Unable to Resist (19 page)

Jason quickly shakes his head. “Nope, it’s just the two of you today. Maybe come back here later and we can grill out.”

Duane looks over at me for approval and I wink.

“Sounds like a plan. Have a good day, man. We’ll see you later.” Duane steps away, back toward the door

Jason brings me into his arms and puts his mouth to my ear. “You have more room in your heart for him. Remember that,” he whispers. He switches his stance and kisses my temple before letting me go.

I look at him, a bit baffled, and shake my head. He always knows exactly what to say to calm my erratic heart.

Duane offers me his elbow and we walk outside arm-in-arm. The weather is a bit cooler today, and the breeze ruffles my dress.

“It’s gorgeous out today,” I state.

Duane squeezes my arm lovingly and smiles. “It is.”

His smile dances across his face and I can tell something is different. I just can’t put my finger on it. It could be me, though. My woman brain might be trying to see things that aren’t really there.

He opens the door to the rental car for me and softly closes it. I sit down on the plush covered seat and sigh in contentment. When the driver side door opens, he sits down swiftly and buckles his seatbelt. He turns my direction and leans his left forearm on the steering wheel.

“So, we are going to meet him at a coffee shop down the street,” he begins. “You don’t have to answer anything he asks. This is strictly just a formality. We can stay here. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” Duane reassures me with worried eyes, clearly concerned for my comfort.

I grab his right hand that’s fidgeting with the stick shift. Knowing Duane is starting to care for me like Kyle did, makes me overjoyed.

“It’ll be okay. I really want to know what he has to say. Plus, you’ll be there with me. There isn’t anything he could say that can make this much worse.”

Duane gives me a do-you-really-believe-that look and I laugh.

“Okay, so maybe he can make it worse, but I’m tougher than I look, Cowboy.” I bring my hand to his scruffy face and rub my thumb on his jaw.

He breathes into my wrist and closes his eyes. When he finally opens them, they seem a bit glassy and he lifts his head from my hand.

I’m getting to the point where I need to be honest with myself and admit I don’t care if he’s my damn lawyer. Anymore, it’s simply an afterthought. We act differently around each other, that much is obvious. It’s just— I need this man in my life. I feel it in my core.

I. Need. Him.

“I’m not questioning your toughness, Red,” he retorts, defensively.

I smirk at him. Deep down, I know that.

“I’m worried about you,” he finishes, sternly.

“Well, I appreciate that, but I’ve got you.”

His eyes scream protectiveness; I don’t doubt the genuine apprehension.

“Let’s go see what he has to say. Now, chop chop, we don’t want to be late.”

Duane snorts a laugh and shakes his head. “Yes, ma’am.”

The ride to the coffee shop is quiet and peaceful. Every so often, I try to steal a glance at Duane, and he catches me. I quickly look away, but unintentionally I find myself looking over at him again, only to find him staring back. Not too long into the drive, we make it a game, and by the time we pull up to the coffee shop, we’re both cracking up.

I unbuckle my seatbelt, and reach for the door handle.

“Don’t you dare open that door, Darlin’—I know we’re in Arizona, but it’s a personal offence if you open it yourself.”

I lift an eyebrow. “Well, I wouldn’t want to offend a kind, southern gentleman like yourself.”

With a predatory gleam in his eye, he advises. “Good girl.”

Oh shit, why did that little glimpse of praise shoot right to my lady bits? Damn hot alpha males.

He struts in front of the car like a proud stallion and opens my door. Offering his hand, he slyly coos, “My lady,” when I take it and step out of the car.

The shop is quaint, yet spacious. Small, white tables fill the room, making it feel intimate.

Dressed more like the boy I used to know, in khaki pants and a green polo shirt, Brent looks up and smiles at us from a table by the front window.

“You want anything to drink?” Duane asks into my hair. His warm, minty breath brushes across my skin, making me shiver.

Goodbye blurred lines, hello new lines. I purr in jubilee.

I turn to him and start digging for some cash in my purse. “An iced tea sounds wonderful. Hold on.”

Duane grabs my arm and gives me a stern look. “You will not pay for iced tea, Red. Go sit down, I’ll be right here if you need me.”

I look back at my once-lost friend from the past. He’s stood since we walked in, and is waiting for me.

“Are you sure?” I confirm warily while still eyeing Brent.

Caressing my cheek, he nods. “Yeah, you two might need a minute.”

I stop myself from leaning in to kiss him. My head and my heart are working together; telling me Duane is
the one.
Just make it official. What do you have to lose? And then, I remember our situation is complicated—beyond complicated. It’s like nuclear physics and I’m sitting in a class trying to figure out how to simply add and subtract numbers.

I sigh and turn toward Brent.

I can do this.

It’s been fifteen years since I’ve seen him. Yesterday in the police station doesn’t count, not to me anyway. The circumstances were atrocious, for one. And two, you can’t have a real conversation in a place where everyone is watching and judging every single movement.

Brent steps toward me as I approach him and I throw my arms out to offer an embrace. His shoulders shake slightly, but he brings me in for a tight hug. I’m brought back to my childhood to the little boy who cried because of the constant ridicule he experienced. Kids are so hurtful to what they don’t understand. No matter his appearance, Brent had a beautiful soul then, and—I want to believe—now.

“Brent,” I say leaning on his shoulder. “How are you?”

Brent sniffles and lets me go. “I’m alright. How are you?”

I turn to look at Duane and, oddly, he turns to look at me at the exact same moment. I look back toward Brent. “I’m good. Well,” I stop to laugh, “I’m okay, all things considered.”

We sit down and Brent pulls a third chair up to the table for Duane. “I’m sorry about yesterday. Really, I am. Yesterday was a mess.”

“What happened, Brent? Where have you been?”

Brent’s eyes travel to the floor-to-ceiling windows and he watches a woman, man, and little girl get out of a car and enter the coffee shop. He follows the family with his sad eyes for a few moments, as if he is trying to experience their lives together—maybe a life that was better than the one he is leading.

His chin starts to tremble, and he looks down at his quaking hands. “I think you know, even just a little bit. You know what happened to me.”

Even as a child, I knew the disdain his father had for him. How a father could practically disown his own flesh and blood just because he didn’t look “normal” is beyond my capacity to comprehend. He was family. Period. You don’t do that to family. You don’t turn your back on them because you’re embarrassed or because others can’t accept that your child is different. You stick by them. You make them feel loved. Loving a child is supposed to be unconditional. For Brent, though, it wasn’t.

“So, they sent you away?” I ask gently, with all emotion I’m feeling showing in my wavering voice.

“You could say that. If you mean they made me live in the basement for almost two months until they could get me into a private school in Montana.”

I can almost feel the sting of the painful memory burning through his off-the-cuff delivery of the statement.

“Montana? Why Montana?” I ask.

“No one would think to look there.” He laughs, void of all emotion.

“So, they kept you locked in the basement.” I shake my head and stare at the bright white paint on the table, trying to grasp that concept for a second. “Did you know that Jason and I came looking for you?” I ask desperately, hoping to let him know he wasn’t alone in that dark time. I want him to know we were looking for him. He wasn’t forgotten.

We had visited at least once a day for almost three months. We were confused little kids. We didn’t understand. Every time I’d ask my mom what I should do, she’d tell me if Brent wanted to be found, he’d come back.

He never did.

“Yeah, I saw you every time. There was a small window right next to the front porch that looked outside from the basement outside. I’d bang on the window, but you guys never heard me.”

I grab his hand. “God, I’m so sorry. We wanted to find you. No one would listen to us. Your parents would act like you never existed—like we were crazy. Even the kids at school didn’t remember you. We honestly felt like we were living in a parallel universe.”

“Silence is easy when you pay off the whole town,” he offers.

They paid off the whole town?

Holy crap.

“The only people who refused money were your parents and Jason’s. They wouldn’t take the money, but they agreed to not encourage you.”

I remember the day both Mom and Dad sat me down and told me to no longer pursue my search for Brent. They told me he might be in a better place. In my mind, I had hoped he was living at Disneyland—not a basement and a boarding school forced to hide away until it was suitable for him to come home.

“I can’t believe this,” I sneer, “and when did you have surgery?”

“This is the kicker. Dear ol’ Dad told me if I got surgery to correct my face, I could come home.” Brent huffs between thoughts. “So I did; I got the surgery. It took almost four years to get me looking like this.” He gestures at his now beautiful face. “But, when I finally started looking more like a person and less like a monster, I realized I didn’t want to be around the people who made me think I was a monster in the first place.”

My stomach churns. Sure, he had a deformity, but he was no monster. His top lip and nose were joined, with no space between. To a kid, it took some getting used to. That wasn’t the case for Jase and I; it didn’t matter what he looked like—he was kind—and so lost. The minute he opened his mouth, it was easy to see he had a gentle heart and simply wanted to be loved. We often tried to shield him from the nasty rumors and hateful looks, but we could only do so much. We were only kids.

“About two years ago, Dad contacts me and wants me to come home—says I need to return and play the part.” He pauses, scratching his head.

“What does that even mean? Play the part.” I impatiently pull the details out of him.

“He meant, he wanted me to come home and act like everything was fine. He wanted me to tell everyone that I chose to leave. He thought it was a perfect opportunity to showcase my new face and show what a fucking phenomenal father he was because he fixed me.”

His dad is a stone-cold asshole.

“Why does he care so much?”

“He’s running for office again, and wanted to start the façade early enough to give it some credibility.”

I grind my teeth in repulsion and Duane catches my eye from the other side of the shop. He gives me a warm smile, making me grin despite the intense situation unfolding at the table. I look back at Brent, hoping to continue our conversation, but he’s staring out of the window again, looking forlorn.

Duane strolls up with my tea and my heart races at the easy stride of his long legs. He sits next to me and I take the cup while thanking him. He smirks and rubs my bare leg under the table.

I turn my attention back to Brent. “So, now they want you to play the perfect son?”

Brent rubs his forehead. “Pretty much.” He looks to Duane. “Hey, man. Good to see you again.”

Duane and Brent shake hands.

“You, too. You doing alright?” Duane asks as friendly as he can while being in lawyer mode.

Yesterday’s Brent is gone. He looks like my old friend again. Duane sizes him up, trying to figure him out. I’m sure he’s worried. Taking his cue from earlier, I grab his hand under the table.

Brent scoffs, seeming embarrassed, before answering.

“Yesterday was not my finest hour, but thanks for not flipping when you had the chance. I haven’t had the best week.” He stops to assess us, looking careful not to give away any of his thoughts.

Duane quickly lets go of my hand.

Damn those lines.

I never know where I stand with him.

“So, you guys together?” Brent asks, not knowing how difficult the question is to resolve.

We aren’t, but then the way Duane acts, I have no idea. Does he want us to be? Am I making a big deal over nothing?

What the hell am I doing here?

Brent seems genuinely interested, so I can’t blame him for my immediate, uncomfortable shifting in my seat. He doesn’t have a judgmental bone in his body—well the old him didn’t. The Brent I knew had the heart to love everyone. He even found a way to forgive and offer excuses for the people who made his life hell. He didn’t believe people were really evil.