Bungalow Nights

chapter NINETEEN



GUT ROILING WITH EMOTIONS, Vance hesitated in his room while Layla headed for the stairs. Something was going on with her, but the something that was going on inside of him was overwhelming his ability to read her. His gaze returned to those damning photos and he seethed, so angry at himself that he could hardly breathe.

He’d always blamed his father for the falling-out between him and his family—not understanding why the man had broken the promise of a position in the family company—but Christ, he’d been wild and irresponsible. Exactly how wild and irresponsible, he hadn’t realized until seeing these photos again. No wonder they’d cut him loose.

That he was different now...well, how could lost trust be regained?

With a last look at what he now thought of as the Wall of Shame, Vance steeled himself to go down to dinner. It wasn’t easy, not after looking at that damning proof. Christ, he couldn’t wait for this night to be over.

At the top of the stairs, he spied Layla on the landing below. Fitz was nowhere in sight, likely already in the dining room. As Vance took his first step, a tremendous noise from outside the house filled the foyer—the screech of brakes, a squealing slide, then the unmistakable crunch of metal meeting solid object.

Car crash.

Vance froze. His imagination? Had the sound been conjured from his memories and triggered by those photos? But even before his mind could filter the truth, instinct kicked in and he was flying downward. “Call 9-1-1,” he ordered Layla, who’d come to a halt. “Get Fitz, my dad, my uncle. We need blankets and a first-aid kit.”

Wide-eyed, she ran off.

The blood in his veins burned like ice as Vance stepped onto the front porch. Oh, God. The scene was straight out of a Driver’s Ed shock film. His heart slammed against his ribs as adrenaline surged through his system. The last time he’d faced blood and injuries, it had ended in death. Still, he raced across the courtyard and toward the road, cataloging details. Red pickup on its roof, resting against the trunk of a giant oak. Windshield shattered. Front end crumpled. At least one inside; no airbags deployed. Another unmoving figure was sprawled nearby, on the side of the road.

He dropped to the ground by the driver’s window. It was broken, too, the safety glass scattered like teardrops on the truck’s headliner. As he reached to turn off the ignition, he noted the driver was a teen boy—who appeared unconscious—with a seeping scalp wound. There was a teen girl on the passenger side, eyes closed and moaning.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Fitz and his father approach at a run. “You two need to divert any oncoming traffic,” he said, and leaped to his feet to rush toward the body lying on the ground. Another teenager, male, face pale, though his eyes were open and slowly blinking at the sky overhead. Vance knelt down. “Hey,” he said, his voice gentle. “I’m Vance, I’m going to help you.”

When the kid didn’t acknowledge him, Vance tapped him lightly on the shoulder. “I’m Vance,” he said again. “How many were in the truck?”

This time, the boy’s eyes shifted to his face and he started blinking rapidly. “Wha—?”

“You’ve been in an accident. How many were in the truck?” He needed to know if there might be other injured persons unaccounted for.

“Th-three,” the kid said. “Where’s...?”

At that moment, Uncle Roy appeared at his elbow, blanket in hand. “Great,” Vance said. “Cover him, will you? And find a way to elevate his legs. He’s in shock.”

On his feet again, he raced back to the truck, this time going around to the passenger side and bending low. The girl was still moaning. “Hey, I’m Vance,” he said. “Can you open your eyes?”

She did, then immediately started struggling against the bonds of her shoulder harness and seat belt. “Need to get out.”

Vance touched her cheek. “No, don’t. You might have hurt your neck or back. The paramedics will be here soon. Try to stay calm.” Layla arrived with another light blanket and he did his best to drape it around the girl’s neck. In her upside-down position, gravity was not his friend.

“Let me do that,” Layla said.

Without a word, he left her to it and headed back around the truck to the driver. Dropping to the ground, he noticed the kid’s head wound was bleeding more profusely. Vance stripped off his shirt, then used his teeth to rip a manageable piece of fabric that he wrapped around the cut on the boy’s forehead. As he tightened the knot, the teenager regained consciousness, lifting an arm to bat at Vance’s hands.

“I’m here to help,” Vance said. “Just relax.” He introduced himself again. “What’s your name?”

“Oh, God, oh, God,” the teen moaned. “My dad’s gonna kill me. I crashed another car last month. He’s gonna kill me.”

Vance’s father thrust another blanket at him. He glanced up. “Someone’s watching for oncoming cars? 9-1-1s been called?” Out in rural avocado country, it could take a while for emergency responders to reach them.

“Yes—”

“Wait!” the driver said in a sudden panic. “I can’t move my legs! I can’t move my legs!”

Vance stretched supine on the asphalt so he could reach in and palm the boy’s shoulder. “It’s going to be all right. We’ve called for help.”

“Don’t leave me,” the boy said, and wrapped his fingers around Vance’s wrist.

“I’m not going anywhere. Can you tell me your name?”

“Marshall,” he said, his hold not relaxing. “Marshall Richter.”

“Okay, Marshall Richter. The two of us will sit tight until the EMTs arrive.” From what Vance could see, it would probably require the Jaws of Life to extract the kid from the twisted front end of the car. Whether his legs were badly injured or just trapped, it was impossible to know.

“Vance.” His father crouched beside him and spoke in a low voice. “The gasoline’s leaking.”

Shit. He could smell it now. Even as he took in a sharp breath, he could feel the liquid beginning to puddle under his body. Oh, shit.

“Dad, do you think you can get the girl out?” Between risking possible further injury or frying to death if the vehicle caught fire, it was a no-brainer. “Put her down on a flat surface a distance away from here. Keep her covered and calm.”

“Vance—”

“A safe distance.” He turned his head to meet his father’s eyes. “Get everybody a safe distance away. You understand?”

“Yes,” William Smith said, his jaw tightening.

“Good.” He hadn’t wanted to say the word explosion and freak out the kid.

The teen was no fool, however, and his fingers bit into Vance’s flesh. “You can’t leave me,” he said, his eyes going wild.

“I’m not going to leave you. I’m right here.” On the other side of the truck, he could see his brother, father and uncle making quick work of releasing the girl from the harness and belt. The door on that side wasn’t crumpled like the driver’s door, so when she dropped into Fitz’s arms, he was able to ease her out. The girl cried throughout the entire process and it was Layla who reassured her, her husky voice telling her it would be fine, she was almost free, everything would be okay.

Then the girl was gone. Vance let out a long breath of relief as he sensed the others retreating toward the house. His gaze remained on the kid, though, maintaining eye contact to bolster the boy’s confidence.

Footsteps alerted him to the return of someone. He glanced over, recognizing his father’s shoes. Then there was Layla, the little moons and stars on her toenails giving her away.

“Dad,” he called, new worry making his voice sharp. His jeans had soaked up the gasoline like a sponge. More of it was wet beneath his bare back. “Dad, please move back. Take Layla. Take her and yourself away right now.”

There was a hesitation. “Son—”

“Right now.”

Layla made a small sound of distress and he closed his eyes, not sure if it was the smell of gasoline or her fear that was making his stomach churn. “Go, Layla,” he said, making the order harsh. “Go on.”

The footsteps retreated again and he blew out another long breath. Marshall was making panicky noises in the back of his throat and Vance reached in to cover the fingers that were still curved around his wrist. “So, Marshall, where do you go to high school?”

“Say you won’t leave me,” the kid said. “Say I’m going to make it out of this.”

Words echoed in Vance’s head, the ones he’d told every wounded man he’d ever rushed to help. I’m going to get you out of here, soldier. I’m going to get you to the best doctors and nurses we have available.

“Promise me,” Marshall entreated. “Promise me.”

Promise me.

The desperate tone sucked Vance straight back in time. Colonel Parker, lying in the dirt, life leeching out of him. Vance going a little nuts, knowing the man was dying and knowing there was nothing more he could do about it but endure the heat, the dust and the sick helplessness of not being able to save such an outstanding officer.

Not being able to save a father, whose last thoughts were focused on his daughter. Why not me? Vance had thought then, furious at fate. Estranged from his family, recently dumped by his fiancée, he’d wondered why it hadn’t been his turn to die.

Why not me? he thought again now. Why didn’t I die that day or when I crashed those cars or when I flew off a ski jump and landed on my thick head but didn’t break my stupid neck?

Sweet Jesus. Now here he was, offered salvation from his youthful sins, it seemed, through the act of lying in a lake of combustible fuel, holding the hand of a kid who possessed his same reckless spirit. But now Vance didn’t want it to be his turn. Seeing him blown sky-high would demolish his family. And Layla...

God, Layla. He hadn’t fulfilled all the promises he’d made on her behalf, either.

But there was no way he could abandon the boy, this shadow self, and scurry away to safety. Karma, he thought, with a wry grimace, could be just like payback. A bitch.

“Vance?” Marshall said, his voice cracking.

“I promise.” The back of Vance’s head was soaked with fuel now, the fumes making him a little dizzy. “I promise. Now, tell me a little about yourself. We gotta do something to pass the time.”

And the time passed slowly. The kid fixated for a while on the accident, telling Vance that he and his best friend had been taking the girl to her grandma’s but they’d gotten lost on the rural roads with their hairpin turns. “My dad’s always saying I drive too fast,” he mumbled, his eyes starting to roll back. “He’s going to kill me. He’s really going to kill me if the truck doesn’t blow first.”

Vance distracted the boy from that thought, working to keep him conscious and talking. The gasoline fumes stung his eyes and tasted acrid on his tongue, but still Vance didn’t stop talking. How about those Dodgers. Had Marshall been to the beach lately. Could the boy explain the appeal of watching golf on TV. The kid’s answers were slurred by exhaustion by the time approaching sirens finally squealed in the air. Seconds later, they were surrounded by safety boots and turnout pants.

“Nobody light a match, okay?” he called, trying to sound casual, though the words croaked out. Relief was almost as dizzying as the fuel smell, he discovered. But you couldn’t blame a man for being happy he wasn’t going to end up a human Molotov cocktail, after all.

“You’re good, you’re safe,” he told Marshall. “We made it.”

When he stood to allow the EMTs to assess the situation, he went lightheaded. One of the responders grabbed his upper arm. “You okay, pal?”

“Yeah.” He stiffened his knees, determined to keep watch over the extrication process. “I’m good. Take care of the boy.”

The firefighter flashed him a grin. “Looks like you already did that.”

While he was grateful that he’d been on hand to help the victims, Vance didn’t feel his usual satisfaction. Maybe he’d been on scene at too many emergency situations, he thought, a wave of fatigue swamping him. A moment like this one used to juice him up. Still, he stood by until the teen was pulled from the truck and secured on a gurney.

Then Vance stepped close again, meeting Marshall’s pain-filled eyes. “You owe me, kid,” he said.

A ghost of a grin moved the teen’s mouth. “I won’t have a penny after my dad makes me pay for the cost of the crash.”

“You just remember how good it feels to be alive,” he advised. “And don’t go scuttling your second chances.”

As the ambulance took off, followed by another that held the other two victims, Vance finally turned toward his childhood home. His family was gathered in a small knot by the gate.

Adrenaline crash further added to his sense of fatigue, but he took a resolute step toward them. Earlier this evening he’d been reluctant to face them over a meal. What he knew he had to do now was going to be so much harder.

* * *

DINNER HAPPENED, though much later than originally planned, after Vance showered and changed into borrowed clothes. Preoccupied during the meal, he didn’t participate much in the conversation around him. Perhaps sensing his mood, the others at the table left him alone.

He stacked plates when it was over, but his mother shooed him out of the kitchen when he brought them to the dishwasher. “Go relax. Your aunt and I will take care of the dishes.”

“Sounds good, Mrs. Cleaver,” he said, managing to send her a little teasing grin. His mom didn’t usually stick to gender roles when it came to household tasks.

With a wave of her hand, she pretended to smack him with her dish towel, and his grin widened on its own. She’d cried some after the ambulances drove off, but she was back in control.

So it was time to seek out his father, he thought, sobering. His uncle and Fitz were playing pool in the billiards room, Layla looking on. William Smith stood by the French doors leading to the back terrace, his hands behind his back, staring into the night.

As Vance hesitated in the doorway, considering the best approach, he felt a light touch on his shoulder. He swung around, found himself looking into Blythe’s blue eyes.

“Can we talk a minute?” she asked.

With a nod, he followed her into the deserted living room. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he noted how nervous she looked. “Hey,” he said softly, guilt pinching because he’d been avoiding this talk. Stupid of him, when he was past the hurt. “It’s okay. It’s all right.”

A half smile eased Blythe’s tense expression. “I’m starting to think so, since you and your brother have made amends.”

Vance nodded again. “We did. We’re good.”

“I never meant to come between you and Fitz.”

“Understood,” Vance replied. And he meant it.

A silence welled. “I liked you,” she said suddenly, breaking it. “I liked you a lot.”

“I liked you, too.”

“So when you told me you were going overseas, going into danger...” Her fingers were clutched together at her slender waist. “It felt a little bit patriotic and a lot...a lot romantic to get engaged.”

He smiled this time. “You’re such a girl, Blythe.”

“I know, huh?” A blush crept up her face. “It’s embarrassing, what a dork I am.”

“No.” He laughed, realized how little he’d really known her. Elegant Blythe thought she had dorkish moments? Still waters indeed. “I shouldn’t have asked you to marry me when I was on my way back to combat. I should have realized the situation might compel you to say yes.”

Her head tilted. “So why did you ask me?”

“Truth?”

It was her turn to nod.

“To impress my parents. And, if I’m completely honest, because you are such the right woman for Fitz.”

Her eyes widened, and one hand flew up to cover her heart. “Really?”

He could see that his answer had, in some odd way, pleased her. “Really.”

“So, I don’t have to feel so terrible about being with him though I broke up with you?”

“Don’t feel terrible about that for another second,” he said. “Fitz is the right one for you, too.”

Wearing a bemused expression, she just stared at Vance. “He loves you, you know.”

“Yeah.” Vance smiled. “He also loves you.”

“Yeah.” Her smile was just as wide as his. “So...we’re okay now?”

“Not quite. I’ve still got a page or two of sorrys I need to express. Because face it, beautiful lady, without me you wouldn’t have met the chump—and now you’re stuck with him for life.”

She laughed. “Why don’t you save all that for the wedding toast? Something tells me you’re going to be tapped for best man.”

Grinning at the idea, he watched his brother’s fiancée walk off toward the kitchen. That had gone well, he thought. Really well. Then he turned back to the billiards room, hoping his next conversation would meet with the same level of success. William Smith hadn’t left his post by the French doors.

“Dad?” Vance said, and his father turned around. “Can I have a word?”

By tacit agreement, they stepped outside.

They paced in matching strides away from the house, stopping at the low wall surrounding the terrace. In front of them was the black hulk of the hill planted with the first of Vance’s grandfather’s avocados. In the warm darkness he could feel the trees growing, their roots spreading to lick at the well water pumped into the irrigation lines, their leaves relaxing after a day soaking in the sun’s heat. Though he’d never told anyone this, Vance swore he could hear a humming coming from the swelling fruit, a contented sound of health and goodness.

As always, it calmed him.

“You should have let Pinkerton Elementary School put my desk in one of the nearby groves,” he mused aloud. “I probably would have learned a lot more and been a hell of a lot less trouble in the classroom.”

“You weren’t that bad,” his father said.

“Yeah, I was.”

His dad laughed. “You got your high school diploma. I breathed a lot easier after that. Your GPA wasn’t even terrible, though at the end of every semester you were facing a D in at least one class.”

“Would always find a stack of homework in my backpack I’d forgotten to turn in.”

“Yet you made it out.” His father was quiet a moment. “I’m still a little sorry you didn’t get your bachelor’s, though.”

“But I did.”

Even in the dark, he could see the other man’s head whip toward him. “What?”

“After I came back from Afghanistan the first time.” Vance wondered why he’d never mentioned it. Though they’d been at odds, he’d still maintained occasional contact with the family over the years. Stubborn pride, he decided, was another of his failings.

“I thought you worked for the Ochoas.”

“Turns out I’m a multitasker. I didn’t get a degree in business like Fitz and Baxter, though. It’s agricultural management.”

“Ah,” his dad said, rocking back on his heels. “I’m pleased for you, son. Congratulations.”

Avocado country was quiet at night. Vance took in a breath and it seemed to go more silent, the insects hushing, too. Just get it out, he told himself. See if you can get your life back on track.

“Dad,” he said, at the same moment his father turned to him.

“Vance.”

Their laughter sounded strained.

“Let me say my piece first.” Vance took in another breath. “Dad, I want to apologize.”

“Apologize? For what?”

“For my thoughtlessness when I was growing up. I know I was a pain in the ass to monitor as a young kid.” He thought of those photos. Of those three totaled vehicles. “And worse when I was a teenager.”

His father sighed. “Your mother couldn’t sleep most nights from worry.”

He was going to have to face her down, too, Vance thought, but he thought she’d forgive him. What he wanted from his father would be more difficult to obtain. “I suppose it didn’t get any better when I joined the army.”

“No.”

“It was good for me, Dad. I can’t apologize for that because—”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” the older man interrupted. “Today...” He stopped speaking for a moment to pace away, then pace back. “I’ve been angry at you for scaring the hell out of me all of your life, Vance. But I saw with my own two eyes the value of that fearlessness of yours today.”

“Oh, I was sweating plenty out there. I’ve been scared any number of times in the army, too.”

“But you did the job. With confidence. With compassion. That’s how you were with that boy out there. That’s how I’m sure you were with the soldiers you worked to save.”

“It’s what I was trained to do.”

“And I’m proud of you for it, son.” He hesitated again. “I admire you.”

God. Blowing out a breath, Vance shoved his hands in his pockets, strangely nonplussed. “I...I don’t know what to say.” He hadn’t expected to hear anything like this from his father, so the script he’d worked out in his head wasn’t right any longer.

“You don’t have to say anything.”

But he did. His days as a combat medic had done wonders for him as a man, but that career hadn’t been his first dream...nor was it the one he had now. In order to attain it, he’d have to do as Baxter advised and say what he wanted. Vance took his hands from his pockets, spread out his fingers then curled them again to shove them back in his pants. Okay, he was stalling.

Don’t scuttle your second chances.

All right. He’d take his own advice. “I’m going to ask again, Dad. It’s been a few years and I’m hoping your answer will be different this time.”

His father stayed silent, but tension radiated from him.

Vance felt his own muscles tighten. His chest hurt a little as he sucked in another breath. “With Baxter leaving, Smith & Sons Foods is down a son. I was hoping you could find a place for me in the company.”

A long moment of silence passed. “You see Fitz moving into Baxter’s work and you doing Fitz’s—as well as the grove management tasks?” his father finally asked.

“Bax,” Vance muttered, like a curse. Clearly he’d been talking to the family about this already. “Well, I did the management for the Ochoas. GreenWise is okay, but—”

“They’re not a Smith. They don’t have Smith & Sons Foods as a first priority.”

“It would be my first priority.” It was what he’d wanted since he was first following Granddad around, begging to be lifted high to pick the first fruit of the season.

“It’s hard to be one of a pair of brothers,” his father said slowly. “Don’t think I don’t realize that. Remember, I was raised with your uncle Roy. You get labeled within your family. Within your community. It’s not always fair.”

Bemused, Vance narrowed his eyes, trying to see his father’s expression in the dark. “What label did you get?”

“That doesn’t matter,” his dad said. “What matters is...is that this family heals. That we bring you back home, son.”

Vance wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Does that mean I’m in?”

“Your uncle and your brother and I already discussed it. Frankly, Baxter insisted we consider the possibility you’d join us. But I wasn’t convinced it was something you wanted.”

Only all my life. “I do, Dad. I do.” He hesitated, then got the last item off his chest. “And I want you to know I understand why you refused to let me in all those years ago. I was a screwup and I couldn’t be trusted. But I won’t let you down now.”

“Son.” His father hung his head. “I think I let you down. There were other ways I could have handled that moment...and many after. Your mother says I have a stubborn streak.”

“Like father, like son.”

And this time when they laughed, it wasn’t strained.

Vance slid his hand from his pocket. “Shake?”

His father’s palm met his and then he reeled Vance in. The hug was hard, and his father’s free hand gave his short hair a brisk rub. “We’ll be ready for you when you’re free to come home.”

“I don’t have to go back to the army.”

The older Smith pushed away. “What? Really?”

“I could go. But I was told that my injuries would allow me a medical discharge if I asked for it. I will.” He wasn’t conflicted about the decision at all, he realized. It was time to get out. Helping those kids today had opened his eyes and maybe even given him the permission to do so.

And there was that new, clear path ahead. He was more than ready for a smooth ride.

His father yanked him into another embrace. “Your mother will be over the moon,” he said gruffly. Then he added, “I love you, son.”

Vance breathed deep of the dark night and let the sense of rightness put down roots in his soul. This was the life he was meant to live. His future was settled now, and a new calm settled over him. He and the avocados would hum well into the future, he thought, healthy and strong.

They headed back a few quiet minutes later. As they approached the French doors leading to the house, Vance slowed, absorbing the tableau provided by the well-lit billiards room.

His uncle and brother were still gathered around the play table, but they had turned their backs to it as his mother and aunt came in bearing trays of coffee and dessert. Blythe moved to take a plate that she apparently planned to share with Fitz—they, Vance thought, would be f*cking perfect together. His uncle was bent over the offerings, probably trying to decide which was the largest slice of chocolate cake.

“Dad,” Vance said, still watching. “I gotta know. How were you and Uncle Roy labeled?”

“Uh...”

Vance elbowed the older man. “C’mon.”

“Fine.” William sounded disgruntled. “I was the serious brother, while Roy was known as the funny one. The life of any party. And it ticked me off, okay? I had this great impression I did of Robert De Niro—” He broke off when Vance hooted with laughter.

“Sorry, Dad,” he said, trying to stifle it. “But you? Robert De Niro?”

“All right,” his father conceded. “It was actually a terrible impression. Still... Hey, where’s your girl?”

Vance pointed to the farthest corner of the room where Layla was curled up on a leather chair, a magazine on her lap. Shit. That wasn’t a happy expression on her face, he thought. He shouldn’t have left her by herself for so long.

“I like her, Vance,” his dad said. “She’s a very good choice.”

Vance opened his mouth to come clean about Layla, too. They weren’t really anything to each other...but then he saw her head come up, her attention shifting across the room to where his family stood in that tight group, laughing together over something his uncle, the funny brother, had said. The yearning on her face was easy to read—and pierced his heart.

It cracked open as he watched her, sitting alone, apart, outside that small circle of people. Sweet Lord. His palm pressed, hard, over his unlocked and aching heart as a new, insistent need surged in his chest. He wanted to give them to her, Vance realized. He wanted to give her his family.

He wanted to be her family. Tied to her forever.

Because the idea of parting from her was excruciating. Her natural beauty, her joy in things as simple as cupcakes and sandcastles, the way she made him laugh—so often at himself—lightened every day. She’d become his sunshine, he thought, her warmth and brightness making him damn glad to be alive.

And on those occasions when her ordinarily sunny nature was shadowed by sadness, he wanted to be the one to hold her, comforting her during the darker times. He knew he’d be good at it, just as she was so good for him.

His breath caught. Damn, he thought, astonished, I’ve gone and done it.

I’ve gone and fallen in love with her.

“Are you going to tell everyone tonight?” his dad asked.

No! God, no, Vance thought, panicking a little. Being in love shocked the hell out of him. His mind could hardly believe the words, let alone say them. His pulse rocketed. “I don’t think—”

“Your mother will be so relieved to know you’re staying home and joining the business. I predict double desserts.”

His heartbeat slowed some. “Oh. Okay. Yeah. We can talk about that.”

Would he have a talk with Layla, too? A private, cards-on-the-table conversation? But maybe it was better if he didn’t—he was just at the beginning of a new phase of his life, after all, and he could give it some time, see how he felt in a few days, weeks, months. Wait a while before putting his heart on the line.

Yeah, he told himself, almost relieved. Being in love didn’t demand declaring it.

Except...

Except when it did.

Maybe Baxter was right again, Vance thought, watching as his aunt kissed her husband’s cheek and Blythe fed Fitz a piece of cake from her fork. All that marital bliss made a man expect things. Want things for himself.

And he wanted all things with Layla, his brown-eyed girl, to the marrow of his bones. When had she found her way so deeply inside him? Last night, when she’d mourned for her father in his arms? The day she’d come out of the spa and pointed her newly painted toes in girly pleasure? Or was it the morning after they’d first made love, when they’d shared a moment of quiet companionship and a cup of coffee?

Whatever the case, his future wasn’t going to be complete without her in it.

Wouldn’t you know? he thought, with a rueful shake of his head. Just when the track ahead appeared clear and smooth, his life had gone right off the rails.