Love Emerged (28 page)

“Don’t be mad at her. I hounded her.”

“What? You had to ask her twice?”

“No, no.”

From the way he sounds, that’s exactly the case. He probably only had to ask her twice because she was preoccupied with seducing him the first time.

“Whatever. Anyway, if you’re looking for some sort of forgiveness, you have it. I let it go a long time ago,” I lie because I’d rather ignore a problem than face it. I don’t know why people knock hiding their secrets. It works.

“I entered rehab. It’s a step for me to reach out to those I’ve hurt.”

God, he sounds just like he did that night. Cool, calm, and soothing as he entered me.

“Then, you don’t have to worry about making amends with me because you never hurt me.” Brick by brick, my wall climbs higher.

“Bea, I know I did, and I want to formally apologize.”

I feel bad, enjoying his begging, since eight years ago, he was so intent on ignoring mine.

“Consider it done. Thanks for calling and apologizing for taking my virginity and kicking me out of your house. You may go on to the next person you screwed over. FYI, lose this number.” I hang up before he can argue.

My head falls into my hands, and I fight the tears of the tortured memory. He sounded genuine, and for a second, I contemplate letting him apologize to me.
Would it help?
Therapy didn’t.

I’m halfway from allowing my tears to cascade down my cheeks when I hear someone’s footsteps.

Sitting upright, I wipe the lone escaped tear from my cheek, portraying like I’m peachy keen. I’m about to stand and join the others when Lana walks in. Her eyes bore into mine, not bearing the disapproval that’s been targeted at me like an arrow all day. Empathy consumes them now. She slowly sits down on the couch across from me.

“Bea?” she questions.

My heart drops to the depths of my stomach. She’s going to ask questions. Questions I don’t want to answer. Especially to her.

“Hi, Mrs. McCain, I was just about to look for Dylan.”

She stares at me, long and unnerving. Her head shakes, and she rises back up to her feet. “Why don’t we go for a walk?”

Without waiting for my answer, she retreats toward the hall closet where the coats are hung. A minute later, she hands me mine.

“We’re going for a walk!” she yells to the boys, who are busy watching football.

Dylan practically runs into the foyer, his socks sliding on the hardwood floor. His eyes look as though we just told him we were trapped in a building that caught on fire. Alarmed and desperate to fix.

Lana shoos him with her hand. “Relax.”

Her word doesn’t change his expression, and he questions me with his eyes.

I smile to appease him even if my insides are churning at rapid pace. He has to eventually be relaxed with me at his house, and since his mom has initiated this conversation, I have to go through with the torture.

“We’ll be fine.” I laugh, wanting to throw my arms around his neck and kiss him all over his adorable face for wanting to protect me. Not in front of Lana though.

“Okay.” He still searches both our faces.

His mom playfully rolls her eyes. “So protective,” she mumbles.

He stalks toward me. “You have your phone, right?” he whispers.

“Yes, because your mother is going to murder your girlfriend.” Lana makes it clear that she heard him.

He tosses his hand to dismiss her, and she crosses her arms, tapping her foot.

“Call me.”

He bends down to kiss me, and I stay still, my lips tightly sewn together. Showing affection in front of the woman who despises me isn’t exactly on my to-do list.

“Hello?” his mom says.

He breaks away. His one lip turns up, and I can’t help but smile, too. Lana swats at his shoulder as he walks by her, but he pulls her in close, kissing her cheek.

“Go.” She pushes him toward the family room.

He backs up, his eyes on both of us. “Be careful. It’s cold out there.”

“We will. Bye-bye.” Lana waves to him.

He winks over to me, and then he disappears past the corner.

“Sorry,” I murmur, not sure why I’m apologizing.

“Believe me, he’s my son. I know how dramatic he can be.”

She opens the door and allows me to walk out first. Hopefully, it’s not to shove me out. She locks the door behind her. Luckily, she follows, and we begin our walk down their driveway, turning on the sidewalk, passing the Ashbys’.

“I’m going to be honest, Bea. It’s not that I don’t like you. I do. My concern comes for my son and whether you’re going to break his heart.”

I admire her straightforwardness. She reminds me of myself.

“I’m going to be honest, Lana. I like your son a lot, but I can’t make any promises. I hope I don’t self-destruct this relationship, but my past isn’t exactly on my side.”

She tucks her hands into her down jacket, nodding slowly. “I’m not asking for a guarantee. I just need to know your feelings are genuine.”

“Yes.” I’m even surprised at how fast the word comes out of my mouth. I’ve enjoyed Dylan, and I knew I liked him, maybe more, but I’m not ready to explore those intense feelings yet. “How could someone not have feelings for him?”

“Well, I’ve met plenty.” Her remark doesn’t sound like it’s completely just women.

I assume, watching your son grow up while struggling with himself can make even the most protective parent tighten the leash.

“I can assure you, I’m not one of them. He makes me different, looks at me like I’m the inventor of the model car companies.”

She laughs at my analogy, tipping her head my way. “I’ve noticed,” she says. “And you look at him like he’s your white knight, ready to whisk you away from the monsters.”

I don’t miss the meaning of her analogy.

I focus on the light breeze of snow whirling at our feet instead of seeing her eyes. Her hand rests on my shoulder, and I move back from the initiation of physical contact.

“I only see what haunts you because I was very similar to you once.”

I peer over to her, water beginning to cover my vision. Damn, when did I become such a sap?

She nods slowly. “I was raised by my aunt and uncle. They put food on the table and gave me a room, but they didn’t exactly love me. They did, but not to the extent of what a mother and father should. That’s the reason I’m so involved in my sons’ lives, I suppose. Maybe too involved.”

I snicker and wonder where that came from. I’ve always assumed that since I didn’t experience true love, I wouldn’t know how to show it. Man, I feel like someone punched me in the gut, admitting that. This is what Dylan was talking about this whole time. Admit your fears. What you’re embarrassed about. That is top on my list. I’ve already decided that kids wouldn’t be in my future because I have no idea what to do with them. When Dylan came along, a small seed planted in the back of my mind that maybe things could be different.

“How did you know kids were for you?” I ask.

She laughs. “When I became pregnant with Tanner”—she leans in close—“before I was married to Patrick.” She raises her eyelids to me, signaling she’s not an angel. “He rushed me to the hospital because I had a panic attack and could not breathe.”

She’s lost in her own thoughts for a moment and then begins again, “It’s so cliché, but when I saw the ultrasound and heard the heartbeat . . .”

“You felt it?”

“Nope. I knew I had to grow up and stop feeling sorry for my past. The day he was born, I was terrified because the instant bond didn’t happen.”

She laughs again, and I’m not finding this conversation very uplifting or funny.

“One day, Tanner got sick and had to be hospitalized. Patrick had gone home to grab us clothes. It was just Tanner and me. I saw his small little body in this metal crib, and something changed. I was so sick with worry about him. I finally realized I loved him, and whether something happened today or years down the line, that wasn’t going to change. I think I was so scared to love that I convinced myself I didn’t when, really, I was just in denial.”

We stop on the park bench in front of a small playground where I imagine Dylan and Tanner played when they were younger.

She lays her hand on my leg. “I can guess what that conversation was on the phone. I can even assume what happened to you, but only you know that. Even if you told me, it’s not my place to judge your decisions. All I’m going to say is, if you want to whole-heartedly give what you and Dylan have a chance, you need to be honest. Convey your fears and the heartbreak you’ve experienced. If there’s one thing I can say about McCain men, they aren’t startled, and they love nothing more than to fix people.”

“Are you suggesting Mr. McCain fixed you?” I cock my eyebrow.

“No,” she screeches, her head shaking vehemently. “He allowed me to be me, and in return, I found some new facts about myself.” She leans back on the bench, crossings her legs, with a content smile on her face. “It’s not easy, but the payoff is well worth it, sweetie.”

The smile on her face burns a desire within me to be her. Someone who had a hard past but overcame it and allowed herself to be loved easily and without the threat of hurting others.

“Thank you for sharing,” I meekly say.

She swivels in her seat, so she’s facing me. “I’m sorry for being not so pleasant most of today. That was wrong of me.”

“It’s nothing, really.” I wave off the uncomfortable atmosphere she initiated the majority of the day.

“It was, and I don’t do that to people in my home. I think I see a lot of myself in you, and that scared me for my son because I know what Patrick and I endured. But I was reminded that our roughly paved road wasn’t that bad.”

“It wasn’t?” The thought of this pull-and-push I do with Dylan going on for years feels exhausting already.

“No, it was ours. If it had been easy, maybe we wouldn’t have appreciated our life now.” She stands, putting her hands back in her pockets. “If everything were easy, Bea, could you imagine how boring your life would be?”

She has a point.

I rise up to my feet, and we start walking back to the house. We’re both silent for a while, and I can’t help but think about how similar I could be to someone else. I think I placed myself on an island of who got fucked with their childhood. With friends like Piper Ashby who has a perfect family, it isn’t hard to do. Here, I thought Lana and Patrick McCain were perfect.

We reach their driveway, and Lana laughs. “Look at that fool.”

She points to the window, but all I see are the drapes quickly drawing closed.

“He’s checking up on you.” She looks over, and we share a smile. “Another thing about McCain boys you might as well get used to, they’re very protective of what’s theirs. Do yourself a favor, and just go with it. Easier than fighting.”

“Yeah, I’ve already seen that.”

She stops us outside the door, taking both my hands in hers. “This has been said a lot, but I’m going to repeat it for you. Don’t let your past rule your future.”

She releases my hands, and I turn toward the door, but she pulls me into a hug.

“I’m sorry again,” she whispers.

She draws back, and the door swings open.

“Oh, jeez, you’re ridiculous,” she says to Dylan standing in the doorway as she slides by him.

“What? You take my girlfriend, and I wanted to make sure we weren’t going to be on the ten o’clock news.” He smiles over to me when he sees I’m in one piece and not running. “So?”

He holds his hand out for me, and I easily take it, stepping into the house.

“Good. It went good.”

He helps me shed my jacket, and once he returns from the hallway, I tightly wrap my arms around his neck. The smell of his cologne calms me for what I’m about to tell him.

“I need to tell you something.”

He pulls back, his hands still linked behind my back. Not one glimpse of uncertainty is in his eyes. “Okay.”

Dylan

I CONCEAL MY STARTLED NERVES
as I walk Bea down to my parents’ basement. I’d have gone to my bedroom, but I’m thinking my mom would kibosh that. She appeared cool just a second ago when her and Bea returned from the walk, but taking a girl up to my room is different.

Bea sits down on the leather couch in front of the big screen television.

Distracting myself, I walk over to the small bar my dad built here a few years back. “Want a drink?”

She peers over at me, finding I’m not next to her. She looks lost, as though she forgot where she was. “Sure.”

A few minutes later, I place our Jack and Cokes in front of us. “What’s going on?”

I take her hands in mine. They’re cold, so I wrap them in my own, blowing and rubbing them together to warm her. She smiles, and I’d do almost anything to make her happy.

“There’s something I’ve been keeping from you, and if we’re going to move forward, you have to know everything about me.”

My heart clenches as my stomach rumbles with despair.

“Okay.” I smile, not truly meaning it, but I need to put her at ease.

“When I was seventeen, my mom married Lyle, and he had a son, Austin.” She stops, her shaking hand picking up the glass and bringing it to her lips. “Remember the guy at the restaurant in Chicago?”