The Truth About Love (16 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

L
andon’s lungs screamed for air. His calves burned. It had been three years since he’d done fifteen miles in one run, but tiring his body to the point of exhaustion seemed like the only way to escape now. The only way he’d ever sleep again.
If
he ever slept again. He still hadn’t completely absorbed the news about the inconclusive DNA, and that had been two days ago.

There would always be questions about Mama’s murder, yet she deserved so much more than that.

He’d never know if his testimony had put the right man in prison.

He’d never know the truth.

He slipped the key from on top of the window frame and unlocked the door. Compared to outside, his air-conditioned condo felt like a walk-in freezer, but he welcomed the chill. No one sweated like a man running in the heat and humidity of a Tallahassee summer, even though the hottest part of the day had been hours ago.

He braced his hands on the breakfast bar and extended one leg behind him, stretching one calf, then the other. He took deep, deliberate breaths until his inhalations returned to normal.

His cell phone rang as he was grabbing a towel to get in the shower.

“Mr. Vista?” the male voice on the other end of the line sounded official.

“Yes.” He reached into the shower to turn on the water.

“This is Sergeant Hernandez of the Tallahassee Police Department.”

He froze. Law enforcement officers translated to death and tragedy in his life.

“Son, your father’s been picked up on a drunk-and-disorderly.”

Of course he has.
Landon stepped out of the bathroom to get away from the noise of the running water. “What’d he do?”

“Kept hassling another patron at the bar he was in. Refused to leave when the manager asked him to. Urinated on the bouncer’s shoe when he finally kicked him out.”

It was seven thirty at night. Who got shit-faced by seven thirty on a Sunday night? Moot point. He already knew the answer to that question.

“Why are
you
calling me?” Landon asked. “I thought the guy arrested got to make the phone call.”

“The doc’s stitching his head up now. The bouncer didn’t take too kindly to his shoe being pissed on.”

Landon emptied the contents of his pockets, preparing for the shower. “Let him stay there. It’ll be good for him.”

“Can’t keep him here. He’s already paid bail.”

“My dad doesn’t have enough money for bail.” The sarcasm in his voice sounded biting, even to him.

“Desk lieutenant said he paid it in cash. Your dad wants you to come get him. Keeps bragging about his son being Landon Vista and how we’d better treat him right.”

“I’m not coming to get him.”

“Doc’ll be done with him in a couple of minutes.”

“I’m not coming to get him.”
What did the guy not understand about that?

“You want me to tell him that?” the sergeant said.

“I don’t care what you tell him. Tell him anything you want.”

Landon punched the button to end the call, then yanked his tank top over his head. He needed a shower even worse now that his damn father had tainted the evening with yet another embarrassing stunt. He rolled his head from side to side, determined not to let the anger at his father camp out with that burn at the base of his neck, at the same place it always did.

The time Landon had spent with Gina’s parents made him realize how nice it might have been to have a father who held down a job, slept in the same bed every night, provided a house for his kids to live in.
To hell with him.
Landon wasn’t going to be a part of his dad’s drama anymore, just like his dad hadn’t been a part of Landon’s life growing up.

He was still seething an hour later, after he’d showered and discovered that the strange smell in his kitchen came from the week-old shrimp pasta he’d thrown away last night. He took his trash bag to the dumpster off to the side of his condo complex and heaved it into the rusted, smelly drum, then headed back inside.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He turned to see his father, his forehead covered by a white bandage, standing under the streetlight. One sleeve of his faded plaid shirt was torn, and the knees of his pants looked as if he’d been crawling around on the floor at the local Jiffy Lube. A taxi pulled away from the curb in the background.

“Not getting you out of jail.” Landon brushed past his father, not sure where the smell of the dumpster ended and his dad’s odor started.

“Obviously.” His dad hustled after him. “And why the hell not?”

Landon turned to face him, his fists clenched by his side. “I am not going to clean up your mess every time you make it.”

“You just wait ’til you’re thrown in jail.” His dad’s smirk bared his yellow teeth. “See if I come help you out.”

“I
have
been thrown in jail. And you know who I called?” He swept his arm through the air. “It sure as hell wasn’t you.”

His dad grinned, looking absurdly pleased that his son had been in jail, as if it were a proud family tradition. Something to talk about over holiday meals. “What’d you get arrested for?”

Landon walked up the sidewalk again. “It was a while ago.” Calvin had been there for him. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” his dad said behind him.

Landon waved a dismissive hand and walked toward his condo.

“You don’t think I’d have your back?” his dad repeated as he dashed in front of Landon. “Don’t you think I would have picked you up?”

Landon opened his front door and walked into the living room. His dad followed him inside.

A crush of childhood feelings swirled inside him. Landon closed his eyes for a minute. “Why would I think you’d be there for me,” he said, “when you were never there any of the other times?” He might as well get all his feelings out before he confronted his father about the sawmill alibi, which now seemed lame, even for his father.

“Name one time I wasn’t there for you.” His dad plopped down in the leather recliner. Landon wondered if he could hose the thing off in the morning.

“How about when I played Little League and you were never in the stands? Or when I broke my arm in eighth grade? Did you stay up worrying about me when I was seventeen years old and out getting drunk off my ass with my buddies? Where were you during all those times?”

His father’s face paled. “Aunt Marilyn and Uncle Bob were there.”

“They aren’t my parents.”

“They were better parents than I would have been.”

“You only started to care when I started to make the newspapers, the all-conference teams. Then all of a sudden—poof!—you’re back in my life. When it became convenient for you and when you might get something out of it.”

“If I needed to be preached to”—his dad’s eyes narrowed—“I’d go to church.”

“Where’d you get the money to post bail?”

His dad seemed offended. “I been working a little bit.”

“You have a little bit of money? An opportunity to get ahead?” Landon paced around the room, anger seeping from his pores. “And you spend it on bail? Or some stupid bait shop?”

His father’s eyes nailed him. “My money is none of your business.”

“Okay, then let’s switch to something that
is
my business.” He lunged toward his father, stopping just short of bumping him with his chest. “Where were you the day Mama was killed?” If the DNA wasn’t going to give him any answers, then maybe he’d finally badger his father enough to learn the truth.

Martin waved a dismissive hand. “This is all old news.”

“You and Grady Buchanan were delivering a load of lumber to the North Carolina mountains. Or don’t you remember?”

“That girlfriend of yours has you all messed up in the head,” Martin said. “You shoulda been over this shit a long time ago.”

“Where were you that day?” Landed repeated.

“I was with Grady Buchanan. We delivered some wood in North Carolina, then went to the casino in Cherokee.”

So the old man was sticking with his story. Landon had given him one final chance to come clean and the guy had blown it.

He was never going to get any answers. He picked up his car keys. “I was just going out for the night,” he lied. “Where do you want me to drop you off?”

Landon felt like he might bust down Gina’s door if she didn’t answer soon. His adrenaline was still pumping from the run-in he’d had with his dad, and besides, her SUV was parked on the street, so why wasn’t she answering? He needed to talk to her. Needed to hold her. Needed the grounding her presence gave him.

Finally, he saw her silhouette come down the short hallway. Her hand went to the inside of the wall in the breakfast nook, and the light in the kitchen came on around the corner. She squinted toward the door, then walked to it and flipped on the outside light before she unlocked the deadbolt.

“You look like hell,” she said as she opened the door.

He stormed in—his body still pumped with adrenaline—and tried to calm himself down. He didn’t want to scare her. And he would never, ever hurt her. He leaned on the wall just inside the door and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I had a fight with my dad.”

Worry settled into Gina’s brow. “An argument? Or like a fistfight?”

He must look as wild as his emotions made him feel. “An argument.” Though come to think of it, Landon wished he would have punched him.

“Okay,” she said slowly, as if trying to gauge what might come next. “You want to talk about it?”

He felt his heart still racing, his mind still whirling from the argument. He nodded. He glanced down her body as she stood in front of him and took in her outfit—a long, yellow T-shirt shirt hung to her knees. It was looser at the bottom than it was on top, where it cradled her round, ample breasts.

She reached for his hand and led him to the couch, then sat next to him, pulling her knees up to her chin and tucking the long T-shirt over them. Her bloodred toenail polish had been replaced with a sexy-as-hell pale pink that almost matched the smooth skin of her ankle as it peeked out from under the fabric.

He breathed slowly, trying to calm down, trying not to scare her with his wild anger.

“What did he do?” she asked quietly, brushing one of his curls from his forehead.

“He actually thinks he was a good dad. Like he did me a favor by not being around. ‘Aunt Marilyn and Uncle Bob were there,’ he said. Like that was going to take the place of a dad.” Landon couldn’t sit still. He got up and paced the living room, his emotions still in control of his body.

“What brought all this on? Why tonight?”

“He was mad that I didn’t come get him out of jail. Some stupid drunk-and-disorderly charge.” He paced some more, then ended up with his back to her, facing the picture of her family skiing.

“If he’s treated you so badly all these years”—her voice was almost a whisper, floating from behind him like a voice from the heavens—“why is he so important to you?”

His back stiffened. She didn’t understand. And probably never would. Not with parents who loved her and raised her. Parents who were always there for her.

“I just wanted him to care.” His voice came out in shudders.

He couldn’t face her, even if it meant looking at the damn picture of everything he never had. At least this way, he wouldn’t be able to see her face as she cowered away, frightened by the depth of his anger.

The couch rustled behind him, and seconds later, she slid her arms around his waist and rested her head on his back between his shoulder blades. Even if she didn’t understand, her touch made it seem like she did. Even though he would never be good enough for her, he’d savor the few moments when she acted like she cared.

“You know what I think?” she whispered in the darkness. Her voice came from behind, just below his ear.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t want to do anything that might bring this moment to an end.

“I think you’re witty and caring and . . . that you’ve got a lot to add to this world. And none of those things has anything to do with your dad. They have everything to do with you. The fact that you’re as strong as you are . . . and that you’ve lived with this . . . makes you way more of a man than he is. Makes you way better than just about any man I’ve ever met.”

His breath caught in his chest. No one, including his mother, had ever said anything so kind to him. So meaningful. He closed his eyes, wondering if he’d imagined her words, but the feel of her head on his back confirmed it was real.

He wanted his body to soak in the memories of having her near. Of having someone care, not because he was the nephew or because he could throw a pigskin farther downfield than anyone else. But care about
him
.

His dad had forced him to face one of the worst truths of his life, but he was also facing the fact that someone cared about him. Wanted to listen to his stories. Everything he wanted was right here, in this room. The soft touch. The sweet smells. The caring.

She lifted her head from his back as he slowly turned to face her. He looked into her eyes and saw a pool of understanding.