by Cecy Robson
Discussing my folks with anyone, no matter how brief, always leaves me with a sense of dread. I wish it weren’t so, but we don’t always get what we want. Case in point, that beautiful man sitting across from me.
I stare at Hale through the flames of the fire pit. As much as I want to help his reputation, I don’t want our time together to end too soon. I’ll work to fix his problems. I’ll make things right again. But this time, I don’t plan to say goodbye so easily.
I rub my hands together. Every problem has a solution. It’s been my mantra ever since I started with the Cougars. No matter how bad the situation or how stuck my players and staff were, I got them out of it. On the legal side, Mason will do the same for Hale. As much as Mason worried he wasn’t the best attorney for the job, he was the best person to put a defense team together.
Tonight, Trin’s family dropped another few mil toward Hale’s legal fees. “Your team needs to fix this and fix this fast. You need more, you say the word.”
“Thank you, sir,” Hale told him.
Mason got word that the prosecution may be dropping more charges than he originally thought. It’s becoming clearer that the feds rushed this case because Hale’s name was attached to it, rather than it was a good case to stand on. I hope so. It’s already been several weeks too many.
A thick fleece blanket drops over my shoulders, forcing me to look up. “You looked cold,” Hale says.
I hadn’t noticed him move, but he’d noticed the start of my shivering. “Thank you.”
The ocean waves beating against the shore have lessened in their demand for attention. I guess the storm that was supposed to hit landfall is veering further away and out to sea. The wind, it seems, hasn’t heard the news yet. It lifts my hair, bringing a large share of leaves scooting across the patio to make a big fuss. I arrange the blanket around my back. With this blanket around me and the sweats Hale lent me, I could sleep out here. Never mind. What I should say is with Hale this close, I feel safe and warm even through the harshest of storms.
Hale added a light jacket over his sweater. He has a blanket, too, but it’s folded over the chair and it doesn’t look as thick as mine. I suppose he’s warmer by the fire, but the cold has never bothered him like the rest of us.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks me.
I run my fingers over the soft fleece. I recognize it from the pictures Trin sent me when she was deciding how to decorate. But that’s not the only memory stirred by this blanket and the fire between us. “Remember when we used to sleep out as kids? All we’d need is a few blankets, some sweet tea in a canteen, and snacks.”
“Potato chips,” Hale says. “It was usually potato chips, extra salty, and marshmallows we’d roast over a fire.”
I laugh. “Sean always ate the most.”
“He still does. Miss Silvie promised to make me more pot roast, since Sean didn’t leave but one of those little potatoes.”
“She’s always been great about feeding us,” I agree.
“And Owen was always great about checking on us when we’d sleep out. I remember him showing up in the early hours, making sure we were all safe. He’d pull Trin’s blanket up just below her chin. He had this gentle way about him. He never woke her. Came in like a shadow, left the same way.”
“Your daddy would check on us, too,” I say. “I remember seeing his big work boots step into my line of vision. They always smelled like oil and sawdust from all the construction work he’d do and oversee.”
“Sorry,” Hale says.
“What are you talking about? I loved that smell. It reminded me so much of him and how hard he worked.”
Hale pokes at the flames, the aggression he uses alerting me something is up long before he speaks. “Daddy didn’t start coming around until much later. When he thought I finally proved my potential and worth.” He pauses, the edge of the stick glowing amber. “Owen didn’t need us to prove anything. He just wanted us safe, and for his little girl to enjoy her time with her friends.”
My hand is twisted in an odd angle. I meant only to adjust the blanket a certain way, not to remain in this position. But Hale’s words froze me in place. I force myself to move it and shake it out, the tension I sense surging instead of lessening. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
It’s a strange question, but he knows what I mean.
Hale squares his jaw, his expression so harsh in the shadows of the flames, he’s almost unrecognizable.
I don’t back down. This is a battle I need to fight. “Hale, what did you mean when you said that about your daddy?”
When he doesn’t respond, I adjust my position and lean forward. “Look, if I’m going to help you, I need to know things you may not be comfortable sharing.”
“You mean private things? Things I don’t want others to know?”
It’s not really a question. “Yes.”
What I’ve learned throughout my years of working closely with people is that the more you keep your trap shut, the more people will tell you what you want to hear. It’s not so much a need to spill their darkest secrets. It comes with that desire to be heard.
I wait, watching Hale as he gives the ocean we love so much its due, all the while allowing the memories that stirred his bitter words to take life.
It takes a while for him to speak. When he does, I know he’s ready and wants to be heard. “Do you remember how my daddy never missed any of my brothers’ games, but how he always found a reason to miss mine?”
I’m not certain where he’s going with this and my frown reflects as much. “He had to work. It’s how he made his construction company the success it became.”
My words trail at the slow shake of Hale’s head. “No. That was the excuse my mother always fed me, and the one I’d eagerly swallow.”
“What? I remember seeing him cheering you on all the times Trin and I went to watch you.”
“I don’t think you’re remembering it right,” he says, his voice so hollow, the breeze practically swallows it whole. “My father didn’t catch my first football game until middle school when the coaches were noticing my talent and my teachers were noticing my soaring grades.”
“But he went to your brothers’ games no matter what,” I say, repeating his words, since there’s obviously more there and plenty more that I missed. His brothers were good athletes and made decent grades, from what I remember. But they weren’t gifted or as smart as Hale. They also certainly weren’t as popular.
“That’s right,” he agrees.
“Why?”
Hale’s hesitation is brief. “Because, unlike me, they were blood. They were his real sons.”
My knitted brow slowly lifts as shock hits me like a freight train.
“That’s right,” he says, opening his arms wide. “You’re looking at one hell of a bastard. The real kind.”
Hale reaches for a beer from the cooler near his side, popping off the cap before handing it to me. “You might need this,” he says.
I take three hard pulls. Considering the bomb he just dropped on my lap, I might need a whole case.
“You were adopted,” I say. “There’s no shame in that.”
It’s a stupid thing to say. I knew it was before those lame thoughts flew out of my mouth. Clearly, he wasn’t adopted. Oh, no. I take another few quick gulps, my head spinning when I realize I almost drank the whole thing.
Hale lowers the beer he took for himself, barely taking more than a sip. “Now, darlin’,” he says. “We both know that’s not where this conversation is headed.”
In the far distance, lightning lights up the sky, signaling the start of the predicted storm and the wallop of a story Hale has to tell.
“Daddy had a heart attack a few weeks after I moved to the city,” he begins, his focus returning to the flames. “I came right home. He was my daddy, right? At least, that’s what I believed back then.” He swallows a taste of beer. “We were in the hospital. He knew
things were bad. He knew this was his time. Even though all the docs were telling him that with the right diet and meds he should pull through.”
The flames reflecting and dancing across Hale’s face would unveil darkness and bitterness on anyone else. On Hale, they reveal the soul of a damaged man.
“I think he wanted to clear his conscience before he died. Admit his sins and such. ‘You’re not mine,’ he said. ‘You’re not my real boy.’ I thought he was delirious or that maybe the pain meds he was on were having a negative effect.” He huffs. “That’s what I told myself, anyway. But I knew it then. I knew it in the way he spoke and in the way he looked at me. Hell, maybe I’ve always known.”
I grip the longneck tightly, trying to keep quiet so he won’t stop.
“He told me . . .” He drags his hand down his face. “He told me he was embarrassed about everything I had to do to win his love. How I had to work that much harder, while my brothers barely tried. About all those times he regretted walking past me when he could feel how much I wanted a hug.”
Hale takes a hard gulp. “‘You were always a good son, Hale,’ he said. ‘You always had a fire that couldn’t be put out, and a heart as big as the ocean. I should have seen it long before I did. I owed you better than that as your daddy.’”
“He was telling you he was sorry,” I say when Hale’s thoughts take him away. “He was trying to make peace with how he mistreated you.”
“Daddy never mistreated me, Becks,” Hale says. “He ignored me. It’s probably why I fought so hard to be the best in sports, in school, in everything. They were things I could do to make him pay attention to me.”
“And make you the favorite.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?” Hale asks. “No way was I the favorite. Not when I was the result of his wife’s mistake.”
He wants me to take back what I said. But I can’t and he needs to hear why. “I’m sorry. Maybe I’m out of line. But from everything I saw when I was around your family, you were the hero. In your parents’ eyes, you were the one who’d done right by them.”
“I can’t agree,” he says. He tips back his beer. “Not after everything I had to do to make up for what my mother did.”
He tosses his empty bottle in the garbage can. I down the rest of mine and pad over to him, blanket and all.
I take the second beer he offers and plop down in the cushy seat beside him. The cushion feels cold against my legs. I don’t complain. This is nothing compared to what Hale is feeling.
“How did it happen?” I ask.
“Do you want Daddy’s version or Momma’s?” he asks me. He pats my knee. “You know what? I’ll tell you Momma’s. It’s more interesting.”
Interesting isn’t the right word here. Not with the sadness that skims across Hale’s aura like a rising tide.
“Daddy’s business had started to take off. So much so, he was putting in sixteen-hour days and working seven days a week. He did that for two years straight, if you can believe it. Not so much as taking Christmas off, in order to please his clients and to make a name for himself.”
“I always remember him as a hard worker,” I say. I have nothing better to add. Although, for Hale’s sake, I wish I did.
“You know what he did with the first of his fortune?” I shake my head. “He took his family on a trip to Europe. He’d never been. Always dreamed of going as a kid. But, instead of enjoying the trip, he’d stay behind in these fancy hotels to work and manage the business from afar. Momma couldn’t take it. This was their time to be a family. He’d promised that all the sacrifice and dinners she’d spent without him was for them. But instead of just being lonely in Kiawah, she was lonely clear on the other side of the world.”
My stomach turns inward. I know that loneliness well. I’ve just never known it as a wife and mother.
“She was young and attractive,” he says. “You hear where I’m going with this, don’t you? One night, while they were in Sweden, they hired a nanny to look after my brothers so they could go out on the town. But Daddy received a call about an employee acting up at a site. He couldn’t have that. Not my father. Not when his reputation was on the line.” Hale pinches the bridge of his nose. “Momma couldn’t take it. For her, it was the last straw. She left my brothers with the nanny, my father to conduct his business, and went to the closest bar to a find a man who was willing to pay her attention.” He motions to himself as he lifts his beer. “You can see it worked out well for her.”
I blink several times. “This is what she told you?” I ask.
“More or less, a few days after the funeral.” He rolls the bottle between his palms, not bothering with another sip. “You might have heard she was drunk at the funeral parlor. You might have even heard she was drunk at the service. I have to say, she was pretty lit when she spilled her secret. Some might have even referred to her as sloppy.”
Hale’s momma tended to drink more than the other mothers I knew. But I never saw her out of control even once.
“Her drinking wasn’t bad until after Daddy died,” Hale explains, reading my thoughts. “The guilt ate her alive. I think it took his death to make her realize how badly she’d hurt a good man.” He pauses. “I also think she saw how badly she’d hurt me.”
“Did you confront her?”
Hale rubs his eyes, appearing suddenly tired. “We talked about it. There was no screaming or yelling or accusing. It was just her talking and me sitting there wishing it was all a bad dream.” He looks at me. “I don’t think she wanted me to know. If it were up to her, they both would have taken that shit to the grave.”
I look at the ground, my gaze practically singeing the stone pavers at my feet. I’m angry for Hale and disappointed, as well. Mostly, I’m heartbroken, just like he is. “What did your daddy say?”
Hale doesn’t seem to be listening. I think the ghosts of his past speak louder than me, drowning out my voice and reducing it to a whisper. Eventually he answers, but it takes him time. “He blamed himself. I never expected a man as proud as my daddy to take the fall for his wife’s mistakes. But that’s what he did.”
“He loved her,” I say without thinking.
“I can’t argue with that,” he agrees, his tone heavy. “Even as he lay there telling me what she did, it was his love for her that made him break down. ‘I was angry when I found out,’ he said. ‘And if she hadn’t been pregnant with you, she may never have told me. But in trying to do right by my family, I neglected them. I neglected her.’”
“Shit,” I say.
“That pretty much sums it up. Want to hear the best part?” He chuckles, as if knowing the punchline of a joke before he tells it, not that I find what he says funny. “My brothers figured it out long before they were told. I was blond, real blond back then. Hard to blend in, when you’re a towhead in a room full of country folk with hair and beards as dark as midnight. My brothers never liked me. They used to gang up on me, remember? I know why now and why I chose my family in the form of friends like you.”
I don’t judge, nor reply. My family is just as screwed up as Hale’s. It’s the reason we were all as tight as we were with Trin, Mason, and Sean. We needed a family we could count on.
“Everything you just told me, every last word you said to me, we’re putting on film.”
“Excuse me?” he says.
“You heard me,” I tell him.
“This isn’t a joke or a publicity stunt,” Hale says, his temper firing. “It’s my life, Becca.”
“And the side everyone who’s already judged you needs to see,” I press. “As much as you’re known for your business savvy, you don’t come across as warm, and no one out there has ever seen your heart.”
“Why would they?” He jerks his chin. “Why would I show anyone what I’ve been through, especially when I’ve been part of the rat race, interacting with people who’d stab me in the back and rob me of everything I’ve worked for without thinking twice?
One of them did this to me. Framed me or whatever the hell. Do you think that would have changed if they knew my heart? No, Becks. It would have been one more target they could aim for.”
I can’t say he doesn’t have a point. But I won’t shy away from what needs to be done. “You were the perfect man on Wall Street. Too perfect. So much so, your competitors and everyone else you managed to piss off couldn’t wait for your downfall. Like you said, someone among them caused it, leaving everyone else to celebrate and wish you the worst. One less competitor, right?”
“Right,” he agrees. “And one hell of a show. It’s the reason the feds jumped on this case. The head of the agency is up for reappointment, and wanted something big to make him look good. Instead, he got a pitiful case, lacking any substantial evidence or good investigative work. The more my team finds, the more they’re sure I’ll get off with an apology.”
He’s smiling. I’m not. “A public apology won’t be enough. Best case, it will be ignored by the press when the next big story hits, or shoved into the back pages of most papers beside the want-ads. Neither will win you back the public’s trust, which is why we need to put your story out there. We need to humanize you for everyone who isn’t so cutthroat. Those who trusted you with their earnings, and those who helped your firm become what it was.”
“At the expense of my privacy?” he asks, growing testy. “Hell, no.”
“It’ll be tasteful.”
For a second, I almost expect him to take that beer and smash it into the fire. But he doesn’t. Hale wouldn’t ever intimidate me that way.
“Is that all you have to say?” he asks. “That it’ll be in good taste? What was I worried about? Hell, maybe all your hard work will even land you an Emmy.”
“Maybe,” I add thoughtfully.
“You’re something else, you know that?”
He doesn’t mean it as a compliment. Not with that tone.
I wipe my chin when I spill some of my beer, my thoughts racing ahead of my mouth. “I’m here to save your reputation. Right now, even your kindest and most genuine clientele think you’re a crook, and they’re convinced you screwed them. You’ve never shown them the side your friends have seen. You’ve never extended your hand in friendship.”