He turned back to look out over the water.
There were so many things I wanted to say to him, but I took another gulp of beer instead. He wasn’t there because he didn’t care how Mom and I felt. He’d lost his rock. I wanted to promise I would be that for him, but I didn’t know what it was like to be in a war. I didn’t carry the kind of scars he did, and I wasn’t sure I had anything to say that would live up to what Trev would have.
So we sat there. I don’t know for how long.
Could have been hours.
We just sat there, each nursing the beer we were holding but never reaching for another.
“It should have been me,” my father said in a low tone. “I don’t understand why it’s never me.”
I blinked back tears. I still didn’t know what to say to that.
He continued, “When the images in my head would get too dark, when I couldn’t sleep and the memories started mattering more than you or your mother—I’d come here. Trev understood. He was there that day, was tortured by the same memories. We’d sit right here and tell stories about every friend we lost that day. Once we got so drunk we couldn’t drive back, so we slept here. Daeshona was angry with him. Angry with me.”
“Or just worried for both of you.”
He nodded. “That too.”
We sat in silence for several minutes before he said, “I’m sixty years old, Wren. I haven’t been the husband your mother deserved. I tried to do my best by you.”
I shifted closer and linked my arm with his. “You won’t hear either one of us complaining. We love you, Dad.”
He made a guttural sound. “I forgot my phone. Your mother must be so worried.”
“She’s fine now. I told her I found you.”
He let out a sigh. “I don’t remember how I got here. When I received the call, I needed some air. I went for a drive. Next thing I knew I was here.”
“You came to where you needed to be.”
“Yeah, I guess I did.” He gave my hand a pat. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without him.”
Life didn’t come with instructions for how to handle the day my father needed my guidance. I didn’t think I was strong enough to deal with something like this, but I didn’t have a choice, so I found the strength. It was that simple. “You’re going to come home and talk to someone about your feelings. We’ll find someone at the VA or on our own. What you’re going through is more common than you think, Dad. When good people see what you saw—it stays with them. Tonight we’re staying with Daeshona.”
“I can’t do that to her.”
“You do not want to offend her. Plus, she’s worried about you. Follow me back to her place and reassure her that you’re okay. Trev would want you to.”
My father nodded and began to put his socks and shoes back on. “He’d kick my ass if he knew I’d worried her at all.”
I smiled because it was true and began to put my own socks back on. “The wake is in two days. That gives us time to drive home, get Mom, and come back. We’ll find a nice hotel nearby.” I laced my shoes, then stood. My father did as well. His pained expression was clearly visible even in the shadows. I stepped forward and simply wrapped my arms around him, laying my head on his chest.
He didn’t move at first, then hugged me close. “I’m sorry, baby.”
I only hugged him tighter. “We’ve got this, Dad. You, me, and Mom. The Heaths are made tough.”
He released me with a hint of a smile. “How did I get so lucky, Wren?”
“I ask myself the same thing, Dad. I know why you’re still here—we need you.”
We started back up toward our cars. He’d forgotten his beer down on the dock, but I didn’t mention it. It was best left behind.
“How was your trip?” he asked.
“It was—it was—” I struggled to condense everything Paris had been into one word. I was able to talk to my parents about most things, but even on his best day my father wouldn’t have handled hearing about Mauricio well. He never approved of anyone I dated, so the chance that he’d want even vague details about my Paris fling? Yeah, no. “Unforgettable.”
“I’m glad. And your friend Cecile?”
That made me smile. Dad had never much approved of her either. “It was great to see her. She’s doing really well in London. It was fun to get back together now that we’re both adults. I’m really proud of how she went after her dreams and made them a reality.”
He stopped near the driver’s side of my car. “You’ve done the same.”
“Yep.” Visually inspecting fire sprinkler systems had never been a dream of mine, but as a rule I tried not to engage in conversations I knew wouldn’t make a situation better. What Dad was dealing with was more immediate and important than how I felt about my employment. I opened the door of my rental and slid in. “I’ll follow you, Dad. You know the way back better than I do.” I didn’t want to let him drive, but he hadn’t had a drink in hours, and we couldn’t leave his car there.
His hand rested on the top of the door. “Life isn’t a race, Wren. Maybe she got there first, but you’re still young. You have plenty of time to do whatever you want to do.”
I nodded. “I know. And I will. Now I’ll call Mom and tell her we’re on our way to Daeshona’s. I hope you’re hungry, because you know she’ll want to feed us.”
“You’re a better daughter than I deserve,” he said in a low tone.
My heart broke for him. “You’re wrong, Dad. I’ve got some serious grit, and I’m here because I know exactly how important family is. Who do you think taught me all that? You did. So don’t you dare put my father down. He’s my hero. Understand?”
His eyes shone with tears he’d never let fall. “Yes, ma’am.”
I sniffed and reached out for the door handle. “Good, now get your ass in your car, because I’m exhausted.”
He smiled and closed the door.
It would be a rough week, but I felt a lot better now that I knew where he was.
I called Daeshona as I drove and told her that I’d found my father. She said we’d better be on our way to her, because she and her sisters had set the table for us. I chuckled and told her what our plans were for the next few days.
God, I was tired, but I felt a million times better than I had when I’d heard my father was gone. A scare like that brought a person’s priorities right back into focus.
Sure, my heart was breaking, but everyone was carrying the weight of something. I’d survive. And if it was at all within my power to make it so—my father would too.
After a pause, Daeshona said, “I spoke to your mother. She said you flew straight here from Paris. I’ve never been. Tell me, is it as beautiful as people say?”
I remembered the crowds, the homeless people, the smell of urine in the Métro . . . then Mauricio and kissing him on top of the Eiffel Tower. “It’s a city, one with a lot of history and beautiful monuments, but like any trip it was really about who I was with.”
“That sounds like you have a story you want to share.”
I gripped the steering wheel, careful to turn when my father did. “I’m not ready to talk about it yet, but when I am . . . you’ll be fanning your face . . . that is, if you think you can handle the truth.”
“Oh, honey, I’m not your mama. I’d better get the whole story. What was his name?”
I hesitated before saying his name out loud. Did I really want to bring that much of him home with me? “Mauricio.”
“That’s a name I haven’t heard you say before.”
“I met him while I was there.”
“And he was face-fanning worthy?”
“Oh yes.”
She chuckled. “When do I get to meet him?”
I took a breath. “Never. It was great, but it was just . . .” But what? That was part of the problem. I didn’t know what it had been. I realized I’d fallen several car lengths behind my father and sped up. “. . . not important. Honestly, I’m just glad I found Dad.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MAURICIO
Several days later, my brother Christof sat across from me in my living room and looked me over with a critical eye. “Any intention of showering today?”
I sat back on the couch and scratched at the four-day growth on my chin. “I showered yesterday. Or maybe the day before that.”
Christof had let himself in, claiming we needed to talk. It had sounded serious, so I dropped my plans for the day—I’m kidding, I hadn’t done a fucking thing since coming home from Paris.
Except mope.
Which surprisingly enough I discovered I was gifted at.
I’d slept in each morning, discovered binge-watching multiple seasons of TV series could eat up an afternoon as well as an evening . . . which had brought me back to what I really wanted to do more of . . . sleep again.
Christof’s eyebrows rose and fell as he looked around the room. “Five pizza boxes. Impressive.”
“A man cannot live on beer alone.”
He made a face. “Dad told us not to talk about Paris with you. So this is me judging you for handling it like a pussy but not talking about it.”
I half smiled at that. “Thanks for the support.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I should let you wallow long enough to get fat. You’ve always been too good looking. Welcome to what dating is like for the rest of humanity. Sucks, doesn’t it?”
“It’s horrible.” I patted my still-flat abs. My brother did fine with women, but I liked to give him shit. “I’ll hit the gym later. Once is all it should take to get this washboard tight again.”
Christof rolled his eyes.
I picked up the TV remote.
He leaned forward, took it out of my hand, and tossed it on the floor out of my reach. “No more TV. You’re getting out into the world today. Get up. Go shower and shave. You’re coming to the office.”
I leaned back into the couch. “Not going to happen.”
He threw a couch cushion at my head. “Get the fuck off the couch.”
I deflected the pillow easily. “No.”
He stood, took the seat cushion from his chair, and winged it at my head. Annoying, but I blocked it as well. “Go home, Christof. I’m fine.”
He picked up a glass of water I’d poured for myself the day before but never drank. “Last warning.”
“Don’t do something you’re sure to regret.”
He made a show of pulling his hand back as if readying to toss the water. “Why? Is Mauricio feeling fragile? Does he need coddling?”
My chest puffed. “Don’t fucking do it.”
“Then get up.”
I didn’t.
Only a brother I’d held down and tickled until he pissed himself when we were children would have done what he did. He threw that water right in my face.
Then wisely put the length of the room between us.
I wiped the water from my face, jumped to my feet, and was after him.
Keeping the table between us as we circled, he said, “Punching me will not make you feel better.”
“It might.”
I vaulted over the table at him. He skirted to the other side of it, keeping the distance between us the same.
“Don’t make me call Mom,” he warned.
I advanced. He retreated. Across the room, my phone beeped with a message. “You texted her? Seriously? I’m going to have to beat your ass just for being a rat.”
“That’s not Mom. You know she doesn’t text.”
I froze. It could be anyone. There was no reason to believe it was Wren, but what if it was? Any irritation with my brother was forgotten as I sprinted over to the coffee table, where I’d left my phone.
It’s probably not her.
I picked up my phone.
It’s her.
Finally, five days later, something. I’m sorry.
Phone in hand, I sank back onto the couch and simply stared down at the message.
Christof came to sit beside me. “Is it her?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“She’s sorry.”
“That’s good, right?”
I shrugged. I’d spent the last few days convincing myself I’d imagined how I’d felt about Wren. No one could feel that strongly about someone they hardly knew.
We’d had nothing more than the fling she’d said she wanted.
“Aren’t you going to answer her?” he asked.
I put the phone back down on the table and growled, “What would I say? ‘It’s okay’? It’s not. The way she left told me everything I needed to know.”
Christof let out a sigh. “Dad thinks you really like her.”
“I did. More than liked.”
“Seems to me, if I’d met a woman I more than liked, and she texted me . . . I’d at least answer her.”
“That’s where you’d be wrong. This experience has been eye-opening for me. In every relationship there is a kisser and a kissee. One person is always more invested than the other. I’m the one who has always been ready to walk away. And you know what? That’s the better place to be. This feeling? This scenario? It blows. I get why you don’t like to see me like this. I don’t want to be this person either. That woman is my kryptonite. I don’t sulk. I don’t pine. And I’ll be damned if I let her make me into a man who does.”
“Wow, that’s . . . intense.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “Learn from my mistake, Christof. Don’t give a woman the upper hand. If you’re stupid enough to hand her your heart, you might as well have your balls removed at the same time. You’ll be just as much less of a man when she’s done with you anyway.”
He made a face. “Okay. So you’re not ready to text her yet. Got it. I’m still dragging you out of the house today. It’s up to you how you look when I do.”
I glared at him.
He held my gaze without blinking.
He really was a good brother. “I’m glad I didn’t punch you.”
“Me too,” he said with a grin. “I would have had to mess up that pretty face of yours, and Dad would have had us both doing his yard work for weeks.”
I smiled. Dad probably would have given us that punishment, and we would have accepted it despite our age. He never did anything unless it was what was best for the family. “Mom would have hated watching her garden go to shit under our care. Remember when you mowed right over her flowers?”
He laughed. “I was watching you do some ridiculous ninja move with a rake . . . and Dad’s mower wasn’t as responsive as I thought. I was hoping for a tighter turn.”
With a stretch, I stood. “I’ll be ready in about fifteen minutes. I should shave too.”
“Take your time.”
I paused and looked down at the darkened screen of the phone.
She’s sorry.
About what?
How she left?
Or that she didn’t feel more for me?
I knew I’d respond to her—for my own sanity if for no other reason. But not in front of Christof.
The shower and shave did lift my mood slightly. As I dressed, I remembered camping out at Sebastian’s place when he’d needed us to. His devastation had been much deeper and had gone on for months. Understandable since he’d lost a wife and child.
Me?
I was just an idiot.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
WREN
I could have taken the whole week off from work, but the day after returning from Trev’s funeral, Dad had gone back to work at the gas station. He had an appointment to talk to someone at the VA. Mom said they were both fine. It was time to stop hovering over them. We all needed to get back to our lives.
Dressed in jeans and an oxford shirt with the company logo, I sat in my truck in the parking lot of my next job, waiting for Mauricio to answer my text. I felt horrible about the way I’d left. I also didn’t feel too good about how long it had taken me to apologize, but I’d gone into sur
vival mode for the first few days back.
When I’d surfaced from that?
Well, I didn’t think he’d want to hear from me.
Had he left while I’d slept, I wouldn’t have been too receptive to hearing from him again. Sure, I’d had my reasons, but none that he knew of. I was torn between telling him or just letting things ride.
I couldn’t not apologize, though.
Looking down at my message, I shook my head in disgust. I’m sorry.
Cryptic. Selfishly safe.
Not worth sending.
Probably only confusing to receive.
He hadn’t texted back.
There weren’t even those little dancing dots that show up when someone is typing a response.
I don’t blame him. I didn’t answer any of his messages. I gave him good reason to write me off.
Of course that’s assuming he wasn’t relieved when he woke up and I was gone.
Either way it’s unfair to be upset with him. He delivered everything he’d promised.
For all I know Felix has already sent him to play interference with another woman, and he’s taking her friend all over Paris . . . feeding her whatever her fantasy is in exchange for a week of sex.
Whoever she is—I hate her.
I laid my head down on the steering wheel and admitted I was a mess.
I’d known what we had was temporary.
I’d agreed to it.
Even if he answered me and wanted to continue our wild romance, I was firmly planted back in reality. Paris had been about stepping away . . . enjoying the freedom. It had also proven that what I’d always feared was a real possibility. All I had to do was look away, and I could lose everything.
If I hadn’t called my mother . . .
If I hadn’t found my father . . .
I took a deep breath and fought back the panic that nipped at me. But I did find him. I couldn’t have known Trev would die.
It would have been just as bad even if I’d been there.
I told myself that again but didn’t completely believe it. Guilt wasn’t new to me—we were old companions. I felt bad about leaving. I felt worse about how much I’d enjoyed being away.
I wanted the comfort of Mauricio’s arms, but I didn’t want to have to explain why I needed the comfort . . . and I felt bad about that as well.
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