Risking Trust (23 page)

The last weeks had enlightened her on what an average business man he’d been. She’d once thought of him as a corporate dynamo, skillfully running his company, but each day the mistakes he’d made, the ones she now cleaned up, chipped away at her vision of him. She, of course, would take responsibility for those mistakes to avoid tarnishing her father’s reputation, but she had to find a way to deal with her own naïve illusions about him.

She hit the Kennedy and pushed the accelerator on the beloved Jaguar. This car had always been fun to drive, particularly with the top down, but tonight all she wanted was to get home.

When she found herself on Lake Shore Drive, she had no misconceptions as to where she’d wind up. She reached Oak Street and glanced up at the corner building with the gold tinted windows.

The lights glowed in Michael’s apartment, and she pulled into a no parking zone and handed the doorman her keys. He could move it if necessary. The doorman chose not to argue and made a quick phone call to Michael’s apartment to let him know he had company.

Only when she was about to ring the doorbell did she hesitate.

Michael opened the door before her finger hit the buzzer.

“Hey,” he said. The nasty look she fired must have clued him in to her mood because he reached for her. “What happened?”

She brushed his hand aside and darted into the living room where Stevie Ray Vaughan complained about being caught in a crossfire. How appropriate. “Nothing good is what happened.”

“I see that.”

The scent of Michael’s soap, clean and woodsy, surrounded her and she breathed it in. She loved that smell.

This whole damn scenario tore a piece out of her.

She went to the sliding glass doors where the gloomy sky over the lake engulfed her in a cold darkness. She turned toward Michael as he lowered himself onto the arm of the sofa. He wore running shorts and a white sleeveless T-shirt that made his arms look like tree trunks.

“Problem?” he asked, knowing full well there was one. A big one.

“I’m mad at you.”

“I see that.”

She stalked back to him. “Tell me what happened the night of my father’s party.”

His jaw locked and he motioned for her to sit. Buying time.

“It’s old news,” he said. “Doesn’t matter anymore. You want something to drink?”

“Stop stalling and tell me.”

“Seems you already know.”

“My mother chose tonight to enlighten me. It appears the people who supposedly loved me the most played with my life. You and my parents lied to me. And here, after all these years, I’ve taken a risk with you. Based on what I learned tonight, I must be one hell of a fool.”

He gave her a look, obviously not happy with her sarcasm. Too bad.

“It’s not worth rehashing.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“We’re different people now. This—” he gestured between them, “—can be whatever we want it to be.”

“Not until I get some answers it can’t. I’ll stay here all night if I have to, but I’m not leaving until I understand.”

Holding her stare, he shook his head, clearly resigned to the fact that she wouldn’t give in. “Why not?” he said. “Let’s bang it out and put it behind us.”

Now they were getting somewhere, but Michael’s fingers twitched at his sides. He so did not want to do this.

“Your father cornered me, wanted to know what I was doing with myself. Hell, Rox, I couldn’t get a night’s sleep without nightmares of someone’s head getting blown away. But your father wanted to know about my stock portfolio. I had two hundred bucks in the bank.”

“What did he say to you?”

He ignored her question and slammed both fists against his forehead. “I never wanted to have this conversation.”

Roxann watched as he uncurled his fingers and worked them in and out, pulling his temper in check. He brought his gaze to her, and there, in the depths of those dark eyes, she saw that he’d finally tell her.

He marched to the table by the front door, snatched something from his wallet and flicked his finger against it.

“I wouldn’t have told you, but if it’s that important to you, you win. This is the only time I will talk about this. I’m done having it in the way. Got it?”

She slid to the sofa, not at all sure she got it. “I need to know.”

Resembling a man about to be hanged, he dropped into the chair across from her with that slip of paper—
a newspaper article?
—still in his grasp.

“I was not the guy your father had in mind for you.”

“Not true.”

He held up his hand. “Let me finish. The conversation started out typically enough. You know, concerned father stuff. Where’s my life going, that sort of thing. He said you deserved a good life.”

Michael grunted. “A better life than I could give you. As if I didn’t know I had no right to put my hands on you.”

“I always supported you. Always.”

Above all, she knew that.
Knew
it. From the night they’d met, he’d often remarked she was too good for him and it would irritate her to the point where they’d argue. And here she was, about to fight that same damned battle.

She drifted back to the first night he’d slept at her apartment. Her roommate had been away for the weekend and she’d asked Michael to stay with her. They’d been inseparable for the better part of a month but, despite several invitations, he’d refused to stay the night. In this instance, his protective instincts had kicked in and, not wanting her to be alone, he’d agreed to stay.

She lurched awake in the middle of the night with Michael thrashing beside her, his arms and elbows flying in all directions.
Nightmare
. He’d briefly mentioned them, but had always changed the subject.

“No,” he groaned, kicking one leg against the sheet.

Definitely deep in it. Not knowing what else to do, she poked him hard enough for him to feel it. “Michael, wake up.”

Suddenly, he raised his arm, made a fist and—
oh, no
—swung at her. She sucked air as her heart slam, slam, slammed inside her—
move
—and ducked away just before that monster fist connected with her cheek.

She rolled over, off the side of the bed and peeked back at him, now flat on his back, but his arms still flailed, striking out at some unknown predator.

Wake him up before he gets hurt.
Jumping away from the bed, her head banging, she ran for a broom. As much as she wanted to help him, she wasn’t crazy enough to touch him again.

Gently, she poked him with the stick end. “Michael, wake up.”

He smacked at the broom, mumbled something but continued to thrash. Never had she seen him like this, so deep in the throes of terror. Something inside her broke away.

“Michael!” She gave him another solid poke, this time a good solid stick right to the ribs.

After bolting upright, he grabbed the end of the broom and yanked, the force pulling her off balance. She tumbled forward, crashing onto the bed. Well within his reach.
He might still be asleep
. In that brief moment, the merest of seconds, fear took hold, pressed her into the bed, holding her there.
Protect yourself.
She threw her arms in front of her face, squeezed her eyes closed and waited for the blow.

Nothing. The bed went still. No thrashing. No movement at all, only the sound of Michael drawing a breath and holding it. She opened her eyes, found him staring at her huddled on the bed, shielding herself.

From him.

She watched as the realization of what happened hit him and his face transformed into a slack-jawed look of horror.

“Shit,” he said, his voice raw and broken as he held his hands up and away from her. “Did I hurt you?”

Launching herself at him, she locked her arms around his neck, holding him close, skin to skin, so he knew she wasn’t afraid. “No. Never. I know you’d never hurt me. Not intentionally.”

He began to shiver. The shiver grew into full-blown quaking and his breaths came in deep, haunting gulps as he fought against the onslaught. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Shhh, it’s not your fault. You didn’t hurt me. I know you wouldn’t. I love you. You’d never hurt me.”

She loved him. And he was hurting.

They had rocked gently on the bed, back and forth, her stroking his back until his breathing quieted. “I love you,” she had said, over and over again.

“I have no right to you.”

For the second time that night, her heart had ruptured. He just refused to accept his worth to her.

All these years later, Roxann would never have guessed they’d still be debating this topic. Either way, she was sick of it. Dreadfully sick of it.

“I never felt you weren’t good enough for me. You had to know. You could have told me about my dad and I
would
have handled it. We’d been through so much, how could you think otherwise?”

His expression softened. “You couldn’t have handled this one, Rox. It was too much of a problem.”

“Oh please. It was a conversation. An argument. I could have talked to him.”

Michael shook his head. There was more. Had to be. Not much rattled him. He stood, went to the terrace doors and looked out before facing her again. She spread her hands wide in front of her, but when he stayed silent, she stepped over to where he stood. Without a sound, he shoved the article toward her.
Don’t take it.

Somehow, from that empty pit of her stomach, she knew the article had been the flashpoint. Her hand trembled as she reached for it.
Stop. Don’t take it
. She didn’t want to know.
Rewind. Back button.

But she couldn’t go back. She’d been begging Michael to tell her and now he was finally willing. She curled her toes.
Deep breath. Tighten. Tighten. One, two, three.

“What is it?” she finally asked.

“It’s an article about a robbery.”

“Pardon?”

She snatched the article from him, unfolded it and read. One man arrested in a three-man robbery attempt. Skimming the article she saw the name Jerry Foyle. Michael’s friend. Oh no…no. Bile curled, hot and nasty and burned up her throat.

“Your Dad gave me that,” he said. “He had a background check done. Wanted to make sure I could live up to the Thorgesson standards.”

“What does this article have to do with you?”

“A week before I was to report to basic training, Jerry and two other guys held up a convenience store. Jerry got caught. The other two guys bolted, but security videos showed them with masks on. One of the guys was built like me and I went to the top of the suspect list because Jerry and I hung together.”

Too much, too much
. “Oh, no.”

“It wasn’t me, Rox, but the P.D. didn’t know that. They had no evidence and couldn’t build a case, but I left for basic with suspicion hanging on me. And Jerry wasn’t talking. I was pissed about that, but he’d have bigger problems if he snitched. With the life he chose, that crowd would have found a way to kill him in prison.”

“Everyone thought you were guilty.” And here they were again with everyone thinking he committed a crime.

“Yeah. Jerry did his time and kept his mouth shut. They never caught the other two guys. After my eight years in the army, the robbery was old news and I was able to put it behind me.”

Roxann held up the article. “Until my father hit you with this.”

“He figured I was guilty, but told me he’d use his influence to help clear me. By that time, the statute of limitations had expired and the P.D. couldn’t have charged me, but I still wanted my name cleared. Your dad wanted me gone and, if I went, he’d work the system for me.”

“Did you tell him you were innocent?”

“Sure. He didn’t believe me and I told him to fuck off. That I loved you and I wanted to marry you. That didn’t fly. He threatened to tell you about the robbery and convince you I was guilty.”

With the article still in her fingers, Roxann covered her face with her hands. How could her father have done this to them?
To her? Start at the toes. Tighten. Tighten.

“And you thought I’d believe you were guilty? You didn’t think I cared enough to support you?”

Michael gripped her arm. “I knew you cared, but my thinking got whacked. I wanted to get to you first, tell you everything, but he saw it coming and told me you’d probably take my side. I went to find you, but by the time I’d gotten there I realized he’d played me. If I had told you, you’d have fought him, but there would have been a rift between all of us. Plus, I had no way to convince you I was innocent, and I didn’t want you to have doubts. Either way, I was screwed because you’d be in the middle. You loved him and it would have destroyed you.”

Her father had always—always—controlled her life from behind the scenes. Yes, she loved him, adored him, for all the opportunities and strength he’d instilled in her. For convincing her she had the power to make her dreams come true. And yet, her father’s love annihilated the one relationship she had always wished for.

How did she not know about this? Had her mother known about the robbery? She couldn’t have known.
Please, let me at least believe that.

“He should have left us alone.”

“Yeah and you’d have told him that. That’s the issue.”

“Oh, shut up.” She was pointing at him now, jabbing her finger. “You and my father played this out and I was clueless. Didn’t I deserve to know? When you love someone, you fight for them, and you didn’t. My future,
our
future, got tossed away. And then you married someone else and I spent years thinking about it.
Stewing
over it. I’d see pictures of your wife in the society pages and I’d wonder what she had that I didn’t. Years, Michael. All wasted.”

“Down the road,” he said, his voice quiet like the moment after a death. “you’d have resented me for it. Every time I screwed up, he’d have reminded you that you took my side. No way in hell was I living that way.”

He puffed his cheeks, let the air out slowly. He’d suffered too. The humiliation alone must have been awful. She had to calm down. Quiet the chaos.
Deep breath
. “You left without giving me an explanation. I had to hear from the grapevine you were in L.A. That wasn’t fair.”