“I know, Dad. You’ve said so before. I got the message. You would rather have divorced me and kept her.”
His father started. “That’s not what I said.”
Scott didn’t bother to respond. Sometimes what wasn’t said was a helluva lot clearer than what was. He’d ruined his life, Nikki’s life, and now he knew he’d ruined his parents’ hopes for the future, too, by losing her. Fine. Fucking great!
Scott got up and headed for the kitchen. “Need some water. I’ll be back.” He tossed words over his shoulder so his mother wouldn’t come after him.
But once in the kitchen he just stared at the refrigerator without opening it. There was a small color photo attached at eye level by one of those magnetic frames a little smaller than a Post-it note. It was of Gabe in full battle gear with a thousand-watt chick-magnet smile that outshone the reflective surface of his silvered sunshades. Gabe could live off the land with only a knife and two days of water in a two-week wilderness training. Gabe could do anything, and everything.
“Except come home safe, you bastard!”
Scott snatched the picture off the silver face of the refrigerator and looked around for somewhere to toss it. Instead, his fist closed around the frame and he squeezed until the metal rim digging into his palm and fingers threatened to draw blood. He missed his brother so damned much. He could really use some advice.
After a few moments, he carefully replaced the photo, adjusting it to his mother’s eye level. Gabe wasn’t here. The world inside his own head was all he had left. Piss poor as that might be.
He braced an arm on the fridge and lowered his head against it as he tried to think his way logically through the revelations of the last few minutes.
Nikki had thrown their history and his failings in his face when he went to see her the other day. He didn’t think she’d held anything back. If she had been pregnant, she would have told him then. She was too honest to do otherwise.
She hadn’t mentioned wanting to start a family, not in any concrete way, the last few months of their marriage, either. Of course, even before the wedding, they’d agreed that one day, in the future, they wanted children. Later. After things settled. When they were financially stable and their careers established.
Yet some long-neglected memory was wriggling its way to the surface of his thoughts. Their last Christmas Eve, she’d placed something on the tree. What was it? Something about Christmas wishes. A tiny red stocking with a white fur trim. She’d said …
Scott sighed and shook his head. He couldn’t remember. After he left that Christmas afternoon, he’d been gone for three straight days. She wasn’t talking to him by the time he returned. And not much after that. By spring it was over.
Emotion welled up inside him, a longing for so many things he was afraid he might never have and knew he didn’t deserve. What was a man supposed to do with this huge wad of longing? He’d chased down armed felons, run with one percenters, even squared off with hopped-up addicts who didn’t know they’d been shot. But the emotions coursing through him now scared him more than anything ever in his life. It felt as if the only answer was that deep abyss he’d crawled out of just last year. He could feel it, just beyond the edge of his consciousness. Waiting, in case he got tired.
Get in touch again with who you really are. Department counselor’s advice. Great advice. If he’d had any idea who he was in the first place.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. The background photo was blurry because Cole almost caught him taking it in her kitchen. But the sight of Nicole’s face gave him a jolt of life. He knew he could go on living without her. He’d done that. But the sight of her, after all this time, made him want to find out if there was a way back to having her in his life again.
His involuntary smile at that thought surprised him almost as much as the relief that coursed through him with that decision. He was about to make an all-out assault on Nicole Jamieson’s heart. And this time, nothing was going to screw it up.
The doorbell rang as he came back into the living room.
His mother sprang up. “Right on time. Thank goodness. I was getting worried about all that food getting cold or overcooked.”
As she moved to open the door to their guests the scream of a motorcycle engine disrupted the quiet.
Scott looked up, every nerve alert. “What the fu—heck is that?”
“New neighbors.” His mother pressed her lips together in disapproval. “The son comes and goes at all hours. The neighborhood association has filed a noise complaint with the city. But what are you going to do? He says it’s his only mode of transportation to and from work.”
“He can buy a muffler, for starters.”