Where There’s A Will

by Stacy Gail

  Total bachelor pad. She wasn’t surprised in the least.

  She moved to a functional bookcase to peruse his books. Stuck in amongst a jumble of mechanical textbooks, small business guides and ignored instruction booklets, she spied a folded piece of construction paper. Curious, she plucked it out and unfolded it to discover a lovingly laid-out scrapbook page, with a picture of Coe framed in bright yellow stars. The photo’s background, Garden Court from at least a decade ago, looked just as it did today. The only way she could tell that time had passed was that Coe, standing with arms crossed and scowling at whoever held the camera, was a skinny adolescent in ripped jeans and a sleeveless metal band T-shirt. His hair was pushed back behind his ears, and he had an eye that looked to be in the process of swelling shut.

  “I bet I know who took this picture.” She held up the old scrapbook page when he finally hung up. “Lucy, right?”

  “Who else?” He wandered over to the sectional and flopped down, with one leg hanging over the armrest. “She’s always made a lot of noise about capturing the big moments in life. She even made artwork out of that one and gave it to me, can you believe it? She’s such a girl.”

  And he’d cared enough about it to keep it. “Was this a big moment?”

  “I don’t know. Lucy thought so.”

  “Why?”

  “Beats me.”

  He knew, the stinker. “Looks like you had the beginnings of a black eye. Maybe that had something to do with it?”

  There was a long thread of silence before his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Maybe we do need to talk about this, after all.”

  “Talk about what?”

  “About big moments that shape us into who we are now. Parents. Asshole fathers.”

  Her heart softened as she carefully put the page back where she found it. “I’m a good listener, if you’re in the mood to talk.”

  “I’m in the mood to share. See the difference?”

  All at once she was very glad she’d driven her own car over. “I see I can always take off if I don’t like how things go.”

  “And here I thought you were tougher than that.” He held out his hand, and like an idiot she sank down next to him before she could consciously pull the emergency brake on herself. “I thought women were all about sharing the feels.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t just say that.”

  “So you’re not all about the feels?”

  “At the moment I’m about feeling all of you with all of me.” With a smile designed to distract him away from the mine-laden path he’d opened up, she leaned into his space until her lips threatened his. “Who needs to talk when we communicate so much better without words?”

  “Miranda.” He sighed her name, as if she were either a source of great joy or regret, she couldn’t tell which. Then his arms slid around her and he shifted until they were both lying on their sides. She was surprised when he avoided her mouth, instead coaxing her face into the space under his chin.

  “Coe? What are—”

  “One. Two. Three. Four.”

  “Oh, my God.” For a moment she was thoroughly floored before laughter burst free, and she wound her arms around him to give as good as she got. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Has anyone ever told you you’re crazy?”

  “Six, and no. Seven...”

  “Well, you are. And hilarious.” She kissed his neck, then tasted him with her tongue. The faint salty flavor of him was her idea of heaven. “And really quite sexy.”

  A big hand glided down her spine to give her bum a smack. “Don’t make me lose count. Ten. Eleven.”

  “You missed a couple.”

  “Sh. Thirteen.”

  “Where’d twelve go?”

  “Gah. Fourteen. And fourteen again to make up for skipping twelve.”

  She laughed again as he counted it out, her muscles relaxing as the warmth from his body rolled over her like a healing wave. If anyone had told her Coe Rodas would grow up to be a master at the twenty-second hug, she would find a way to ask with great respect if they had forgotten to take their medication. Lucy was right; he wasn’t a natural-born snuggle bunny. He got antsy when anyone stood too close. Casual physical contact—hand-holding or an arm around the waist or shoulder—had always been avoided back in the day. Intimacy had been for sex only. This kinder, gentler Coe took some getting used to.

  “I always wondered why you had such a hang-up when it came to being close.” The words slipped into the silence that had fallen after he’d reached twenty, a silence she’d thought he would fill. Instead, he seemed content to let it go until she couldn’t take it anymore. “You didn’t used to like hugging.”

  “I didn’t used to like a lot of things when I was a kid. Wanting to hug someone made you a weak sissy. Hand-holding was the human way of keeping others on a tight leash. And I had no clue why people kissed each other, even on the cheek, if it didn’t lead to immediate fucking.” His sigh moved them both before he slid a hand into the back pocket of her jeans. He seemed to enjoy that position immensely, and she smiled when he gave her bum a squeeze. “I was a moron, but I have an excuse. I didn’t know any better. Things like hugs and shit...they just didn’t exist in my world.”

  By degrees, her smile faded. His confession had her teetering on the knife edge that existed between wanting to reach out, and maintaining a safe emotional distance. If she didn’t know, she wouldn’t care. So she shouldn’t ask. She wouldn’t...

  “What did exist in your world?”

  Oh, hell.

  “Violence.” The single word dropped into the quiet atmosphere like a drop of poison into a still pool. “There were fists to the face that caused broken noses and teeth to be spat out in a puddle of blood. There were backhanded slaps for not answering loudly enough, or too loudly. There were openhanded slaps for not having a meal prepared at the exact moment that hunger showed up. Then there was the special combination of punching and kicking, usually reserved for whenever a hint of spirit dared to surface. That caused cracked ribs, internal injuries, broken and dislocated fingers that were held up in feeble defense, concussions complete with memory loss, and a jaw that had to be wired shut on two separate occasions.”

  Quiet anguish crept over her and pressed down, an awful monstrosity she didn’t know how to banish. What truly made it unbearable was that no matter how sick it made her, it was still nothing compared to what Coe had to have felt his whole life. His growing-up years had been a nightmare, where no concept of a healthy, positive love had been evident. Family translated into fear, pain and hopelessness. Becoming one half of a romantic couple meant either being monstrously brutal or a helpless victim.

  No wonder he’d pushed her away so often in the past. He hadn’t wanted to become either of those things, and he hadn’t known there were other options.

  “I need to say something,” she said, keeping her face tucked under his chin. It was the only way she could talk. If she saw him now, she’d cry like an idiot and ruin everything. “When I do, you need to understand that I can feel the ache of pity for the boy you once were, without taking anything away from the man you are now. Are we clear on this?”

  There was a beat of silence. “We’re clear.”

  Good. One hurdle down. “You’re a miracle. A beating-the-odds kind of miracle that shouldn’t be here, yet here you are. I don’t know if it’s because you learned love and compassion thanks to your friendship with Lucy, or if you were smart enough to recognize your father was a monster, or if you were just too stubborn to let that madness infect you. Maybe it was a combination of the three. Whatever it was that made you the man you are today, I’m proud of you. I’m proud I know you. I’m proud I’m here with you now. And while my heart hurts that you were forced to go through hell while growing up, I don’t know that you would be who you are today if you hadn’t been forged
in that kind of fire. Does that make sense?”

  “I...” His voice was hoarse. He had to stop to clear his throat, and his hand moved to hold her head more firmly against his neck. “Mmm-hmm.”

  The careful answer and the sound of his tight swallow, as if his throat had closed, almost made her smile. She understood. Hers was more than a little knotted up as well. “I was never clear on whether or not your parents were still alive. I remember having the impression they were already gone.”

  She felt his shoulder move. “When I was still in high school my mom died after suffering a stroke from a blood clot. Doc Benson said it was probably from an old injury, so there’s no telling which beating finally did her in. That hit me hard, because I’d been protecting her during the last couple years of her life, and I thought she was in the clear. That’s what that photo’s all about,” he added, at last allowing her look up at him. His eyes were bloodshot, but without any trace of wetness. She doubted he could remember what decade it was when he last allowed himself to shed a tear. “The day Lucy took that picture was the day I finally stepped in and gave back to my dad some of the punishment he’d always meted out. As far I know, after that day he never laid a finger on my mom. He was too scared of what I’d do to him.”

  Typical bully. All anyone had to do was scratch the surface to uncover the coward hiding inside. “Is he still around?”

  “Yeah, but back when you and I were together, I didn’t have any contact with him. At that time, I felt the same way you do about your father—he was dead to me. But over the years...I don’t know.” He shrugged again. “I eventually figured out that holding onto all that anger and resentment didn’t hurt him. It only hurt me. I didn’t want to give that fucker any more power over me, so I let it go. All of it.”

  A deep, unnamable yearning burrowed deep into her chest, even as she struggled to understand. “What do you mean, you let it go? How?”

  “I did my best to forgive and forget,” came the simple reply, stunning her. “I still struggle with it, and yeah, I admit I still hate the guy. But I figured out that if I didn’t want to turn into a carbon copy of that bastard, I had let go of all the shit I was carrying around inside, look to him as an example of how to never be and not let the assholes of the world get me down.”

  “But...” She shook her head, torn between wanting to make that horrible man pay and needing to know how to brush all that pain aside. “How could anyone be that strong? In the end, his actions killed your mother. How could forgiveness be found after something like that?”

  “I don’t know if I’d call it forgiveness, exactly. I just woke up one day and realized what I was doing to myself by holding onto all that shit.” For just a flash, a terrible grief carved itself into his features before he shook his head. “Ultimately it came down to making a choice—holding onto all that god-awful darkness that made me feel sick, gave me nightmares and cut me off from the rest of the world, or I could stop hurting myself. Staying perpetually pissed off wasn’t going to bring my mom back. It was just poisoning me. Once I got my head out of my ass long enough to figure that out, it was like a huge weight lifted off me.”

  “It must have taken an incredible amount of will to come to that realization in the first place.” And she still wasn’t sure how it could be that simple. “You really are a miracle. Not many people would have the strength to put a past like that behind them.”

  “The past is something that happened, but it’s not going to dictate who I am. I refuse to be a fucking victim of it, then or now.”

  With the greatest gentleness she cupped his cheek. “That’s a great way of looking at it.”

  “You don’t have to be a victim of it, either.”

  She pulled back, startled. “What?”

  “I don’t think you realize the change that happens in you whenever someone mentions your dad,” he said, then tightened his arms when she made a bid for more distance. She didn’t want to hear this. If she never spoke about her father again, it would be too soon. “You hurt so much you radiate with it, Miranda. I don’t know why I didn’t see that from the beginning. I should have, because I understand it. If you could just find a way to stop hurting, maybe you could finally begin to heal up whatever it is that’s still bleeding inside you.”

  “Our situations are completely different.” His words slashed at some raw, vulnerable spot buried deep inside, and she pushed a hand against his chest in the hope of escaping it. She’d have better luck at pushing down a brick wall. “For starters, your dad was responsible for filling your world with one trauma after another. I was a spoiled little Daddy’s girl. His princess, remember? I had no idea what trauma was.”

  “Maybe that’s why his betrayal gutted you so much. You never saw it coming.”

  “It did hurt then.” Her tone matched how she felt—arctic, with no hint of warmth. “But that was a long time ago. I’m fine now. Perfectly fine.”

  “Geez, you suck at lying. And don’t get huffy, I know you’re not lying to me,” he added when her eyes narrowed dangerously. “The person you’re lying to is yourself. Deep down, you’ve never gotten over being blindsided by his decision to fuck me out of my invention rather than keep his daughter in his life. Admit it.”

  Her chin snapped up. “There’s nothing to admit. That decision simply told me where I stood with him, which was nowhere. I returned the favor by ignoring him whenever he tried to make contact with me. And aside from the restraining order I filed against him, I also quit at least three jobs when I found out he’d had a hand in my getting hired.”

  “Holy crap.” Coe looked like he didn’t know whether to curse or laugh in disbelief. “You’re kidding me.”

  “I usually smile when I’m kidding.”

  “Miranda... holy crap, babe, you really took it that far?”

  “He’s the one who took it that far. I merely responded in kind.”

  “From the sound of it, he was trying to take care of you.”

  “If he had wanted to do that, he would have given back the valve he stole from you. But he never did.”

  “Jesus. Your grudge-holding abilities are like your personal superpower.” He shook his head, staring at her in what appeared to be amazement. “He’s dead, Miranda. Can’t you let him off the hook now that he’s six feet under? What if he was sorry?”

  “Coe, if my father had been sorry for the choices he made, he would have given back to you all that you had lost. That’s the one thing I asked him to do. One thing. And he didn’t do it. That’s why I didn’t even go to his funeral. Goodbye was obviously said a long time ago.”

  “You may have said goodbye to him, but you haven’t closed the Chapter on the rest of it. There has to be something that’ll help you make peace with all the shit your dad’s left you with.”

  “There is.” She reached up and framed his face in her hands. The prickle of his whiskers abraded her palms, and the friction of it thawed her out enough to make her smile. “Find the proof that the valve is your design. That’s the one thing that will bring all of this to a close. I’ll be able to move on with my life, and you’ll never have to hear the Brookhaven name again.”

  To her surprise, his expression darkened ominously. “God, you’re one stubborn piece of work, you know that? Didn’t you hear a word I said?”

  She blinked, surprised. “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t you see that you can move on without that fucking proof? And who the hell says I got a problem with hearing the Brookhaven name?”

  Her hands dropped. “I just assumed—”

  “Yeah, well, you assumed wrong, got it? I don’t give a shit about your name, or that goddamn proof you’re so hot to get your hands on. All that matters to me is that you wake the fuck up and see that until you let the past go, no amount of evidence is going to bring you any peace. And that’d be a crying shame, babe, because I’
m scared to death you’re going waste your whole life being pissed off over something that doesn’t matter anymore.”

  Her jaw locked. “My father stole from you. I’m trying to put it right. How can you say it doesn’t matter?”

  “Because it doesn’t. Not to me, not anymore. So if I’m okay with it, why can’t you be?”

  “Coe—”

  “You know what I’d like? More than anything, I’d like for you to reach way down deep and find the strength to get over the past, without me coming up with any lame-ass evidence that I’d invented the valve. That way, you and I would both know that the wounds both me and your dad left you with had finally healed up. You and I would both know that you were finally okay, and that I didn’t...” A harsh breath burst out of him and for a moment he looked haunted. “That I didn’t permanently cripple you by kicking you out of my life when you needed me the most.”

  Her heart stuttered to a stop. “You didn’t cripple me.”

  “Yeah? Prove it, babe.” He slipped his fingers into her hair at her nape, and the touch held the same urgency she could see reflected in his eyes. “Forget about the valve, and the will. Forget everything, because I swear to you that it. Doesn’t. Matter. All that matters is that we’re here, we’re together, and when we’re together everything in the world is perfect. Let everything else go. Just stay with me and be happy.”

  The words buzzed in her head, sounding so deliciously tempting she wanted to sink into them. Before she could make that decision, the doorbell rang to announce the arrival of their dinner, and he left her to muddle through his words in confused silence.