Almost Innocent (25 page)

T
he waves crashed
against the breakwater, sending stray drops of water flying into the air and creating a picture-perfect backdrop any artist would kill for. Twenty or thirty people dotted the white sand beach—some jogging along the shoreline, some relaxing on chairs, and some running in and out of the water as they played. I couldn’t keep the smile from my lips as I kicked off my shoes and ripped off my socks, leaving both in a pile as I stepped onto the warm sand.

My body relaxed almost instantly, despite the odd looks I received from strangers. Locals were used to seeing me, but tourists always did a double take, as if a man in designer khakis and a dress shirt shouldn’t have his tie off or be barefoot on the beach. Add in the fact that I always rolled my sleeves up past my elbows, showing arms full of tattoos, and people avoided eye contact at all cost. It was as if they thought I was nuts.

As soon as my feet sank in, grit slipping between my toes, a sigh escaped my lips as if my body knew I was finally home. Home. A funny word that, by definition, meant different things to different people: the house you grew up in, the place where you lived, the building where you received your mail, the state where you were raised, the town in which your favorite sports team was based.

I’d had many homes in my life, and home wasn’t a building to me anymore. It wasn’t a tangible place. It was simply wherever my family was.

I scanned the beach quickly for the only people I wanted to see right then. Two figures—one large, one small—down by the water caught my eye, and I headed toward them. The little one was dancing in and around the water, hopping from one foot to the other as if he had ants in his pants. The large one was kneeling next to him, laughing.

Before I could reach them, the small one shot off as fast as his little legs would carry him. For a moment, I thought he’d spotted me, and I hurried to meet him. At the last minute though, he veered toward the line of lounge chairs to my right.

Fighting disappointment, I lifted my hand to shelter my eyes from the sun and watched, curious to see where he was headed. When I found his target, my breath caught as it did every time I saw her. A beautiful blond vision was curled into a chair, leaning over her MacBook and oblivious to the world around her. An invisible string tugged on my heart, pulling me toward her as if I had no other choice.

That made sense. I didn’t have any other choice. I never did. For me, it was always Gabby.

“Mom!” His excited voice carried in the light Caribbean breeze. “Maaa-aaam.” He skidded to a stop, making sand fly everywhere, just before he would have barreled into her chair, and he moved in so close there was no way he wasn’t dripping water all over her. “Hiya, Mom.”

I shook my head, trying—and failing—to keep my laughter from escaping as she gasped at the cool surprise, closing her laptop and moving it onto the ground next to her.

“Hiya, buddy. Whatchya doing?” she asked.

“Swimming.” He shook his head like a wet dog trying to dry its fur, then he shrugged.

“Up here?” she asked, amusement clear in her voice as she brushed wet sand off her arms, and I moved in behind the pair. “You can’t swim up here, silly. The water is that way.”

“Oh!” His little face fell blank, then he scowled as if trying to remember what he was doing. “Did you know that if you killed a sheep, you could get wool to make a blanket?”

“Uh…” she started, amusement filling her voice, “you don’t have to kill a sheep for that.”

“Oh, right.” He nodded. “You can just shave them.”

“Yep.” She smoothed a piece of dark blond hair from his forehead before cupping his cheek. “Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

He shook his little head. “No. What color are swordfish when you eat them?”

“White?” she asked with a chuckle.

“What shape are they?”

“That depends, buddy,” I answered, knowing that if I didn’t step in to rescue her, we’d be there a while. “Most of the time, they’re square. Or rectangular.”

“Daddy!” the little boy shrieked before he launched himself in my direction. “You’re home!”

I lifted him, wrapped my arms around his tiny frame, and spun around and around, making his feet swing out. When I finally dropped to my knees and gave him a proper hug, he smiled a big, toothy grin.

“I’m gonna tell brother you’re home!” He turned to run back down the beach but stopped, twisting around before he’d made it a foot. “Love you, Momma!”

Then he was gone, leaving excited giggles in his wake as he staggered and weaved all over as he ran, still dizzy from our spin.

I watched him for a moment more, my heart bursting with emotion. That was my boy. My mini-me. Always laughing, full of wonder, questions, and mischief. Fiercely loyal to those he loved. And just like me, he loved his momma with every ounce he had.

Turning back to Gabby, I found her watching me, her eyes bright with surprise.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi, yourself.” I dropped a quick kiss on her temple then fisted my hand in the hair at the base of her neck and tipped her head back gently before capturing the lips I’d missed. And God, I’d missed her. “Scoot up.”

She slid forward so I could straddle the chair behind her before pulling her back into my chest and closing my arms around her.

“I missed you,” I murmured, leaning down to kiss her in the spot where her neck met her shoulder.

“We missed you.” She sighed, running her fingers up and down my arm. “I didn’t think we’d see you for a few days.”

“I couldn’t wait any longer. I needed to be home.”

She twisted her head to face me. “What’s wrong?”

I met her eyes. I could lie and tell her everything was fine. Maybe some men, especially those in situations that resembled mine, sugarcoated things so their wives wouldn’t worry. Gabby knew me too well though. Nothing about what I’d said would make anyone else suspect something was wrong—yet Gabs knew me. We were a team, and I could never bring myself to lie to her. We’d spent years lying—no more.

“Dad?” Grady, almost a man now at seventeen, was hurrying toward us, practically dragging his little brother behind him. Grady looked happy to see me, but there was a hint of both surprise and worry in his voice. “You’re home.”

I untangled myself from his mother and hurried to stand and pull my oldest into a giant bear hug. He had reached the stage where hugs from his mom and me were uncool, but I didn’t give a shit. I hadn’t seen my boy in almost a month, and I needed a damn hug.

He laughed uncomfortably, but when I didn’t let go, he finally hugged me back. After a second, I let him pull away, but I couldn’t resist the urge to ruffle his hair. He saw himself as an adult, but to me, he would always be a little boy. Before he could escape too far, I yanked him back in for one more hug. I didn’t know how many more embraces we had before he rebelled completely, and I wasn’t going to waste a single opportunity.

“Okay, okay,” he almost shouted, laughing. When he pulled back that time, he put his hands in the air. “I give. I give.”

He stepped out of the way, making room for his brother, and suddenly cold water blasted me between the eyes. Shrieks of laughter filled the air. Within seconds, I realized that the brats had ambushed me, and we were in the middle of a full-scale water gun battle. No, according to their mother, they weren’t water guns, they were water squirters. Even though I thought her semantics were pathetic, I understood her reasons for them and didn’t fight her.

Water battles are brutal on any unsuspecting victim, but even more so when one fills their weapon with salt water. The water stung my eyes, and my dry shirt was soaked, but I didn’t back down. Unbuttoning and removing it as quickly as I could and yanking my white T over my head, I tossed them at my wife and dropped my cell phone on her chair before I took off after my children, who were now laughing uncontrollably. They were going down—no matter what I had to do.

It didn’t take long. Grady was a late bloomer and hadn’t gotten his height or weight yet, so he was still lanky as hell. I half carried, half dragged the struggling teen into the water and dunked him. Colin, on the other hand, was as light as a feather even though he’d just turned four, and I easily tossed him into the water with his brother. After a while, and lots and lots of giggles, the two gave up, declaring me the winner.

“That’s right. I am the water battle king. You can’t win against me, baby. Ha!” I screamed to the beach as my children splashed and kicked, trying to pull me under with them.

I helped them both out of the water, and we walked back up the beach, laughing and talking about nothing important while we caught up on everything I’d missed. I stopped abruptly.

“Is this one yours?” I asked, pointing at one of the most detailed sandcastles I’d ever seen.

People came from all over the world to build on our beach, so seeing structures along the shore was nothing out of the ordinary. Two years ago, a famous sand-sculpting competition had been held here, captivating all of the local children for weeks. This castle wasn’t professional level, but it had definitely taken some dedication and time to create.

It was a foot and a half tall, at least two feet wide, and looked like an old castle—complete with walls, towers, and a basilica. Detailed lines had been added to the outside, making it look as if it was all stone. The best part was the dragon outside the gate. It screamed “Callaghan Boys!”

Grady nodded, shrugging as he barely stopped walking. “It was better a few days ago, but the storm destroyed the back half.”

“And the other dragon,” Colin informed me, putting his free hand on his hip and scowling. “I liked that one. His name was Digger.”

Grady’s face transformed suddenly from sullen teenager into beaming brother, and he stopped, messing up his brother’s hair. “It was.” He said with as much seriousness as he could, “Stupid storm! We can make another one if you want.”

Colin dropped my hand, turning to me. “Can we, Daddy? Can we make another one?” Blue eyes that looked so much like mine pleaded up at me.

I couldn’t say no even if I’d had a reason to. Which I didn’t. “Absolutely! I’m going to be over with Mommy. Holler when you’re done.”

The two dropped to their knees and, within seconds, forgot I was there. I took a few steps back, watching them for a minute as they talked and quietly made a plan. It wasn’t long before the two ran toward the water—probably heading for the bucket and shovels. Whatever it was, they were doing it together, as a team.

Grady was more than a good sport; he was just an overall amazing big brother. Supportive, loving, and patient, he’d helped us teach his little brother to be the same. He never got tired of Colin’s endless questions or rambling stories, and he was always willing to play with him, even when I was sure he had better things to do. Watching him with Colin, I couldn’t have been more proud of Grady—or more honored to call him my son.

When we’d first moved here, Gabby and I couldn’t bribe Grady away from the oceanside. Suddenly the boy who had once dreamed of owning the latest, greatest Xbox had no interest in being inside or playing video games. All he wanted to do was be out in the sun, sand, and surf.

Gabby had worried that something was wrong—that he missed home or that he wasn’t adapting to life here. I worried that his issues were bigger than that—like the fact that his entire life had been uprooted, and he’d lost everything, or that a man he didn’t really know was suddenly around every day and dating his mom.

He wouldn’t, or couldn’t, articulate what was wrong, so we did the best we could for him. I took surfing lessons with him. Gabby started running along the water’s edge twice a day and took him with her. I started coaching the local baseball team. After a while, we realized that none of the local kids seemed to do much other than hang out around the beach. We still worried about our boy though.

When it was time to settle down, we let Grady pick the house. It wasn’t much—a four-bedroom bungalow with an open-floor plan, built into the hill overlooking his favorite spot on the island. A home where he could walk out the front door and be at the one place where he always seemed happy. The fact that a girl he surfed with every weekend—an athletic brunette who made him laugh—lived two doors down made me chuckle.

After Colin came, the beach became their place to play, and every chance they had, they were out here—building, swimming, and laughing. I thought they’d get sick of playing in the sand eventually, or that Grady would tire of his constant shadow, but they never did. Each day, they went out, trying to create a bigger and better structure. Creating a world where the two of them were kings and the rest of us barely existed.

“They’re going to build something phenomenal one day.”

“You think so?” Gabby asked as I dropped into the chair next to hers. “Like you?”

I smiled, shrugging. “Maybe like me. Maybe they’ll take something old and make it beautiful again.” I’d finally gone back to school and pursued my passion—industrial architecture. Companies from around the world hired the firm I worked for to redesign their buildings. I stole a glance at Gabby, hunched over and scowling at her laptop. “Or maybe they’ll be like their mom and create something new and beautiful out of nothing.”

She glanced over, her lips twisting into a quick smile, but it was over way too soon, and she was back to glaring at whatever was in front of her.

“How is the book going?” I asked.

“I don’t like the ending.”

Gabby had done what she’d always sworn she would—put her name on the cover of a book. Not the one she’d started writing years ago—that was locked in our safe back in the States. We’d spent hours talking about it, weighing the benefits and consequences of publishing that particular tale. Eventually, she decided that she didn’t want to share our story with anyone. Those words may have given her a start in the literary world, and gained the attention of an agent, but Gabby felt they were private.

Instead, she’d told a different tale. One about a boy who loved a girl enough to give up everything for her, even though the girl wouldn’t let him. I’d heard, from numerous sources, that it was the most devastating love story ever told, but she refused to let me read it. It did really well though, securing her place at SammWell and her career as a writer.