try this, before I can move into his home.”

  She was listening to her heart.

  Brett wouldn’t be allowed down in the bungalows. But that wasn’t what she needed him to see.

  “Oh. Okay, fine. Yes, if he agrees, you call, and I’ll get him in.”

  “Could you see if Lynn and Sara have plans for tonight? And Maddie? And Darin and Grant? Since they’re the only two men living in the complex? I know they aren’t victims, but... And some of the residents, too? If not, that’s fine, but I thought...I might only get this one shot at this, and I want him to meet some of the others who know and understand and are like...”

  Him, she’d been about to say. And stopped herself.

  She wanted him to meet the people whose names he’d recognize. People she believed he’d grown to care about—even without having met them.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Lila told her.

  And Ella crossed the easiest part of the plan off her mental checklist.

  * * *

  BRETT HAD HAD a meeting in San Francisco first thing Wednesday morning. Just a stop in to go over the monthly books at a local nonprofit gay and lesbian support house. He flew in and out of Burbank and made it home by midafternoon. But as tempted as he was to drive by the hospital, look for Ella’s car and then wait for her to get off shift just so he could assure himself she was fine, he took a roundabout way home to avoid the hospital altogether.

  Changing into his golf clothes, he thought he’d take himself out to hit nine holes. Saw his bike and changed his mind. And his clothes.

  In black jeans, a black leather jacket and shades, he felt free, and completely innocuous as he took Coastal Road One and sped along the ocean for more than an hour. He’d always loved riding. From the first time he could remember being on the back of his dad’s bike. He’d been given the ride—which he’d been begging for for what seemed like forever—as a gift for his seventh birthday.

  He’d ridden with Jeff for a while in college.

  And then quit.

  Because eventually, he’d shut out everything in his life that reminded him of the good times he’d had growing up.

  Because every single time he revisited them, they led to the bad times. And the pain of their loss served no purpose.

  He’d been a fool.

  He hadn’t had to lose the joy of riding.

  He pulled into his driveway just as the sun was starting to set. Maybe he’d go out for dinner.

  Go down to the corner and have a sandwich and a beer.

  He hadn’t seen Ella’s car as he’d gone roaring up to the garage. She’d parked it in the gravel parking area to the side of the house—put there by the former owners who’d used the old home as a bed-and-breakfast.

  But he saw her as she stood up from a white wicker rocker on his front porch and came toward him.

  He stared. Felt his jaw drop. And just kept staring.

  In jeans that hugged every inch of her long legs and a tight, short-sleeved T-shirt, the evidence of their child was on display for him to see.

  She’d left her hair down, and it curled around her arms and shoulders, her breasts.

  “It’s not polite to stare.”

  He’d give anything to change his past. And be able to scoop her up and carry her to bed.

  “You...look...beautiful.”

  “I’ve come to ask a favor, Brett.”

  He’d give her the moon if he could. Problem was, most of what she needed, he didn’t have. “Ask. You know I’ll do what I can.” Hooking his helmet over the handlebar of his bike, he smoothed a hand over hair that was too short to stick up far, and walked toward her. Intending to take her into the house.

  She stopped on the driveway.

  “I want you to trust me. Completely trust me,” she said.

  Frowning, Brett studied her face, wishing he still had the ability to read her. “I do trust you. Trust has never been an issue between us.”

  “I mean really trust. As in, you’ll go along with whatever I say—whatever I ask of you over the next hour or so. No matter what. Just for an hour. Not a lifetime.”

  An hour he could do. Couldn’t he? An hour was only sixty minutes.

  Even he wasn’t convinced by his own nod.

  “I mean it, Brett. But we’ll take it slow. If you really can’t handle it, as in you’re going to have a heart attack or throw up or start seeing stars or something, you tell me and we’ll stop.”

  He had no idea what they were talking about. And Ella’s expression was as serious as he’d ever seen it.

  He nodded again.

  “So, just so we understand each other, in this exercise, if you start to struggle, you have to tell me.”

  He got it. Loud and clear. She was trying to force him to share himself with her.

  Standing toe-to-toe with her, Brett, careful not to allow any part of his body to touch any part of hers, looked her straight in the eye. “Just so we understand each other,” he echoed, “I will do my utmost to try to do as you ask.” He could only give what he had to give. But he had to give all of it.

  Nothing had changed.

  And there was no room for game playing between him and Ella.

  Life had been serious from the day they’d met.

  Because he’d come to her with issues.

  And she’d loved him enough to take them on.

  He’d give anything to be able to love her back that much.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  ELLA WAS MORE nervous than she’d ever been as she took the shortest route she knew. A five-minute drive.

  Brett had never been to The Lemonade Stand. Not even to the land he’d purchased to have it built on.

  He’d paid for it. Others had done the work.

  It was time for him to stop paying and start reaping some of the benefits.

  She hoped.

  The exact location of The Lemonade Stand was known only to those who’d had occasion to be there. Brett’s mother actually owned the two city blocks housing the shelter and its holdings—gifted to her from Brett much as he’d planned to gift Ella his house. She hadn’t missed the connection.

  Her sweaty palms slid along the leather steering wheel, leaving a visible sheen behind. She wondered if he noticed. Three more minutes and they’d be there.

  “Your hands are shaking.”

  “I’m nervous.”

  “Me, too.”

  Well. There, then. They were off to a good start. And were a couple minutes away from the possibility of all hell breaking loose.

  “I’ve been an ass, El. I confused controlling my actions with controlling destiny.”

  She had no idea what he was talking about. And couldn’t focus. Which upset her more because Brett was finally doing what s
he’d always prayed for.

  He was talking to her. Not all stilted as though he was choosing every word, but just like a normal person.

  She turned the last corner. In about thirty seconds, Brett was going to be facing what could possibly be the toughest challenge of his life. She completely understood that.

  She also believed, now, that he was up for it. What she couldn’t believe was him—when he told her he couldn’t do it. He could. He just didn’t know that yet. But he thought she didn’t know because she wasn’t listening to him.

  And he was right. She wasn’t listening to him. She was listening to his heart. Brett had taken up residence there. Waiting for her to listen to him. To really see him. So here she was, more than a decade late, but ready to do what he’d been begging her to do since she’d met him—to show him the way to love her back.

  They’d arrived. She pulled into the nondescript parking lot and stopped the car.

  “What is this place?” he asked, looking around at the small space. Over a hedge was a thrift shop. Farther down the block the computer center where Nora was working. And a street sign.

  He was going to figure it out. He knew what businesses the Stand owned and operated. He knew the address.

  So she didn’t give him time. Getting out, she hurried around to meet him and approached the outer door to the shelter. She’d sent Lila a text before they’d left Brett’s house.

  Someone should be waiting for them inside.

  He stopped just short of the door. “Wait. What is this place?” A look of horror crossed his face. “What are we doing here?”

  He was too quick for her.

  “Brett?” Her voice was calm. “You promised.”

  He looked at her. At the door. He knew.

  “Please? Just come inside with me.”

  He stopped cold. But didn’t run away. “No one knows who you are.” She was giving him that. Taking his hand, she opened the door and pulled him in behind her.

  The group that waited for them took even Ella’s breath away. Everyone she’d ever met at the Stand was there. All crammed into the public vestibule. They wore welcoming smiles.

  Not one of them, not even Lila, who she didn’t immediately see in the crowd, knew what she and Brett knew.

  They were there to give support to a victim. None of them knew they were meeting their founder.

  * * *

  SEARCHING FOR LILA, needing the other woman to smooth her way, Ella led Brett to the group of people. The managing director always hung back; she knew that.

  “Hi. I’m Maddie Bishop.” The slim, young blonde stepped forward, her speech slurred but still discernible. “I live here, and I’m married and have a baby, who I take very good care of.”

  “Good, Maddie.” Lynn Bishop, still in her scrubs, stepped forward. “Welcome,” she said. “Lila was unfortunately just called to an emergency, so I’m in charge. This is highly unusual, actually a first, but Ella asked to have some support out here for you, so here we are. I’m Lynn Bishop, and you just met Maddie, whose biggest challenge is to talk to men without fear.”

  Others followed suit. Introducing themselves. Telling Brett and Ella just a little bit about their reasons for being at the Stand. Lila had come through in a huge way. She’d understood what Ella had needed—for Brett to see that there was a world where victims lived and thrived and learned to do much more than merely survive.

  Not just to know it, but to experience it. To feel it.

  As Chloe had done. And Nora and so many women and children before them.

  Nora introduced herself. She looked better, less vacant, but still far too thin. Ella told her so, asking about Henry as Nora gave her a hug. The baby was in the nursery being watched over by a grandmotherly resident who hadn’t wanted to come out front.

  One by one, people came up to them. Brett greeted each one of them with detached politeness. He was friendly. Charming. But gave no indication that he recognized any of the names he was hearing.

  She knew he had to recognize them. Additionally, he knew far more about these people than they were telling him.

  It was also clear that none of them had a clue as to who he was. There was no reason why they should. Ella had kept his secret. But he’d had to trust her on that one.

  Her heart was in her throat, but Brett didn’t appear to be feeling anything at all as he took in the scene around him as though from a distance.

  Scared all over again, Ella wondered if she’d done too much too soon. Exposing him to an overload of emotion when he’d allowed none for so long. He was locking himself away again. She could feel him drifting...

  But an overload of emotion was what it was going to take to show him he wasn’t going to suddenly sprout horns because he allowed himself to feel.

  And what better place than The Lemonade Stand to take his chance? She felt sick. Her knees were shaking, and she looked for a place to sit down.

  And then Sara Havens was there. “This is Sara, Brett,” Ella said, ready to split apart at the seams. “I’ve spent the past couple months getting to know her. Sara, this is my...ex-husband.”

  She’d brought him there to out him. To force him to face himself, for his sake, and hers, too, and for the sake of the child she carried.

  But mostly because her heart wouldn’t let her leave Brett—even during all of the years they’d spent apart.

  “Welcome,” Sara said. “I’ve enjoyed my time with Ella. And I’d like a chance to speak with you, as well. So—” she glanced at Ella “—does your ex-husband have a name?”

  Brett looked at Ella. She held his gaze. She was in control—this was her show and the hour wasn’t up—but she was going to leave it up to him how he played it from there.

  His gaze bored into hers and she watched as the light dimmed, as moisture started to appear, and then something changed. Something entered Brett’s gaze that she didn’t recognize.

  “He does,” Brett said. His chin tightened. His jaw got stiff. “I’m Brett Ackerman.”

  Not one person reacted, other than out of the same polite interest he’d given them. They were strangers, there if he cared to join them. If not, they’d move on.

  Ella held her breath. He could leave it at that. No one would ever know who’d visited them.

  He could continue to hide away in the safe home he’d created for himself someplace deep inside. But it was a home he’d have to live in alone for the rest of his life.

  If he turned away now, he was committing himself to a lifetime of solitary confinement.

  And leaving her and their child out in the cold... Her panicked thoughts were interrupted when Brett spoke again.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Sara, Lynn, Maddie...everyone. What Ella needs...the reason she’s called us all here together today, is because she needs me to tell you...that... I am the founder of The Lemonade Stand.”

  * * *

  THE ENTIRE ROOM went silent. Brett could hear every breath he took. Could feel the beating of his heart in his chest.

  Sara Havens, for all of the glowing reports he’d read about her ability to handle any situation with grace and calm, gaped at him. Lynn Bishop, a woman he’d pictured as much larger and sterner than the slender, graceful, strawberry blonde she was, was the first to speak.

  “You’re our mysterious founder?” She was one of the Stand’s senior employees. Next to Lila McDaniels and Sara.

  “I am.”

  He could feel the stares all around him. The residents. He’d recognized every single one of them. By name. By story. Not by their faces.

  “Ella?” Sara was looking between the two of them, the question tugging at every sinew of her body.

  “Yes.” Just the one word, but Brett had a feeling she’d told Sara far more than he was comfortable with.

  He didn’t like how the woman looked at him. As if she knew everything about him. And had expectations. As if she wanted to hug him and punch him all at once.

  But perhaps that was just his take on th
e situation.

  A low buzz started in the room full of people. His instinct was to leave. As quickly as possible.

  For a moment he thought he might need a seat. Or an ambulance. He couldn’t breathe all that well.

  Fresh air was all he needed. Space.

  To be left alone.

  “You are him.” Maddie stepped forward, sounding as though she had a couple tongues in her mouth.

  She’d been deprived of oxygen at birth, was neurologically challenged, Brett knew. He also knew that the young woman had been married right out of high school to a man who’d kept her locked in a room and beaten her on and off over the next decade.

  “I want to thank you for paying for The Lemonade Stand,” she said, enunciating with obvious effort. “I am very happy here, and if you did not do this, I would not be happy. Or have a baby.”

  “I’m happy, too.” A tall man, also obviously challenged, stepped forward, putting his arm around Maddie. “I am in love and have a wife and so my brother can be happy, too.” Darin Bishop—Brett would have known even if the man hadn’t introduced himself.

  And so it went. One by one people came forward again, thanking Brett. Telling him how he’d saved their lives.

  One by one, he listened. He smiled. He encouraged them.

  And one by one, they pierced his heart.

  * * *

  “YOUR EX-HUSBAND, the one you came here to talk about two days ago, is our founder.” Sara stood just off to Brett’s right side with Ella, watching him.

  “Yes.”

  “You knew he was the founder of this place?”

  “I was married to him when he bought the land. So yes, I knew.” She’d heard the dreams first. For a couple years. She’d helped with the plans. Had thought The Lemonade Stand was going to be their project. Together.

  And then he’d cut her out of his life. And away from everything she’d invested her heart in for so many years.

  She’d invested in Brett because she loved him.

  And she was never going to be free of him for the same reason. It wasn’t about control or manipulation, being a groupie or too dependent, or being a victim. Some of those things played a part, but ultimately, between her and Brett, it was the love that mattered.

  That was the bond that was stronger than all the others.