The Secret One

by Cardello, Ruth

  His gaze dropped to my chest. He blinked a few times, then went a little red and returned his attention to the drinks before him. “What was the question?”

  I shook my head but had to fight back a smile.

  He looked up. He really did have beautiful eyes—dark and so open. Most guys would have already said something in an attempt to impress me. That was how it worked. Men said shit they didn’t mean. Women sometimes chose to believe it long enough to hook up.

  Still, I felt I needed to be up front. “There is zero chance of anything happening between us.”

  He shrugged. “You’re the only one who keeps bringing sex up. I just needed a place to sit for a minute.”

  Irritated, I snapped, “To get drunk enough to be able to tolerate your friends.”

  He brought a finger to his lips. “Not so loud. It’s not that I don’t want to be with them. I don’t want to be with anybody.” He took a long gulp of his drink. “Not even me.”

  “I totally get that.”

  “Really? You’ll get over it. Whatever he said to you—wipe it right out of your mind. One day you’ll meet someone who matters, and you won’t even remember his name.”

  “This isn’t about a guy.”

  “Okay, because Ashley thought it was.”

  “Ashley doesn’t fucking know me, does she?”

  “Nope, she doesn’t. So you didn’t just get dumped?”

  “I broke up with him.”

  Chris shrugged. “Then he’ll be even easier to forget later. Have a good cry. You’ll feel better by tomorrow.”

  Every word out of his mouth was like nails on a chalkboard. “First, it’ll be a cold day in hell before I cry over a man. Second—” I realized something in that moment. “Second, he’s not even what I’m upset about.” I stopped. “Like I said . . . my head is all fucked up.”

  “I know how that feels.”

  His response irritated me. “Really? Did your father die and take with him everything you loved about your life?” Had I really said that? Was that how I still felt? My hands shook as I realized it was. And why was I vomiting my issues on a drunk stranger?

  Chris didn’t matter to me. It was unlikely I’d see him again. It didn’t matter what I said to him. I could finally say what I’d been holding in. “I never felt alone when my father was alive, but that’s all I feel now.”

  And scared. For the second time in my life, I felt like I’d had all sense of security ripped out from beneath my feet. My father’s friends had been good to me, but we were no longer part of each other’s daily lives. I hoped to one day remedy that, but I had no idea how.

  “Losing someone changes everything.” Chris turned in his chair to face me. “This is the first weekend I haven’t gone home since my sister-in-law died. I don’t want to be alone, but being with people doesn’t help either.”

  My chest tightened. “I know.”

  “It’s been a few months. You’d think I’d have my shit together by now. She was pregnant, not that losing just her wouldn’t have been devastating, but . . . hey, don’t you hate it when people ask how you’re doing but they don’t want to hear the truth?”

  “Yes. It’s been over a year for me. I don’t talk about it anymore.”

  “Because the people who actually do care get sad when you do.”

  “And you don’t like to be alone, so you sleep with people you tell yourself care about you even though you know they don’t.”

  “Or do enough shots of tequila that you find yourself telling your problems to a stranger in a bar.”

  “Yeah,” I mumbled. I wished I’d had the excuse of having had too much to drink. Sadly, I was sober and just in need of someone to talk to. God, I felt pathetic.

  We shared an awkward moment of silence after that. He could not have been less like the men I was used to. In the racing world, men swaggered with flashy smiles and used brags as conversation starters. Chris was good looking, but I didn’t get the sense that he knew it. If there was anything spectacular about him, he certainly wasn’t boasting about it.

  I gave him another once-over. He was taller than I’d initially thought. Nice shoulders. His bicep flexed as he reached for his drink, and my heart surprised me by skipping a beat. I bet he could hold his own in a fight. When he looked my way again, I got lost for a moment in his dark eyes.

  His voice turned husky. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

  Something shifted in the air. He wasn’t just someone who’d come to sit next to me at a dive bar; he was someone who understood a pain I’d long ago given up trying to articulate. For once, I didn’t feel alone. “I’m sorry about your sister-in-law.”

  He held my gaze. “I considered dropping out of school to go home to spend more time with my family, but I don’t think it would help. My brother is so angry.”

  I nodded. “I can imagine he would be.” I still was. Losing my father was the hardest thing I’d ever gone through, and I still hadn’t found my footing. “I bet he’s scared too. I am. I don’t know who I am without my father. I used to be so confident. I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I don’t know anything anymore. I don’t know if anything’s worth it. No matter what I do—I lose anyway. So why bother, right?”

  He leaned closer. “That’s not what I see in your eyes.”

  I told myself anything he said would be a line designed to get me to leave with him. He probably couldn’t even focus on my face. Still, I leaned in as well. “Really? What do you see?”

  “A person with a lot of fight left in them.” His gaze was surprisingly steady.

  I wished that were true. “Not as much as you’d think.”

  He cocked his head to one side. “What did you want to do? Before your dad died?”

  I hadn’t expected the question and needed a moment before I could answer it. “My dad and I had plans to buy a plot of land when he retired. He was a NASCAR driver.” I didn’t say his name. I hadn’t said mine. Neither mattered. “We had this dream of a private racetrack we could buy old stock cars and test them out on. Just me and him. And our pit crew.”

  “Pit crew?”

  I frowned. “The people who refuel, change the tires, check everything during a race.” My father’s had been so much a part of my life they were family.

  “Oh. Cool.”

  “You don’t watch NASCAR?”

  He shrugged. “Was that how your father died?”

  “No. Heart attack.” His question was a valid one, though. Stock car racing wasn’t a sport for the meek.

  “You need to build that racetrack.”

  I shook my head. “Without him? I couldn’t.”

  “Why not? Because it’s expensive?”

  I made a sound in my throat. “That’s part of it, but it’s a million other things as well. I don’t think I could do it on my own.”

  He traced a hand down the side of my face. “You could. All you have to do is start with what you want to do, determine what it takes to make it happen, then break that down to smaller steps you can take toward your goal. That’s what I always tell my brother, anyway. He has big dreams.” His hand fell back to his side. “Or he used to.”

  I touched his thigh, then withdrew when it felt too intimate. “He’s lucky to have a brother like you.”

  “I don’t know about that.” He didn’t seem to notice my inner struggle. “What would you name your racetrack?”

  I had no idea.

  “Every dream needs a name,” he continued, still slurring his words. “Hey, you never told me your name.”

  “Mack.” I normally stopped there, but I added, “Decker.”

  He spread his hands in the air and moved them outward as if stretching a sign. “Decker Park. I like it.”

  I shuddered as hope fluttered to life inside me. “My father didn’t leave me much. I have enough to pay for school, then . . .”

  “Buy that land?”

  “Maybe, but not enough to do more than that.”

  He smiled. “If you buy the lan
d, you’ll build that racetrack.”

  He took my hand in his, sending warmth through me. I told myself I shouldn’t feel so connected to someone I’d just met, someone who was obviously wasted. He made it all sound so easy. How could he believe in me when I’d forgotten how to believe in myself? “I miss my father so much I ache.”

  “Then make Decker Park happen.” He asked the bartender for a pen and grabbed a napkin. “Show me what it would look like.”

  I hesitated. Sketching it out felt like a promise . . . one I had to believe I was capable of keeping. “What I imagine would be too much to do on my own.”

  “You’d need that pit crew.”

  My heart started thudding wildly in my chest. Could I ask them to join me? Would they? Was that a crazy dream as well? “I would. Some of my dad’s closest friends were on his. We try to stay in touch, but they all had to find work and are scattered around New England. This would give us a chance to do something together.”

  His smile widened. “See—all you have to do is believe it’s possible, then focus on making it happen.”

  My father had said something similar so many times I got goose bumps. Focus. That was what I’d lost when my father had died. I turned away from Chris and sketched everything my father and I had talked about wanting our racetrack to have. I even drew a building where we could showcase my future collection of priceless refurbished stock cars. The facility would require a huge garage. Big enough to impress NASCAR’s top drivers. I imagined Decker Park as an invitation-only facility.

  When I finished, I described it all in great detail to Chris. I didn’t know if he was fascinated or if his quiet attention was due to a drunken stupor. Either way, once I started talking, I couldn’t stop. I told him that my father had taught me how to change out an engine at the age some fathers were teaching their daughters how to ride a bike. I told him how every time I worked on my father’s 1967 Plymouth Belvedere, I felt him with me, and I still struggled with the idea of him being truly gone. When I stopped for a breath, I felt self-conscious about how much I’d shared. “What about you? What do you want?”

  Another man might have taken that as an opportunity to proposition me, but Chris’s eyebrows drew together, and his eyes darkened with sadness. “I want Sebastian to stop drinking. My family has always been close, but we’re falling apart. At least, I am. I lost my brother along with his wife. He’s drunk all the time—and such an ass when he is. I don’t like him anymore, and that’s tough because I love him.”

  “You’ll figure it out.” I slid down from my seat, stepped between his legs, and hugged him. When I lifted my face from his chest, our faces were close . . . so close.

  His mouth claimed mine hungrily, and his hands went to my hips to hold me close. I expected the kiss to be sloppy, but a gentle, hot caress met my lips. I opened to his tongue, which teased its way around mine. I wanted him in a way I’d never wanted Noah. And this was Chris drunk.

  Drunk. He shouldn’t be. I broke the kiss off and stepped back. He couldn’t help his brother if he went down the same path. “You know on an airplane when they tell you to put your oxygen mask on before you help the person next to you?”

  He looked turned on and confused. “Sure.”

  “Your brother needs you to be sober.”

  He rubbed a hand over his face. “Wish you’d said that like six . . . seven tequila shots ago.”

  I laid a hand over his heart. His pain and confusion were as real to me as my own. I’d never been what one would call nurturing, but I sought the words to comfort him. “You’re going to be okay, Chris. Your brother will too. Do you know how I know that?”

  He shook his head. The sadness in his eyes reflected the state of my own soul, and in that moment, I knew what he needed to hear.

  “Because I see it in your eyes. You’re a good brother, and there’s no way he can fail when he has someone like you on his side. You’ve got this.”

  It was a really touching moment until he swayed and turned green. “I’m sorry. I think I’m going to throw up.”

  I took another step back. “Do you need help getting to the bathroom?”

  He shook his head, groaned, then hopped off his stool and rushed away. Alone, I looked around and realized two people were watching me from a nearby table.

  I could have given in to the embarrassment that was nipping at my heels, but instead I raised my chin and walked over to them. “Your friend is getting sick in the bathroom.”

  “Oh, shit. Ashley, I’ll be right back,” the man said.

  “Didn’t you say you had his family’s number? Call them. We told my friends we’d meet them,” she said with a pout that made me want to throw up. Those were his crew? No wonder he needed time away from them.

  I was about to say I’d get Chris home, but the man was already talking to someone on the phone.

  “His father’s on his way,” Chris’s friend said before taking another swig of his beer and turning his attention back to his date.

  I walked back to the bar but didn’t sit. I’d barely touched my drink. There was no reason I couldn’t drive back to my dorm.

  No reason besides a need to make sure Chris was okay. I asked for a glass of water, then retreated with it to a booth in the corner of the room. When Chris emerged from the men’s room, he returned to where we’d been sitting, then looked around.

  I stayed where I was.

  We’d had a good talk, but we weren’t friends.

  I’d come to the bar angry, looking for a distraction, but I’d found something I’d forgotten the importance of—focus. I knew what to do now.

  The mistakes I’d made faded away. On the racetrack, all that mattered was what was before a driver. I saw my path clearly, and it didn’t include another Noah. Or a Chris. Purchasing a lot of land would be just the start. Reaching my goals would require everything I had.

  Chris stumbled back to the table where his friends were. Thankfully they didn’t seem to know I was still there. He kept looking around, but the shadows concealed me.

  A little while later, an older version of Chris walked into the bar. He looked tired and concerned but not angry. After helping Chris to his feet, he said something to his friends, then walked him out of the bar.

  I sat nursing my glass of water for a long time. Listening to Chris talk about his family had reminded me that I had one too. Maybe not a biological one, but people who cared and who I should have made more of an effort to stay in touch with. I called my father’s best friend, Ty, and told him where I was. Even though I assured him I’d only had a sip of my drink, he made me promise to stay where I was until he came for me.

  Normally I would have protested, but I wanted to tell him about Decker Park and the steps I had already come up with for exactly how I’d make it happen. As I waited, I wondered what Chris would remember of me and our conversation.

  We might not have been meant to be, but I’d always be grateful to him for giving me back a piece of myself.

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHRISTOF

  The only thing less fun than asking my father to pull over on the way back to my dorm so I could throw up again was later realizing he was settling himself in a chair beside my bed because he had no intention of leaving. If he was with me, that meant somewhere out there Mauricio was babysitting Sebastian. I was doing the opposite of helping my family.

  The room spun. I laid my head back and groaned. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” my father murmured.

  I wished he would yell, but he didn’t have to. I knew exactly how much I’d disappointed him. “You don’t have to stay.”

  “Sleep it off, Christof. I’m not leaving until I’m sure you’re okay.”

  Mack’s voice echoed in my thoughts, telling me I was a good brother and that I could handle this. I promised myself I’d do better—starting tomorrow. “Do you believe in love at first sight, Dad?”

  “Yes, but I wouldn’t trust your vision tonight.”
<
br />   He made a valid point, but only because he hadn’t met her. “Her name was Mack. When she talked to me, it was like she was touching my soul.”

  “Oh boy.”

  “I’m going to marry her someday.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  “She knows so much about cars. I should learn about them. We could fix them together. Do you know how to fix a car, Dad?”

  “No idea. Go to sleep, Christof.”

  “I mean it, Dad. She’s the one.” I brought a fist to my forehead. “And she met me like this. I kissed her, then ran off to throw up—do you think that’s why she left?”

  “I imagine there might be a correlation.”

  I closed my eyes and threw an arm over my face. “I should have asked her for her number. How am I ever going to find her again?”

  “If she’s meant to be, she’ll come back to you.”

  “Dad?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m going to throw up again.”

  I didn’t realize how fast my father could move until I sat up and bent forward. With ninja speed he had a bowl in front of me just in time.

  I still had some growing up to do, but I knew who I wanted to be when I did. He had high expectations of us, but when we faltered, he was always there to pick us up. I had the world’s best father. I would have told him that, but after I handed him the bowl, I passed out.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ABIGAIL CORISI, DOMINIC CORISI’S WIFE

  Seven years later

  Desperate times called for desperate measures.

  Abby waited in the solarium for a woman who was nearly as powerful as her husband. There were people who watched the news, people who were discussed on it, and then people who were so influential they controlled the media.

  Had anyone told Abby that she’d meet a sinfully rich man, fall madly in love with him, and leave her simple, middle-class life for the craziness of his world, she would have said things like that didn’t happen.

  They did, though.

  And that life had been good—so good—until recently.