by Vicki Essex
“You’re afraid of your father.” It seemed important to hear Sean say it out loud.
“He scares me because he’s always so loud, and when he gets angry, he says mean things.” Her son glanced up at her. “Sensei Dom said people sometimes have problems with anger. He said people like that need help and understanding.”
Tears brimmed in Fiona’s eyes. Sean was so much smarter, so much more generous and more forgiving than she was.
She wished she could be more like him.
FIONA DIDN’T RECOGNIZE the two people standing outside Mitch’s hospital room. A tall blonde woman with a sun-touched complexion and a strong jaw, wearing a dark blazer and jeans, spoke softly to a stocky man with a goatee, a white priest’s collar and wire-rim glasses. They turned as she approached.
“Fiona Farrell?” the woman asked.
Fiona stopped, surprised for a moment at being addressed by her married name. “I go by Fiona MacAvery now.” She introduced Sean, as well.
“I’m Mitch’s parole officer, Judy Burke. This is Father Patrick Elba.” They shook hands. “Sorry if it’s a shock to see us here. We only heard about Mitch the day before yesterday.”
“His lawyer contacted us and told us about the assault charges,” Father Elba explained. “I ministered to Mitch while he was incarcerated. He was one of my…special cases.”
So the priest Mitch had mentioned was real. He hadn’t been lying about counseling. “Mitch is fine,” Fiona rushed to assure them. “He’s banged up, but—”
“I’m not here to administer his last rites,” Father Elba said with a laugh.
“Oh…” She hesitated. “Why are you here? What do you want from Mitch?”
“Well, if it were about what I wanted, it’d be to give him a beating for getting into so much trouble straight out of jail.” Officer Burke hooked her thumbs into her pockets. “But it seems Dominic Payette beat me to it.” She glanced down, noticing Sean gaping at her. “Er, no offense, kid. I mean, your dad’s all right. He’s just…well…” She looked to the priest to rescue her.
“We just finished talking to Mitch.” Father Elba intervened smoothly. “It’s obvious he still has a few issues to work through. I really thought he was ready to head back out into the world and atone for his past. There’s no doubt in our minds that’s what he wants.” Officer Burke nodded with him. “Frankly, the best chance he has at staying out of jail is to keep a low profile. So we thought it best to convince him to back down on the assault charges.”
“Stirring up trouble like this won’t help him if he’s ever before a judge again,” Burke added. “And I really don’t want to see that happen. Mitch is an okay guy.”
Fiona stared, conflicted. “Are you saying you’re going to allow Dom—the man who assault my ex-husband—to go free?”
“What we’re suggesting,” Father Elba said levelly, “is that for everyone’s benefit, Mitch should rethink his actions and decide whether it’s worthwhile to pursue a course of action driven by nothing more than anger and a need to get even.”
Fiona was simultaneously relieved and outraged. Dropping the charges against Dom couldn’t be “for the best.” What kind of example would that set for her son?
“Maybe you should go in and talk to Mitch yourself,” Burke suggested, seeing her conflict.
Fiona thanked the two. They promised not to be too far away.
She walked into Mitch’s room, hand in hand with Sean.
Her ex lay in bed, gazing up at the ceiling, his face rigid in contemplation. Someone had opened the curtains—they’d always been closed when she’d visited. He turned his head when he heard their soft steps.
“Fiona.” His face wasn’t as swollen as it had been a few days ago. The bruises had lightened to a rainbow of mauves, greens and pinks. His eyes, at least, weren’t swollen shut anymore.
“How are you feeling?” she asked tentatively.
“The doc says it’ll be maybe one or two more days before he’ll let me go.” His eyes tracked to where Sean hovered in the doorway. “Hey, Sean. C’mere. I need to talk to you.” After a pause, he added, “Please.”
Sean hesitated, caution making his dark eyes huge, but then he stepped up to the bed. “Hi, Dad.”
“Wow, you’re getting tall. Look at you.” Mitch’s mouth quirked at the corners. “Getting strong, too, I bet. So you’ve been doing kung fu?”
“Karate,” Sean corrected testily. “I was learning from Dominic Payette.” His gaze narrowed; his lips pulled into a tight frown.
“I see.” Mitch turned to glance up at the ceiling once more. Fiona heard him counting down from ten in a whisper.
Then he focused on his son once more. “Sean, listen. I’m sorry I scared you the other day when all this…” He gestured at his face. “I didn’t want to hurt you, I swear. And I’m sorry I scared your mom, too.” His eyes flicked to her. “I’m…well… I’m not good at being a father. But I want you to know I tried my best. And I want to do better. Be better.” It came out in a rush, as though he was afraid Sean might not stay to listen.
The boy watched his father soberly. Then he put his hand over Mitch’s.
“Sensei Dom taught me that anger and revenge are easy, but forgiveness is hard. He taught us never to use our karate to hurt others for personal gain—that even when people do bad things, you have to learn to let go and forgive.” Sean stared down at his dad. “The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.”
“Huh. Imagine that.” Mitch seemed amused. And something else Fiona had never seen in him before. He seemed proud. “My boy’s learning Gandhi quotes.”
“How do you know that’s Gandhi?” She didn’t recognize the proverb.
“There’re lots of self-help books and inspirational stuff in a penitentiary library, you know. A lot of time to read, too.” He hesitated. “Can we be friends, Sean? Can you ever look at me and not feel…afraid?”
“Maybe.” Sean looked pensive. “I’ll try.”
A wetness formed around Mitch’s swollen eyes. “I know it’s hard for you. But it means a lot to me…and I want to try to be a better man. Not just for you, but for me, too. I can see you’re growing up okay, even if your pop wasn’t so good to you. I’m proud of you.” The words came out choked, and Mitch had to look away to compose himself.
Sean smiled briefly. It was a small first step toward reconciliation, but at least he was prepared to make some kind of effort with his father.
Fiona didn’t know how long this would last, of course. Mitch could fall off whatever self-help wagon he was on at any time. But she was willing to trust her ex…for now. She might never be able to forgive him fully for what he’d put them through, and it was likely he’d disappoint them again. But if her ten-year-old son was willing to try, she was, too.
The fist around her heart eased open.
“Give me and your mom a few minutes to talk, okay?” Mitch said, and Sean left.
“This guy, Dominic Payette. He’s more than Sean’s teacher, isn’t he?” Her ex watched her closely. Jealousy colored his words.
She couldn’t help it; her cheeks grew hot. “It’s none of your business what he is to Sean and me.”
“I thought we might get back together. For Sean’s sake.”
“It would never work, Mitch.” She sighed wearily. “It didn’t work for six years. We got married too young. We’re different people.”
“And you hate my guts.” His mouth twitched.
“I never said that,” she protested. It was odd to have to defend her feelings for him.
“You don’t have to. I’ve been thinking a lot about this, and then Father Elba showed up and reminded me—” Mitch broke off abruptly. “I’d be mad if our places were switched. Hell, Fi, I was so angry, I said I’d take our son away from you.” He rammed his fingers through his hair. “What kind of man—what kind of father does that?”
She sat on the visitor’s chair beside the bed. “Why the change of heart, Mitch? Don’t you w
ant to see your son?”
“Of course I do,” he said doubtfully. “But I don’t know what Sean wants, and this is really up to him, isn’t it?”
Fiona didn’t say anything.
“Father Elba said Sean’s growing up, and that if I want him to respect me, I have to respect him. I doubt I’ll ever be ‘Dad’ to him…not after everything that’s happened.
“Judy, my parole officer—she’s not happy with me one bit.” He closed his eyes. “She’s going to have to write up a report. Getting into trouble right out of prison, even if I didn’t cause it…it never looks good. Someone might decide I’m better off locked up.”
Fiona held her breath. “So what are you going to do?”
“My lawyer is recommending a settlement out of court. I’ll be lucky if all I get is an apology. But I don’t want to go back to jail.”
Relieved, she asked, “And Sean?”
“I want to see him. I mean, only if he wants to see me. And maybe not for a while yet. Not until I’m better at controlling my temper.” Mitch gazed at her. “Sean deserves that much from me.”
When he closed his eyes, tears leaked from the corners. “I just wanted it so bad, you know? To be forgiven. To have a clean slate. I thought it would make everything better. I thought the world would stop judging me, stop looking down on me the way my dad always did. But I can’t change that, can I?”
If Mitch couldn’t grow and become a better person, what chance did Dom have? Or Rene Kirkpatrick? Or even her? Who was Fiona to judge who could and could not remake themselves? They’d begun life anew here, she and Sean, and though it had been rough, they’d made it work. Mostly thanks to Dom.
She had to believe her ex could change. She took his hand and squeezed it. “You can’t change your past, Mitch. But you can change your future. I believe you can.”
And she did.
FIONA LEFT WITH SEAN shortly after that. Judy Burke and Father Elba promised to deliver Mitch to a halfway house in Richmond where he could get more counseling. Mitch promised to visit Sean at Christmas, but in the meantime, he was going to get his life in order.
“You really think he’ll visit?” Sean asked in the car on the way home. The setting sun gilded the trees and the town, made the river look as if it was overflowing with gold.
“I don’t know, hon.”
“I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.” Her son seemed to have grown a couple of inches in the past hour. In the bronze-colored light glinting off his sandy hair, his cool serenity was a mirror image of Dom’s.
She wished Dom were here to witness this moment. Her son was starting the long journey toward manhood.
They pulled up to the house. Sean went in, but Fiona noticed Dom’s porch light was on. Had he come back?
Heart pounding, she raced across the street. She had to see him and tell him…she didn’t know what. But she had to see him.
She rang the bell, but it wasn’t Dom who answered the door.
“Brett.” The black-haired fighter stared impassively down at her. “Is Dom here?”
“He’s in Las Vegas.” His glare felt like a heel grinding her disappointment even deeper.
“So…what are you doing here?” she asked awkwardly.
“Business.” He didn’t elaborate.
“Mitch is dropping the assault charges,” she said to break the silence. “I just came from seeing him in the hospital.”
He tilted his chin up. “Good.”
“Will…will Dom come back?” She sounded pitifully hopeful.
“Too many distractions here.” Brett’s tone was as flat as the grim line of his lips. “Besides—” he gave her a disdainful once-over “—I thought you never wanted to see him again.”
She hadn’t meant it. She couldn’t imagine a day without seeing Dom, hearing his deep voice, seeing that brilliant smile that made every woman within a ten-mile radius swoon. And she’d already gone almost a week without him.
His absence struck her like a kick in the stomach.
She loved Dom. Even if he’d shattered her sense of security, she loved him.
She swayed at the realization. How could she love a man capable of serious violence?
Because you know he would never hurt you or Sean.
It felt as though a bomb had gone off inside her. He was a mentor, a friend and a gentle, caring lover. He’d always demonstrated honor, compassion, love and understanding before lifting a finger against another.
And he’d hurt Mitch because her ex had been hurting Sean.
The fact finally penetrated her thick skull. Dom had been defending her son.
She had to make things right.
“Where is he staying in Vegas?” she asked. “Do you have a number where I can reach him?”
Brett’s expression twisted into an ugly gargoyle’s mask. “Look, you want a piece of advice?” The menace in his tone made her shiver. “Stay out of Dom’s life. He’s got a bright future in the UFF. That championship belt means the world to him. He’s fought all his life for this opportunity. Guys like us, it’s all we have sometimes. If you go to him, you’ll distract him from training, and ruin his whole career. He’s wasted too much time as it is. He needs to focus, and he won’t do that if you or your son are around.”
Fiona stared up at Brett’s hard, sharp face, her ballooning hope deflated. He was right. She had no right to keep interfering with Dom’s life. He had dedicated enough time to helping her and Sean. He’d given her son self-esteem and self-confidence. He’d helped her grow strong and control her parental anxieties and insecurities.
And all he’d gotten in exchange was a ruined reputation.
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE MEDIA FRENZY over the beating Dom had given Mitch Farrell was finally fizzling out, but the hype around Dominic Payette continued unabated. Fiona’s ex had dropped the charges, and they were negotiating a settlement out of court. Joel did damage control and milked Bruno DiMartino’s recovery for all it was worth to polish Dom’s slightly tarnished reputation. But it turned out people were even more pumped to see him in action because of what had happened. They wanted to see “The Dominator” unleashed. They wanted to see the berserker do some damage.
With so much media coverage, sponsors were climbing all over one another to sign with Dom, even though he hadn’t won the belt yet. Joel was over the moon. Bruno, who was stuttering short sentences now, had praised Dom effusively. He called him a real gentleman and a true hero.
But Dom didn’t feel like a hero. He felt like a jerk.
He’d attacked Sean’s father full-out. He could have killed him. He might have if Mako and the others hadn’t stopped him.
He couldn’t dwell on that now, though. He hunkered down, did nothing but train and prepare for the title match against Andrew “Alpha” Atlas. His team circled the wagons and blocked out all outside influences. He didn’t see anyone except his coaches and trainers. Nothing would distract him from his single purpose.
There was just one problem.
“You’re still pulling your punches!” Hector threw down his mitts in a fit of frustration. “Dom, you have three days before the match. Hurt something.”
Dom tore off his gloves. “I am.”
“No, you’re not. I know little boys who hit harder than you do!”
So did Dom. He thought about Sean, about the tears streaking his face, the fear in his wide gray eyes. He loved Sean like a father should. And then he’d gone and put the fear of God into the boy. Just like Mitch.
And Fiona. He’d gone and proved all her suspicions about him true. How could she ever trust him again?
As long as MMA was his life, she could never be a part of it.
“Hello? McFly, are you in there?” Hector rapped on Dom’s forehead.
“Quit it!” He swatted Hector’s knuckles away.
“Focus!”
“Yo, Dom, you have a visitor,” one of the gym’s burly employees called.
“No one sees Dom right now. Not friends,
family or anyone. You know that.” Hector shot Dom an accusing look as if he had invited his guest.
“Hey, I told him that, but, uh, he challenged me to stop him.”
Dom gaped. “Sensei?”
Mako Miwa strolled in, looked around the gym appreciatively, a smile on his face. The employee who’d tried to stop him gave him a wide berth and a wary look.
Hector let the two have some privacy.
“What are you doing here, Sensei?”
“I came to see you, of course.”
“But the dojo…”
“I decided to stop classes for a short summer break. How is your training?”
Dom said nothing as he wiped his face with a towel.
Mako harrumphed. “I see.”
“Sensei, I don’t know what to do. Bruno’s okay now. My mind is clear.”
Liar. His conscience was overflowing with regrets. Dom amended, “My purpose is clear. I must defeat Andrew Atlas.”
“Oh? Must you?” His sensei smiled again. “And why is that?”
“To win the championship.”
“Hmm. And why do you want to do that?”
“I want to be the best.”
“The best? What does that mean to you?”
“What do you mean, what does that mean?” Sometimes the man got annoying.
“What does it mean to be your best, Dominic? Will any one of us ever be our best?”
“I have to win.”
“I’m sure you do. But why? What is the reward to you? I don’t mean the belt or money or fame. What is the purpose of all this training? Why are you so bent on winning? What are you fighting for?”
“I don’t know.” Dom whirled around, throwing a bare fist into the nearest thing that was meant to take a hit. The punching bag shuddered and swung.
He sagged, sat down hard on the ground and buried his face in his hands.
It took a minute to regain his composure.
“I’ve tried, Sensei. I worked so hard, fought my way to the top, and now that I’m here…I can’t do it.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I put Bruno and Katy through hell. Then I nearly killed Sean’s father and scared away the only two people who’ve ever meant as much to me as you and my mother. I can’t fight to win. I can barely fight to not lose.”