by Sandra Owens
“I can explain.”
Just like that, her fury fizzled out. He wasn’t worth her anger, wasn’t worth a miniscule thought in her head. “There’s nothing you can say that I care to hear, Aaron. Go away.”
She turned to go back in her apartment, and he grabbed her arm. “Come on, runt, just listen, okay? Five minutes is all I ask.”
Calling her runt wasn’t winning him any points. “Five minutes is five minutes too long.” She jerked her arm away.
His brown eyes flashed with anger. “You always were a bitch, Charlie. Always thought you were such a hotshot pilot. You’ll be sorry—”
“I’m sorry all right. Sorry I ever met you.”
“You’re gonna wish you’d listened to me.” With that, he turned and strode away, shooting her a bird over his shoulder.
“Screw you, too, asshole.”
Why should she listen to anything he had to say? As she closed and locked the door, unease slithered down her back. In her anger, she’d not given a thought to him being on her suspect list. Maybe she should have heard him out.
Parked in the driveway of his parents’ house, Ryan slipped his cell phone back into his pocket after texting Charlie. He probably shouldn’t have sent it, but she hadn’t included “no texting” in her list of don’ts. And dammit, he could still smell her on his skin, and it was driving him crazy.
As he walked up the sidewalk, his dad stepped out. “Ah, there’s my car.”
“Sorry,” Ryan said, dropping the keys in his father’s hand. “I guess I should have asked to borrow it.”
“That’s the polite thing to do, but you seemed to have other things on your mind at the time.” He put his arm around Ryan’s shoulders. “Where’s the woman you left with? Your mom wanted to meet her.”
“Maybe next time. She had to return home.” Or maybe never if he couldn’t do what Charlie needed from him. It felt as if someone had stuck the point of a knife in his heart at the thought of no cherub in his life.
“Probably for the best considering we’re about to have a family sit-down.”
As far back as Ryan could remember, his family had sit-downs whenever there were important things to discuss. He wondered what was up. More times than not, growing up, it had been because one of them was in trouble. Since they were all adults now, it must have something to do with his parents. Maybe his dad had finally decided to retire. He had more than enough years in on the force, but had always sworn he’d go stir crazy without his job.
As they walked into the living room, Ryan tensed at seeing Patrick sitting on a chair facing the sofa where their mother sat. Even though knowing a family sit-down would include Patrick, Ryan still had the desire to plant his fist in his brother’s face.
And that was Charlie’s whole point, wasn’t it? If he couldn’t forgive his brother, he’d never be able to put his wife to rest. He wanted to do it for Charlie, he just didn’t know if he could because that would also mean forgiving Kathleen.
“Sit, son,” his father said, pushing him toward the couch.
Ryan took a seat next to his mom, and she took his hand, squeezing her fingers around his. His dad settled on the love seat next to Megan. Unease rippled through him as Patrick exchanged glances with the others.
“What’s this about?” he asked.
Patrick cleared his throat, then cleared it again. “I told them.”
“What? Told them what, Patrick?”
“Everything.”
Anger burned through him so intensely that he thought his skin might be on fire. He’d kept the secret of Kathleen’s betrayal for so long, not wanting to besmirch her memory in his family’s eyes. It was his choice, not his brother’s, whether or not to tell them. The tears rolling down Patrick’s face infuriated him.
When Ryan tried to stand, intending to beat the shit out of his brother, his mother held on to his hand. Because he loved his mom and respected her above all others, he let her pull him back down. It was that or drag her along with him to get to Patrick.
“It didn’t mean anything, I swear.”
Ryan stared at his brother, so many responses to that statement crowding his mind that his throat closed up on him. It didn’t mean anything that you, my own brother, fucked my wife? It didn’t mean anything that you got her pregnant? It didn’t mean anything that you let me spend a fucking year wallowing in misery, wondering what I had done wrong because you were too much of a coward to face me like a man?
Finally settling on the one that now mattered, he said, “You had to know why I crawled into a hole like a damned hurt dog, licking my wounds this past year, and you let me. You let me, Patrick.”
Before he really did kill Patrick, he pulled away from his mother’s grasp and left the room. He had no destination; he just walked. It wasn’t until he came to the ladder leading up to the tree house his dad had built for his kids that Ryan was even cognizant of his surroundings. The tree house was still there?
It had once been a place he and Patrick had taken over, doing their best to keep their sisters out. Hadn’t worked, though. Colleen and Megan had been determined little things. In the end, the four of them had spent hours up there, laughing over dirty jokes they wouldn’t dare repeat in front of their parents, telling each other secrets, doing all the crazy stuff kids did in a tree house.
Ryan climbed up. The twelve-by-twelve-foot wood floor hadn’t rotted, and the beanbag seats weren’t covered with dust. Did his dad keep the place clean? In his heart, Ryan knew it was his father who still cherished the hideaway of his kids.
He stood on wood that had held him as a boy, unafraid his adult weight would be too much. In his mind’s eye, he saw the ghosts of the children they had once been as they laughed and played in the treetop. As adults, even when separated by time and distance, the bond between remained. No matter their hurts, no matter their anger, they would kill to protect each other, and they would just as willingly die for each other.
When you can forgive your brother . . . Charlie’s voice suddenly filled his mind. No, he wouldn’t kill Patrick, but how to forgive him?
“Son?”
Ryan glanced over his shoulder to see the top of his dad’s head. The tree house belonged to Michael O’Connor’s children, and he wouldn’t step any higher without permission. Love for the man who had loved him back without reservation for as far back as he could remember—the man who respected his son so much that he wouldn’t set foot on the floor he himself had built without Ryan telling him he could—brought tears to Ryan’s eyes.
“I think I would be hurting more if not for Charlie,” he said, knowing it was true. He turned and opened his arms, welcoming his father’s embrace.
As his dad climbed up and hugged him, Ryan watched over his father’s shoulder, unsurprised, as first his mom, then Megan, then Patrick followed him up, crowding into space only meant for children.
“You sure this tree house can hold us all?” he asked, half crying, half laughing.
“Son, when I build something, I build it to last. You understand?”
He did. Whether tree houses or families, Michael O’Connor was a master builder.
“I love you, Dad,” he said.
“And you, your brother, and your sisters are my heart, Ryan. You gotta let go of your hurt, boy.”
Before Ryan could respond, his mom was there, hugging him and his dad. He turned and buried his face against his mom’s neck. “Tell me how to forgive them,” he said, trying but failing to hold back his tears.
“I’m sick over what Patrick did, believe me,” his mom said through her own tears, as she wiped his away. “But he’s still my son as are you. Your father and I love you both, you know that. For our sake, please just listen to him. If you want to beat him up after that, I won’t stop you.”
“I’ll even help you do it,” Megan said, glaring at Patrick through watery eyes.
She would, too, and as Ryan glanced around at his family, all of their cheeks wet, even his father’s, the love in his heart
for these people almost brought him to his knees.
The only O’Connor not joining in the family hug was his brother. Patrick stood near the ladder. “I’m sorry, Ryan,” he said, his voice trembling. “So damn sorry. If I could do it over again . . . God, I wish I had it to do over again. It’s killing me knowing I did something so unforgivable. I don’t blame you for hating me. I hate myself.”
The funny thing was, Ryan didn’t hate his brother, could never hate him. He just didn’t like him right then. But what was the saying? It took two to tango. Either one of them could have said no—both of them absolutely should have, but hadn’t. Patrick wasn’t perfect, but neither was Kathleen. Who was?
As the fire burning through his blood cooled, Ryan’s thoughts turned to Charlie. She was who mattered to him now.
When you can forgive your brother . . .
He finally got it. He had to forgive his brother and his wife. Not for Charlie, but for him. It was the only way he could move forward, and she was the way forward. Slashing the back of his hand across his face, he cleared away his tears, then held out his hand.
With hesitant steps, Patrick came to them, and Ryan pulled him into their family’s embrace. “I forgive you,” he said, meeting Patrick’s gaze. At his brother’s surprised expression, he said it again, meaning it. “I forgive you, but if you ever touch Charlie, I will kill you.” Even as he said the words, he knew she was a stronger woman than Kathleen had been, and that Charlie would never hurt him the way his wife had.
“Who’s Charlie?” his mother asked, openly sobbing.
“My future. I hope.”
“I think I’d feel better if you gave me a black eye,” his brother said.
Megan narrowed her eyes at Ryan. “Charlie’s a female, right? I mean, you’re not gay, right?”
“If he was, he would still be my son,” his mother sobbed out.
“This family is going to be the death of me,” his father said.
“Someone’s trying to kill her,” Ryan blurted.
Before he could blink twice, his family began to make plans for every single one of them to travel with him to Pensacola to help save the woman he loved.
And as soon as he caught up with the stubborn woman, he was going to tell her that he loved her, and only her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
One would think a former SEAL and two cops—his dad and his brother—should be able to find the bastard out to get Charlie. That didn’t even take into account a mother and sister on a mission to see him happy again, and if that meant a stunt plane pilot needed saving, then nothing was going to stop them from coming, too.
“A stunt plane pilot? Are you kidding?” his mom had asked, a wide grin on her face.
“Oh, I like her already,” his sister said.
By the time they’d gotten organized and booked six tickets on the first available flight early the following morning—Megan’s husband not wanting to miss out on the rescue—Ryan was ready to put a hurt on someone. He needed to get back to Florida so he could keep Charlie safe. Because he’d been wrapped up in his own problems, he had made the stupidest mistake of his life by letting her go home without him.
They had landed in Pensacola early on the morning of Charlie’s air show. He’d almost texted her to expect him, but she’d said not to come near her until he could look her in the eyes and say that he’d forgiven his wife and brother.
Maybe it was male pride that had him showing up at the airfield—the O’Connor family in tow—without calling to warn her, but dammit, he was just following her orders. He would stand in front of her and tell her what was in his heart.
Having neglected to ask Charlie where she’d moved her plane to, their first stop had been Pensacola Aviation Center. Neither the airport manager nor the head mechanic were there. Both had left earlier for Jackson Field in Alabama, where the show would take place.
The airport in Alabama was an hour away, and as Ryan raced west on I-10, his concern for Charlie increased with each mile. “Try this on for size,” he said, getting the attention of his family. “Someone wants to hurt Charlie, that I don’t doubt. Maybe the previous incidents were a kind of test. See what he-she-they could get away with, the added benefit being to shake her up, rattle her.”
“Who does she suspect?” his dad asked.
“We made a list.” He ran down the different names and reasons.
Patrick leaned forward from the backseat and put his hand on Ryan’s shoulder. Although he was still working on getting back on solid ground with Patrick, Ryan was happy to have his brother at his back. The large hand on Ryan’s shoulder was familiar and comforting.
“Of those, who hates her the most?” Patrick asked.
“I’d have to say her stepsister, Ashley. She blames Charlie for sending her father to prison, and then to make matters worse, Charlie testified against him at his parole hearing.” Knowing they would ask, he told them the circumstances and Charlie’s role, along with the history of the stepsisters. “She’s made no secret of the fact that she hates Charlie for ruining her life. Charlie said that Ashley was one of the most popular girls at school, but when her father was arrested, her boyfriend broke up with her and her friends shunned her, so she quit school. Last Charlie heard, Ashley was waitressing to earn a living.”
“Charlie’s a hero,” his mother declared. “Imagine the courage it must have taken to stand alone against her family and do the right thing. Do I have to keep calling my future daughter-in-law Charlie? Is that a nickname?”
“Whoa there, Mom. Getting ahead of me on that one.”
Megan snickered. “If you’re not careful, she’ll propose to Charlie for you.”
“Charlene, her name is Charlene.”
“Oh, that’s a lovely name.” His mom punched his dad. “Do you remember that pretty girl you liked before you met me? Her name was Charlene.”
“I don’t remember liking any girl but you, A mhuirnín.”
“Good answer, Dad,” Ryan said as it hit him how he’d known the Gaelic word for darling—hearing his father say it to his mother over the years.
His father chuckled. “I’m not stupid, you know. Back to your woman, son. Since her stepfather has more reason than not to want Charlene alive, the only one of those people on her list that has a real motive is the stepsister. Hate can devour a person, driving them to do things they wouldn’t normally do, even murder. It sounds like you want to pin it on her boss. I’m not so sure. Even though he has one incident of stalking a woman that you know of, but—”
“But if his behavior hasn’t escalated, I can’t see him deciding to kill her just because she wouldn’t go out with him,” Patrick said, cutting in.
“What about the ex-boyfriend?” Sean, Megan’s husband, asked.
“I don’t know.” Ryan moved into the right lane to pass a slower-moving car.
“They should start giving tickets to drivers poking along in the fast lane,” his cop father said. “We’ll get back to the boyfriend in a minute. Before Patrick,” he turned and wacked Patrick on the side of his head, “so rudely interrupted me, I was going to say that although I don’t see her boss as a killer, there is one thing to think about. This Ashley, does she have access to Charlie’s—”
Ryan’s mother reached forward and tapped her husband’s shoulder. “Charlene sounds so much better, dear.”
At his father’s huge sigh, Ryan glanced at him, getting a grin and a wink from his dad. Damn, he loved his family—boisterous, interrupting people that they were.
“Of course, love, she shall be Charlene henceforth,” his father said.
“To answer the question you were trying to ask,” Ryan said, “no, she doesn’t have access, but even if she did, Charlie . . . Charlene swears she wouldn’t know how to sabotage a plane.”
“Then if it’s her, she has help.”
Ryan nodded. “Yeah, if it’s Ashley trying to hurt Charlie, she’s got someone helping her.”
“Charlene,” his mom corrected.<
br />
Charlie, Charlene, cherub, girlfriend—didn’t matter. All that did matter was finding her and making sure she stayed safe. “In Afghanistan, I learned to trust my instincts. Mine are telling me that whoever is helping her, it’s Ashley behind this, and taking Charlene out while doing what she loves best and in front of thousands of spectators . . . she would get off on that.” He eased his grip on the steering wheel before he broke it in half.
The line of cars trying to get into Jackson Field was at a dead stop. After a few minutes of impatiently waiting for it to inch along, Ryan unbuckled his seat belt. “One of you get behind the wheel. I’m going on foot.”
Not surprised when his dad and Patrick joined him, he jogged with them down the road toward the ticket stand. The line there was also long, and frustrated, he joined the end of it.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” his dad said, leaving him and Patrick to wait.
Ryan glared at the backs of all the heads in front of him. “Maybe I could pay someone to let me cut in ahead.” The line moved a few feet. He needed to get inside that fence ASAP. They moved forward again. At least the line was moving faster than the cars trying to get in. When they were back in Boston packing, his dad had given each of them handheld radios so no matter what, they could stay in touch. Ryan’s crackled to life.
“Come to the gate, son,” his dad said.
Patrick rolled his eyes as he pushed Ryan out of the line. “The old man’s doing his Irish magic again.”
Sure enough, his dad stood talking to a cop in uniform at the entrance. When Ryan and Patrick jogged up, the officer waved them through. “What’d you tell him?” Ryan asked as they pushed past the people milling around.