Legacy (26 page)

But finding Wes—especially finding Wes in front of an audience—was better than any tennis match. Wes could read all of this in his father’s eyes in an instant, and adrenalin surged through his veins.

“Aren’t you going to invite me to join you, Wesley?” his father asked, leering.

“No, I don’t think so,” Wes said, hearing the steel in his own voice. His father didn’t come to the gym often, and whenever Wes spotted him, he usually headed in the opposite direction—if he was alone. Harold Clarkson had cornered him a couple of times with a client, which was always awful, but since his father rarely frequented the weight rooms or the cross training areas, Wes could almost forget about that risk.

Today, he and Corinne were sitting ducks, but Wes wasn’t going to run.

“What’s the matter?” his father teased. “Are you afraid that your girlfriend will drop you for a seasoned and successful man?”

“Corinne is a friend, Dad,” Wes admitted. It pained him to say it, but he didn’t want Corinne to think he’d allow his father to believe they were together.

Harold Clarkson smirked.

“As I recall, you had your tongue down her throat in my backyard not long ago,” he gloated. “What happened? She figure out you weren’t good enough?”

At once, Corinne was by his side.

“You’re so wrong!” she insisted, eyeing Wes’s father with hatred. “You’re
so
wrong.
I
don’t deserve
him...
.and neither do you!”

Wes felt his eyes widen in shock as his father’s face contorted with derision.

“Don’t scowl, honey,” the man told Corinne. “It distracts the eye from what little cleavage you have.”

“You fucker,” Wes growled as his hands fisted his father’s crisp, white collar. “You so much as speak to her again, and I will fucking end you.”

Wes saw his father’s eyes bulge before the man could recover and level him with a menacing stare.

“Do you think I’m above having you arrested for assault?” the older man hissed, glaring at Wes with cold disdain.

“Wes...” Corinne whispered, laying a hand on his shoulder. “He’s not worth it.” People at the tables around them were turning to watch now as father and son were locked together, staring each other down.

But in that moment, Wes did not care. He was done cowering before Harold Clarkson.

“Do you think I’m above snapping your neck right here?” Wes asked, low enough so that only he, his father, and Corinne heard the words. He pressed his thumbs against his father’s carotid arteries and felt the racing pulse. “You’ve bullied and tortured me my whole life, Dad. One way or the other, you are never coming near me or Corinne again.”

Wes narrowed his eyes as he looked into his father’s, wanting the man to see the dangerous depth of his conviction. It was as deep as his love for Corinne, a depth he hadn’t known was there. He
could
kill his father right now. Maybe it should have scared him, but it didn’t.

It was a relief. This was the end of all of that shit.

Harold Clarkson must have glimpsed something of the truth because he broke his gaze and jerked himself out of Wes’s grasp, straightening his collar as his face flushed, but he could not meet his son’s eyes.

“You always were a sorry excuse for a son,” he muttered with disgust, but he slunk away. Faster than Wes would have expected.

As Wes watched him go, a peace unlike any he’d ever known settled over him. It was over. Harold Clarkson held no threat over him any longer. Perhaps he hadn’t for years. Perhaps Wes had really been shut of him as soon as he entered manhood, but he hadn’t known it.

But now, standing beside Corinne, he knew.

That part of his life—the part where he tip-toed around the disaster of his parents and hoped not to be sucked in—was over. His life, he now realized, was his own.

“Oh, Wes!” Corinne gasped, sounding shaken, her hand still clamped on his shoulder.

He turned to her and found her pale and trembling.

“It’s alright,” he said, calmly. “He can’t hurt us.”

Corinne hugged her elbows and bit her lip.

“But...what if he tries to get you fired?” she asked, frowning and clearly concerned.

Wes shook his head.

“He won’t,” he said with certainty. “But even if he did, it’s our word against his. The man clearly insulted you. The bottom line is I’m not worried.”

“You sure?” she asked. She stared at him, still frowning, but the strain around her eyes eased a little.

Wes gave her a gentle smile and sat down again, gesturing for her to do the same.

“I’m sure.”

She took her seat, but she just stared at the remaining half of her turkey burger.

“Ugh. I don’t think I can eat any more,” she said, shaking her head. “How are you so calm?”

Wes picked up the rest of his burger and took a bite. He shrugged.

“Guy’s an asshole,” he mumbled through a mouthful. Wes swallowed before continuing. “He always has been. He’s never going to change, but I think I just figured out that I don’t have to live with it anymore...I’m free.”

This made Corinne smile a slow, beautiful smile that spread across her face and lit her eyes.

“I meant what I said.” Corinne met his gaze across the table. “You deserve so much better.”

It was something a friend would say. Wes was tempted to ask what she’d meant about her not deserving him, but he suspected it would only make him feel worse. The easiest thing to do now would be to make a joke.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he said, forcing a smile.

“Remind me why we are doing this again?” Chad asked as they secured the bikes to the hitch on the back of Wes’s truck.

It was 4:30 in the morning, and they had a 90-minute drive ahead of them before the Hellfire Half Ironman at False River.

“No guts. No glory,” Wes said, moving to the cab of the truck and checking the rest of his gear one more time. “C’mon. Let’s hit it.”

Gun time wasn’t until 7 o’clock, but they still had to check in and stash their stuff at each transition. It would be Chad’s first half, and even though he was whining like a little girl, Wes knew that his friend was more nervous than anything else.

They jumped into the truck, and Chad tilted his seat back, looking to get comfortable.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Wes asked, raising an indignant brow.

Chad shot him a glare.

“I’m going back to sleep. What does it look like?”

Wes shook his head and started the truck.

“Hell, no, bitch. You have to stay awake to make sure I stay awake,” Wes said, only half-joking.

Chad leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Sucks to be you,” he muttered, closing his eyes.

Wes narrowed his eyes at his foolish friend and suppressed a snicker. He waited the ten minutes until they merged onto I-49 and Chad was snoring softly beside him before he tapped his new Linkin Park album and cranked “Guilty All the Same” as loud as it could go without blowing the truck’s speakers.

“WHAT THE FUCK!!!” Chad cursed, spazzing out next to him and sending Wes into a fit of laughter. Wes slapped Chad’s hands away from the volume knob on his stereo three times before Chad gave up.

“Fine! Fine! Fine! I’ll stay awake, you mother fucker!”

Wes just laughed and brought the volume down to a sane level.

“Asshole-piece-of-shit-cock-sucker,” Chad spat, raising his seat back up. “I think I like you better when you’re pouting over Corinne.”

“Ow,” Wes still laughed, but the blow struck home just the same. “Reach back there and get me a Clif bar and a boiled egg. And don’t forget to drink up that water. It’s going to be hot as piss today.”

Wes ate his breakfast and drove, but Chad’s words had summoned thoughts of Corinne, which—if Wes were honest with himself—were never far from his mind anyway. He hadn’t seen her since their lunch on Monday, and—unlike the weeks before—she hadn’t contacted him at all until last night, when she’d texted to wish him good luck at the race.

Wes figured that her comparative silence signaled that she was moving on, accepting his decision to distance himself and letting go.

It hurt like hell.

Wes tried to focus on the race ahead of him to distract himself from the ever-present ache.

At 4:30 in the morning, traffic was nonexistent, so they made the trip in good time. Wes had done the Hellfire the past two years, so he already knew where he wanted to park and where the transitions were. By the time the sun was coming up, they’d checked in, been inked with their numbers, and set up their bikes and gear.

Five minutes before gun time, Chad and Wes were in their wave group, treading water just off the dock with swim caps and goggles around their heads. It was 76 degrees, and the sun wasn’t even over the tree line.

“This is going to suck,” Chad hissed. “Why did I let you talk me into this.”

Wes just grinned.

“If you don’t DNF, you’ll be one bad-ass triathlete. That’s why,” Wes reminded him.

One side of Chad’s mouth lifted in a smile.

“I
am
pretty badass,” he allowed with a shrug. “At least, Heather thinks so.”

Wes rolled his eyes and would have given Chad a hard time about being hung up on Corinne’s friend, but the sound of the National Anthem silenced him. In spite of himself, his heart rate sped up, and he stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders, trying to stay loose.

The gun sounded, and Wes, Chad, and a hundred other people launched themselves through the water. This was always the worst part: the lake churned up with hundreds of arms and legs thrashing and colliding, swimmers trying to break out of the pack and only managing to get kicked in the face while kicking someone else in the groin.

Wes lost Chad immediately, but a tri isn’t a team sport. He wished his friend well, but he couldn’t race his best if he spent time looking over his shoulder. Wes could only focus on stretching out his strokes and making it to the buoy and back across False River to the first transition point. His personal record for a half was 5:11:14. It would be hard to beat that in this heat, but he wasn’t going to let himself wuss out just because it was July in south Louisiana.

By the time he pulled himself ashore and bolted for his bike and bag, he was three minutes ahead of his PR. It was early, but a good-sized crowd had already turned out to cheer on the athletes, and Wes felt grateful. Crowd support helped so much, especially as the day would wear on.

His hands shook with adrenalin as he pulled on his bike shoes and strapped on his helmet. After he walked his bike out of T-1, Wes straddled his Colnago, clipped in, and took off.

And he almost wiped out two feet later. Because there she was. Holding the most amazing hand-painted poster bearing his name, Corinne jumped up and down behind the barricade, cheering for him.

Chapter 31

I
t hadn’t taken much to convince Heather to go with her to New Roads and surprise the guys. If Heather’s wistful smile was any indication, she and Chad were getting along just fine.

The two women had worked on posters at Corinne’s house Wednesday and Thursday night, and Corinne was proud of hers. They were really paintings on poster board, the first an aerial view of False River that she had based on images from Google Maps, but she had incorporated Wes’s racing colors into the landscape.

After living with both Wes and Michael, Corinne knew that triathletes and cyclists took their attire seriously. Michael had worn black, red, and white, matching his Pinarello, and Wes was no exception. Corinne knew that he’d be dressed in a black and turquoise tri-suit to match his bike, and so the shoreline of her poster was predominantly those colors, with accents of white, red, and green to mimic the camps that dotted the water’s edge. The lake itself was a riot of brown, sky blue, and white, and superimposed over the water was Wes’s name in his racing colors.

She and Heather had found a spot along the barricades and watched across the lake as the athletes took to the water, the sound of the starting gun reaching them after the first wave jumped in. As swimmers crossed the water to the buoys and cut back to the landing where they waited, there was no way to tell which ones were Wes and Chad, even with Heather’s binoculars. Everyone wore swim caps and goggles and splashed through the water with impressive speed. Corinne found herself grateful for the many kayaks that patrolled the lake, ready to rescue a struggling swimmer. But she tried to remind herself that Wes was a strong swimmer. She’d seen evidence of it firsthand.

The memory of them in the lap pool together stirred her breath, his naked chest just inches from her body as he showed her how to improve her stroke. It was better than worrying about his safety, so she held onto the memory until she finally spotted him climbing out of the water at the boat launch, running towards the bikes.

“Wes! Wes!” Corinne held the poster over her head and shouted his name. She knew that her voice was lost in the general roar of the crowd. Wes was a good 100 feet from her at one of the rows of bike racks, pulling on his shoes. The muscles in his arms and legs swelled with the effort of swimming more than a mile in open water, and Corinne found herself swallowing at the sight. He was gorgeous!

“Wes! Go, Wes!” she cheered, proudly, a smile splitting her face.

“Yay! Wes!” Heather cheered beside her before she spotted Chad coming out of the water. “Chad! Go, baby, go!”

Corinne watched Wes mount his bike and start to leave the transition area, and she screamed his name with everything she had, jumping up and down and flailing the poster, looking—she was sure—like a complete maniac.

But it worked. Wes’s eyes locked with hers, and she saw the surprise and the wonder as he took her in.

“Go, Wes! Go!” she called, beaming in triumph that he’d seen her. Wes winked at her, and before she knew it, he was out of sight.

A moment later, Chad’s shoes were on, and as he passed them, both women shouted his name, catching his attention.

“You rock!” Chad yelled, pumping his fist and smiling. “Heather, I love you!”

Heather gasped beside her, her eyes going wide.

“I LOVE YOU, CHAD CASE!” she shouted as he rode away. The double fist pump look-ma-no-hands testified that he’d heard her.

Corinne gaped at her friend who stood stunned, blinking in surprise.

“You didn’t tell me it was so serious,” Corinne intoned, a smile growing to match the one beginning on Heather’s face.

Heather shrugged.

“I...didn’t know…I mean,” she struggled for words, but her face was aglow. “I thought it was just me.”

Corinne shook her head in disbelief.

“So that was the first time either of you said it?” she asked, but she hardly needed to. It was written all over Heather’s face. The surprise. The joy. The life-changing realization.

“Yeah, it was,” Heather whispered, softly.

Corinne thought of Heather’s job offers. She might leave any day now.

“So does that mean…” But she stopped herself.

Let her enjoy the moment.

But Heather’s eyes found hers, and they looked completely calm and content.

“I’m not sure what it means, but whatever it is, it’s good,” she said with certainty.

Could it be that easy?
Corinne wondered. Just shout “I love you!” and accept the uncertainty that came with giving your heart to someone else? It was what Michael had done with her—so easily, fearlessly. And while Corinne had given him her heart and soul, she had been so much more cautious about it.

But she loved Wes.

It had taken her long enough to realize it; so long that she had hurt him in the process, and now, if she was going to try to make it right, if she was going to set him straight, she would have to be just as obvious as Chad Case and Heather Lamarche. Just as candid. Just as vulnerable.

Baking cakes and having lunch wasn’t quite enough.

“C’mon,” Corinne said, heading back to Heather’s car. “We should be able to spot them twice on the loop before the second transition.”

Corinne had checked the route online days before. The bike leg would take the guys two laps around the oxbow lake, bringing them down Main Street each time. Heather and Corinne walked to Espresso, Etc. on Main, where they could get a street-side table in the shade, drink iced lattes, and have croissants while they waited for Wes and Chad to make their way around.

It was already 80 degrees, and the humidity was like shower steam. Corinne could not imagine biking and running for hours in this heat. The swim would be ok, she thought. But would starting out on the ride soaking wet help to keep them cool or only serve to make them uncomfortable? It seemed miserable no matter what.

“Triathletes are crazy,” she muttered, taking a sip of her coffee as she and Heather sat down.

Heather gave her a wicked smile.

“I think it is totally sexy!” she whispered, her eyes alight. “Chad is trying to talk me into getting a road bike. He’s already got me running with him.”

This surprised Corinne. Like herself, she’d never thought of Heather as the sporty type. Was this the euphoria of young love at work or something else?

“And you like it?” she asked, hearing her own skepticism.

Heather shrugged, but the smile didn’t falter.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s tough at first, but I’ve surprised myself with what I can do,” she said with obvious pride. “We ran
three
miles the other morning! I’ve never done that in my life. It makes me feel...
strong
.”

Corinne nodded. Weight training with Wes had made her feel stronger, too. Maybe they could get back to doing that...if her plan worked.

If anything changed after today.

Thirty minutes later, the sound of sirens announced the lead bike, so Corinne and Heather grabbed their next round of signs and stepped to the edge of the sidewalk. Spectators in little clusters spanned the length of Main Street as the first bike whizzed by.

Her second poster was a stylized image of a cyclist in turquoise and black streaking across the page, trailing colors behind him. On the road beneath him, she had stenciled, “Wes, if you can read this, pedal faster!”

It was something she’d hope he’d laugh at later because she was sure he’d pass it in a blur. Perhaps twenty cyclists had zoomed by them when she spotted Wes coming, and the sight of him so near the front of the pack set her screaming.

“Go, Wes! You’re doing great!” she yelled, and this time his eyes found hers before he blew by. “One more loop, Wes! One more!”

And he was out of sight seconds later, but the look he had given her, the smile he had given her made her take a calming breath. She told herself not to read too much into it because the moment had lasted less than two seconds, but she thought he looked at her with hope.

Were they hoping for the same thing?

If she had her way, she’d find out soon enough, and that thought gave her a case of butterflies, so she tried to distract herself by watching the race, searching the cyclists for Chad.

The bike was Wes’s strongest event, and he’d put some distance between himself and his friend. Heather and Corinne spotted Chad a good ten minutes later, more mid-pack, flying by in a mess of dozens of riders.

“You’re still here?!?” he shouted to them, thrilled and surprised.

“Of course, baby!” Heather yelled as he passed, laughing at the look on his face.

“Stay there! I’ll be back in an hour!” he shouted back, making them and the surrounding crowd break out in laughter.

Corinne spent the next 30 minutes debating with herself. Little by little, she was losing her nerve. Corinne wasn’t at all sure if she should hold out her third poster or chuck it into the nearest trash can.

“What is wrong with you?” Heather asked, sucking down the last of her second iced latte. “You’ve been staring at that thing long enough to burn a hole in it.”

Corinne looked up at her friend and back down at the poster she’d spread out on their table.

“Is it too much?” she asked, chewing the corner of her lip and trying to look at the sign with fresh eyes.

Swimmers, bikers, and runners—all mimicking the decal sticker that Wes sported on the back windshield of his truck—chased themselves around a dark pink cartoon heart. Beneath the image in the same black and turquoise were the words: “My heart belongs to a tri guy.”

“It’s too much. I should trash it,” Corinne declared before Heather could answer, but she looked up to check her friend’s reaction anyway.

She was met with a raised brow and a very stern expression.

“Don’t you dare trash it!” Heather scolded, shaking her head with disapproval. “You have no idea. Do you?”

“About what?” Corinne asked.

Heather rolled her eyes.

“About Wes! About how he feels. What he feels.” Heather splayed out her palms in disbelief. “The guy has got it bad for you, Corinne!”

It was Corinne’s turn to roll her eyes.

“No, he doesn’t,” she dismissed, feeling a hint of her shame return.

“Uh, yeah, he does,” Heather clucked. “And you know it because it’s as clear as day in that painting of yours.”

Corinne shook her head, afraid even to believe Heather.

“That moment in the painting was
before
I totally blew it. Wes can barely stand to be around me now,” she lamented, making a grab for the poster. “And this is just going to make things more awkward.”

Heather yanked the poster out of her grasp.

“Corinne, I’ve spent a lot more time around Wes in the last month than you have, and I’m here to tell you: that guy is so into you, he’d need a bulldozer to dig his way out,” she said, glaring at Corinne. “You’re showing him that poster, and it’ll make his fucking day!”

“I don’t know, Heather...” Corinne hedged, losing faith in her plans by the second. “Chad seemed a lot happier to see you than Wes did when he saw me.”

“That’s because he thinks you just see him as a friend,” Heather said, exasperation tight in her voice. “Don’t you think it’s time you made it clear to him what he means?”

Corinne stared at the poster and tried to picture Wes before the day she’d hurt him. Since then, he’d been so guarded with her. She longed for a time when they could both let down their defenses. When nothing stood between them.

She’d have to give up her fears. All of them.

Heather stood up from their table.

“The lead bikers are coming,” she said, looking past Corinne. “Better make up your mind.”