Before I Knew (The Cabots #1)

by Jamie Beck

  “My doubts took away the one stable thing in his life.” Her nose tingled. “I think it made it easier for him give up after Joe died. I failed him when he was sick. Sometimes I think I don’t deserve to find love again after being willing to walk away from it before. And then I worry that even if I take that leap, it will all turn to ash, just like before.” She looked at him now. “I want to love again, Alec, but I’m afraid.”

  Listening to Colby’s story chilled Alec more than if he’d just been thrown into the frigid lake. Her gorgeous eyes, swollen with misery and shame, pricked his heart and conscience.

  She deserved the truth about Mark’s suicide. God help him, he didn’t know how to dive in. “I understand how keeping secrets can drive you crazy and make you feel unworthy of anything.”

  “I know you do.”

  “Not just with Joe, Colby.” For a few short weeks he’d had her in his arms at night. Tasted her kisses. Seen her passion-weary. Savored the weight of her leg across his in the middle of the night. The scent of her skin and hair. Now, he worried he’d have to miss those things for the rest of his life. Maybe that was twisted justice, seeing that Mark never got to live the rest of his life thanks to him.

  “Secrets and lies. A habit I don’t want to repeat again.” She swiped a stray tear before wrapping her arms around his waist and tucking her head against his chest. “No matter what mistakes you’ve made before, or how we disagree about stupid things like the menu, you’ve brought joy back into my life. You’ve reawakened the part of me that wants to love and trust. I can never, ever repay you for that, Alec. I want to give you what you need. Tell you what you want to hear. Believe that this happiness I feel again won’t scatter like dandelion fluff. Please be patient. And don’t be jealous of Todd or any other man, because there isn’t anyone more important to me than you.”

  “Colby, I—”

  “Shh. Just kiss me.” She rose onto her toes and kissed him.

  If only a kiss would erase his guilty conscience. But how could he confess now, after she just expressed her fears about this fragile trust and joy vanishing. If she lost faith in her judgment again, she might retreat so deeply into herself she’d never find happiness with anyone. Neither solution to this puzzle had a good outcome. He didn’t like not knowing how to complete the picture . . . or even what the picture would look like when finished. Uncertainty convinced him to keep quiet. “I wish I had known about Mark’s illness before. I’m sorry you were so alone.”

  “Not as alone as Mark.”

  “I should’ve been a better friend. I’m sorry you’ve suffered for so long.” He hugged her so tight she coughed. He loosened his hold just enough to make her comfortable, but couldn’t quite let go.

  When she sighed, the weight of her solemnity resonated in his chest. “Mark and I had started out planning for our lives to be a grand adventure. When I think about my future now, I just crave peace. I’ve done love the hard way. Now I want simple. Dependable. And no more looking back.”

  He raised her chin and kissed her. No matter how perfect his kisses, they alone couldn’t offer her an uncomplicated life and an effortless relationship. Given his situation, he didn’t know how to manage that, but he sure as hell would try. No more wasting time on bullshit like jealousy and menus.

  “You deserve love you can count on, Colby. Let me give that to you. I swear, I’ll do everything I can to make your life simple.” Even cheat, steal, and lie, which was pretty much what his continued silence amounted to. Hopefully karma would give him a pass for his good intentions. Then again, that road to hell . . .

  Chapter Eighteen

  Colby clipped the newspaper article about the Maverick Foundation’s upcoming fund-raising event that Gentry had submitted. The piece, she thought, should cause a few folks to look up the website and click on the “Donate” button. She stared at the grainy photograph of the executive committee. The one in which she’d been uncomfortably sandwiched between Todd and Alec. Her mother, blissfully unaware of any awkwardness, had smiled broadly for the camera. Julie, like Alec, remained inscrutable. To strangers, Sara’s smile probably looked welcoming, but Colby knew the difference between her forced and genuine smiles.

  Miraculously, despite the fractures in the ragtag group, all their plans were coming together. Thanks to Alec’s initiative, something good would finally come out of the tragedies. The peace she’d been craving seemed just within her grasp. In fact, she’d been enjoying the foundation work more than running the restaurant and dealing with customers. If her finances weren’t tied to A CertainTea, she could see herself committing fully to a nonprofit career.

  While she placed the clipping in a frame for her embarrassingly sparsely decorated office walls, Chris knocked on her door. Although the lines in his face had deepened since she’d first hired him as sous chef, his shoulders remained proudly thrown back. “Alec hasn’t returned. Has he called you?”

  By the time she’d arrived at work this afternoon, she’d learned that Alec had left suddenly without explanation. She’d tried calling him, but it had gone straight to voice mail. Initially, she’d assumed the urgent matter had something to do with a supplier. Now she wasn’t sure.

  A quick glance at the clock warned that the doors would open in twenty minutes. “Guess you’re in charge of the kitchen tonight.”

  A grin spread across Chris’s face.

  “Is there anything else?” She kept her gaze locked with his, her voice calm and steady, showing none of the turmoil gnashing her stomach lining.

  “No.” Chris nodded and left the office.

  She stared at the framed news clip with the dawning realization that it might have something to do with Alec’s absence. Colby impatiently tapped her pen on the desk and then dialed Alec again. Voice mail. Of course.

  Why hadn’t he called? Then again, she’d told him she wanted easy, and his family didn’t exactly fall into that category. Mr. Morgan’s temper dwarfed Alec’s. A rising dread slowed her movements. What if Alec needed her and she didn’t get to him on time? Alarm triggered memories of Mark’s final moments.

  She was getting ahead of herself. If something had happened to Alec, surely Julie would let her know. She texted him again.

  WHERE ARE YOU? I’M WORRIED.

  When no response came, she called Hunter without thinking it through. When he answered, she blurted, “Have you heard from Alec today?”

  “No. Why?”

  “He left work suddenly before I arrived, and I haven’t heard from him.”

  Hunter paused. “If he needs you, he’ll call. Otherwise, let him sort out his own family emergency.”

  Family emergency. The words she’d used when calling off work the morning Mark jumped. At the time, she’d been in shock, locked in a hazy sort of limbo, unable to voice the screaming in her head. Horror had consumed her. She’d acted on instinct, with monosyllabic replies to voice mails and texts. Now her body trembled at the memory.

  “Sis?” Hunter’s voice shook her back to reality.

  “What family emergency?” she asked, her pulse fluttering irregularly now. “Tell me what you know.”

  “Only that Alec wouldn’t leave someone else in charge of his kitchen for anything other than some kind of family emergency.”

  No, he wouldn’t.

  “Please call me if you hear anything,” she said.

  “I will.”

  She tossed her phone on the desk and tapped her foot incessantly. Every pore in her body decided to perspire. Hunter was right. Nothing less than a serious emergency would pull Alec out of the kitchen on a Saturday night.

  Drawing a deep breath, she picked up her phone and called Julie. That call also went to voice mail. Apparently Alec had learned his cell phone habits from his mother.

  Holding her breath, Colby called the hospital. Her breathing settled when she confirmed that neither Alec nor Frank Morgan had been admitted to the ER. Then it caught. Julie Morgan was a patient, but no further information would be given.
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br />   She sat, frozen by indecision. Mr. Morgan would lose his shit if Colby showed up, which would only increase Alec’s stress. If he’d wanted her there, he would’ve called. He mustn’t think she could handle it, which didn’t make her feel better. Nor did the fact that, once again, he’d chosen not to share important, if unpleasant, news.

  Each time her mind wandered—practically every ninety seconds—she refocused on the tasks at hand. Outside her office, they’d be servicing a full house on this Saturday night. She knew she should be happily checking on customers instead of pacing in her office and checking her phone for messages.

  Attachments were complicated. How had she thought she could have a simple, fresh start with Alec? She fingered the white tulips Alec had placed in the vase on her desk on Wednesday. A reminder of exactly why she’d fallen for him.

  After four yoga breaths, she forced herself to return to the dining room. Clyde, her most experienced waiter, rushed over, surreptitiously pointing toward table eight. “Ms. Baxter, I think that’s the Trib’s food critic, Gordon Jeffers.”

  Tonight? She’d been overwhelmed with foundation work these past weeks and had forgotten all about Gentry’s gossip. This was not good! Alec wasn’t even on the premises. “Are you sure?”

  “Not one hundred percent, but I’d bet on it.”

  “Please inform Martha, so she’ll be extra attentive. I’ll let Chris know.” Colby beelined to the kitchen. As usual, the flurry of frenzied activity and bursts of noise and heat made her want to run in the other direction. She much preferred the casual elegance and relative serenity of the front of the house.

  Carefully, she picked her way over to where Chris was supervising the lines. “We think Gordon Jeffers is seated at table eight with a guest, so pay particular attention to that order, okay?”

  “No word from Alec?” Chris’s expression remained unflappable.

  “No.” Colby pushed that worry aside for the moment. She couldn’t lend her support at the hospital, but she could protect this aspect of Alec’s life. A good review would be a crucial step in his comeback plan. She’d make sure the staff did everything in its power to earn an outstanding one. “This is it, Chris. Your chance to shine. I trust you’ll be on top of it?”

  “Of course.” He kept working at a steady clip, which reassured her.

  “Excellent. We’re counting on you.” Colby left the kitchen and methodically worked the room until she arrived at table eight. Gordon Jeffers—at least, that was his pen name—didn’t look like she’d imagined. His name and position implied a certain power that his long, narrow face and nose, thinning blond hair, and, as Gentry might describe it, boring navy blazer failed to convey. At present, his “date”—a middle-aged woman of similar nondescript appearance—sampled Alec’s twist on a French onion soup gratinée.

  With her warmest smile, Colby greeted them. “Good evening. Welcome to A CertainTea. I’m the manager, Colby. Is this your first time with us?”

  “Yes.” The man smiled.

  “Wonderful. Are you a local?” She feigned polite interest while trying not to overplay her hand.

  “Close enough. Portland.”

  “Well, we’ll make sure it’s worth the journey.”

  “So far, so good. The ambience is outstanding.” His smile loosened the knot in her stomach. With a little luck, this could turn out well. They’d been open several weeks—long enough to work out the major kinks—and the cooks had worked with Alec even longer. Alec’s absence didn’t need to be a disaster. In fact, a good review might give him more faith in his staff and make things easier on everyone going forward.

  “Thank you.” Colby nodded. “Please let me know if you need anything. Enjoy your meal.”

  Rather than hover, she meandered through the crowd. As the evening progressed, she barely recalled a single conversation with any customer. With each minute, she grew more concerned about the Morgans. If she was the impetus for another family tragedy, how could she and Alec stay together?

  Alec was in hell. Why did a CT scan take so long? He paced the waiting room, avoiding his father—the asshole who’d clocked his wife in the head with a vase thrown in anger after reading the newspaper. If it hadn’t been for that photo, his dad would’ve likely skimmed right over an article about a local charity.

  “I didn’t mean to hit her.” His father drummed his fingers on the chair arm. “She practically jumped into the line of fire.”

  “So it’s her fault she didn’t duck?” Alec muttered, keeping his back to his dad.

  “I wouldn’t have thrown anything if she hadn’t been sneaking around working on your damned foundation, for chrissakes.” His father shifted noisily in the chair.

  “Stop talking.” Alec stood in the doorway, muscles pulsing with quiet rage. He glanced up and down the hall, hoping to catch a doctor or nurse. No luck. He couldn’t sit still in the cramped waiting room, with its plastic chairs and months-old magazines. He needed to put more than a few feet of space between his father and him, or one of them might also end up needing X-rays. “What’s taking so long?”

  “Red tape.” His dad cleared his throat twice. “We’ll be here forever.”

  “We wouldn’t be here at all if you weren’t such a bully.” Alec finally looked his dad in the eye. “Considering how many things you’ve smashed in my lifetime, it’s a wonder this is our first visit to the ER.”

  “Don’t start with me.” His father stood, crossing his arms. For most of Alec’s life, he’d found that posture intimidating. Today he almost itched to take the man down. “If anyone’s at fault, it’s you, for bringing Colby back into our lives and starting this blasted foundation.”

  No point in arguing with him, because crazy never listened to reason. Alec’s failed plans to reunite his family brought back unpleasant memories of the way he’d lost Une Bouchée, too. Not that that mattered at this point. His priority now would be keeping his mother safe. “Mom’s coming home with me tonight.”

  “Like hell.” His father’s face darkened.

  “Look around, Dad. You’re in no position to argue. And if you try to stop me, I’ll press charges.”

  His father peered up at him, his eyes filling with something other than disdain for a change. Alec recognized that look, actually, because he’d envied it whenever his dad had bestowed it upon Joe.

  Respect.

  It figured that the first time Alec earned it—something he’d sought for years—it didn’t thaw one bit of his ice-cold feelings for his father.

  “You can’t press charges. I didn’t do anything to you. Besides, your mother knows it was an accident.”

  An ironic justification.

  “Funny how that works,” Alec snorted, forcing his father to meet his gaze. “Hitting Mom with a vase was an accident, but Joe’s taking a dare was homicide?”

  “Dammit, Alec.” His father jutted out his chin, the vein in his temple pulsing visibly. Alec thought his dad’s head might actually explode like a potato in a hot oven. “Don’t start defending Mark Baxter.”

  “Just calling it like I see it. Mark’s not the problem. You are.”

  “Me?” he huffed.

  “Yes. And since you’re so intent on assigning blame for Joe’s death, then you ought to take a look in the mirror.”

  “You want to blame me?” His brows rose so high on his forehead that they looked like part of his hairline. “If it weren’t for your girlfriend and her husband—”

  “Mark made an idiotic dare. One he quite obviously regretted. But that isn’t the whole story.” The day’s events had pushed Alec beyond reasoning. “Actually, you and I both share some blame.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  They were in a hospital, possibly the safest place for Alec’s confession. With everything falling apart, the time had come to man up and get years of pain and guilt off his chest.

  “When I was little, Joe thought I was funny and smart. He used to follow me around. Even sat and did puzzles with
me. I’m sure you must remember that.”

  He couldn’t tell if his dad had tuned him out or just become lost in his own memories. He wasn’t screaming, so Alec continued. “We were friends, but the older I got, the more it bothered you that I wasn’t athletic or aggressive. Instead of accepting me, you tried to bully me into being more like you. When that didn’t work, you teased me until it became a bad habit. You taught Joe to disrespect me as being weak, and that drove the wedge between him and me.”

  His dad’s menacing-cop face surfaced. Alec should’ve been afraid, but calmness settled over him. It was almost as if Joe had stepped into his body as he recited the events that took place with Joe and Beth that night two years ago. With each word, his dad’s face turned deeper shades of purple, but he pressed on. “For two years I’ve felt guilty because of that fight. But as awful as I behaved that night, none of it would’ve happened if you hadn’t rewarded Joe with affection every time he teased me. Joe learned how to avoid your disdain by distancing himself from me and being the kind of tough guy you wanted for a son. So if my lie that night emasculated Joe, that’s only because Joe took all his cues on masculinity from you.

  “And even if that fight had never happened, Joe probably still would’ve jumped off that cliff knowing how cool you’d think it was when he came home and told you about it. Let’s be honest. If Joe had survived, you would’ve been bragging about that dare. So, in a way, I can trace Joe’s death right back to you and your inability to appreciate me for who I am.”

  Alec watched his dad blink as if he’d been the one clocked by the vase. For a split second, he wondered if one of them would throw a punch. Then the doctor walked in. Doctor? Hell. Dr. Kang looked younger than Alec, and even more exhausted, if that were possible.

  “We’ve looked at the scans. There’s no skull fracture, so your wife’s fall won’t require any intervention other than stitches to close the gash. She has a mild concussion, so she should be cocooned for a week—no stimulation, TV, radio, reading. Just rest and dim lighting.”