Relinquish

Chapter Thirty-Four

Lola

I stomp up the stairs carting a spoon and a pint of vanilla ice cream, which I’d infused with copious amounts of marshmallow fluff, ribbons of caramel, and chunks of chocolate fudge. Son of a bitch. He’s the biggest asshole I’ve ever met.

It feels like someone has yanked my heart out of my chest and given it to a pack of wild wolves to toss around, or a steamroller drove over it and backed up and drove over it again. When this carton is demolished, I’m going back for the strawberry shortcake tub.

Why did I get emotionally involved with him? No man will ever find me worth all the baggage that comes with my family. Why would Cade be any different?

“Honey, I’m sorry.” My father’s voice floats up the staircase.

I spin around at the landing and point the spoon at him. “Don’t call me honey. I’m not in the mood. It’s because of you that I met him in the first place. If you were minding your own business, I wouldn’t have moved to Kansas City. And I wouldn’t be facing an eternity of pain and heartache. I wouldn’t even know what it feels like to be in love. Or how much it hurts to know how little he cared about me.”

“Are you sure you’re giving him enough credit? You need to have a come to Jesus meeting with him. Like you did me. He didn’t give me the impression he doesn’t care about you or that he’s easy to scare off. Something else must be going on.”

“I’m not begging him for anything. He’s the one who walked out. I can’t change who my family is, and I can’t make him love me.” I slam the door shut. Fuck. I’m acting like a fourteen-year-old. I haven’t acted like this big of a brat since my dad refused to let me straighten my hair.

Shit. I need to apologize. I fall into my bed and close my eyes. The worst thing of all is that Cade lied to my father and said he cared about me and that it was my decision if we were in a relationship.

What in the hell changed in twenty minutes? Did something happen in his phone call? I sling my arm over my eyes and hold the ice cream in my other hand. It tips, and I straighten the container. Not that I care if it spills.

It would be easier if Cade were a criminal. But no. He was a hero once again. He’d saved Stella from being robbed at gunpoint. Someone in the neighborhood had called the police, and by the time they’d arrived, Cade had managed to run off the perpetrator. Stella had been in the ambulance due to her injuries and was unaware that he’d been taken into custody. As soon as she was able, she cleared everything up, and once again, he was a hero.

I shove a spoonful of the gooey concoction into my mouth and kick off my shoes. When I inhale, I catch a whiff of his cologne. I rub my fingers against the fabric, and tears slip down my cheeks. I can almost feel his heat on the silk. How could things have gone so wrong?

Nothing makes sense. When he’d left the shower, I’d sworn he was in love with me. No, he hadn’t said the words, but his actions shouted it. He’d rescued me from being kidnapped, for fucks sake. He worshipped every inch of my body. We’ve talked for hours. How could he pretend all those things?

I put the spoon down and run my hand across the comforter. When I reach the end table, I grab a tissue and blow my nose. I’ve got to burn the sheets. I shove the lid on the carton, throw it in the trash, and rip off the bedding. The fitted sheets end up at the foot of the bed, and the pillowcases land on my dresser. I’ll sleep on a bare mattress.

Son of a bitch. He played me.He’s the cold, uncaring man I first believed him to be. All those times he helped me had to have been a game. He never cared whether I got hurt in the street or when I was saving Sam. He probably made up the story about Stella’s neighbor’s dog just to pull on my heartstrings. I’m so gullible.

Then, there’s his military career. Somehow, he’s manipulated me into believing he was a wounded hero. Well, that’s stupid. He was a wounded hero. He couldn’t make up earning a Medal of Honor, and there’s no way his feelings of failure regarding his team were fake.

“Damn it.” I wipe my eyes one last time and shove my hand on my hips. He isn’t that good of a pretender–something else is going on. What is it?

Not believing in him?That’s it. What had he meant by my not believing in him? Wanting to be with him? I’d been so angry and hurt, I hadn’t been thinking clearly. Did he overhear part of my conversation with my father?

Shit. I close my eyes. That’s it. That’s the only thing that makes sense.

Did he think I believed he was a criminal? Or that I look down on how he was raised? How could he believe so little of me? He’s never respected me. To him, I’ll always be shallow. And the bullshit about my dad. That’s a bunch of crap. My dad will never cut me out of his life. He’s all bluster and no follow-through.

I toss shirts, jeans, and pants into my luggage, paying no attention to whether the items are folded or how much dry-cleaning will cost to get all the wrinkles out. How many hours is it until my flight? Too many. I can’t wait. I’ll drive the Jag back because he’s getting a piece of my mind. And maybe his own punch in the nuts.

***

Cade

I push my sunglasses farther up my nose to block the brightness from the airplane cabin’s lights and fasten my seatbelt. It’s been twelve hours since I left Lola’s family home with my fucking tail between my legs. Not one of my proudest moments. The pounding in my head has not been improved by the two shots of tequila I’d slugged down when I first got on the plane.

The overhead sign flashes to buckle up, and I listen halfheartedly to the flight attendant’s instructions. The combination of colognes, perfumes, and sweat is about to make me hurl. Fuck. How long is this flight?

“Laying over in Kansas City or staying?” A middle-aged man with a crewcut cocks his head.

Fuck. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I have on sunglasses for a reason. “Staying.”

“I’m going for a visit. My sister and her family live there. My wife and kids are staying behind.”

“That’s nice.” I stare out the window.

“I have a four-year-old and a ten-year-old. My sister has three kids. They’re seven, ten, and twelve. I can’t wait to see them again. It’s been ages,” he sighs. “I wish my kids could’ve come along, but they have school. I’ll have to try and get away again in the summer when they can all tag along.”

I stop breathing in hopes he thinks I died. Who in the hell spills everything to some random person on a plane?

“Our mom died a few months ago, so we’re going over her estate documents.”

Jesus. Take me now. “I’m sorry to hear that. Listen–”

“Here are some photos of my family.” He shoves his cell phone in front of my face and flips his finger over the screen.

Over two hours later, I’ve seen every photograph on my seatmate’s cell phone. The pathetic thing? I have none on mine. I’ve never been a big picture taker, but damn, I wish I had at least one of her. I’m sitting here annoyed by this guy who’s going over his awesome family, and it’s me that has the problem. I have no one and never will.

The flight attendant gives our landing instructions, and I rub my forehead. The sound of Lola’s voice telling her father she’d never marry a criminal is burned into my brain. Not that it was true, but she didn’t know that. I fell for her hook, line, and sinker. The actress who played Maitland like a puppet made a total fool out of me. The wheels touch down, and we roll to a stop.

I grab my carry-on and dodge an elbow from the man in front of me as he grabs his gear out of the overhead compartment.

“Sorry.” The man’s face floods with heat, and he yanks his baseball hat down lower on his head.

“No problem.”

My seatmate waves and eases into the aisle, and my shoulders sag. Should I have given her the chance to explain? Was I wrong?

Could there be a legitimate reason for what she said? Could I have misunderstood their conversation?

What does it matter? You’d still be the reason she and her father are on the outs. Eventually, she’d hate me for not having her family in her life. It might all be different if he’d give us a chance. But he’s proven he’ll fight me every step of the way.

Shit. I’m better off without her. When I’m with her, I feel like I’m spiraling out of control. She makes me want things I can’t have. A man who grew up on the streets isn’t destined for love, marriage, and children. How could I raise kids? I have no idea what it takes to be a good father. The man on the plane knows. I don’t.

Once I reach the terminal, I walk toward the luggage return. The crowd of people is thick. Some are greeting their loved ones with hugs and kisses. While others are rushing around, not paying attention to anyone around them as they concentrate on whatever mission they’re out to conquer. That’s been me so many times–intent on avoiding any connection.

In the corner, a family holds up a cardboard sign with the words ‘Welcome Home Rick’ displayed across the top. Each of them holds balloons. A wheelchair-bound soldier is pushed by airport staff to greet his family. He grins from ear to ear. Why didn’t I feel relief to be alive? There’s no doubt the photos of my homecoming looked the same. The pure joy radiating from their faces pulls me from the depths of darkness I’ve been in since leaving Lola.

Shit.These shadows have been drowning me since I was a child. I stop in mid-step. It’s not what I overheard that has me running. I’m ashamed of how I grew up. No matter how many times I’ve told myself that it wasn’t my fault that my father was never a part of my life or that my mother died, deep down, I’ve never believed it.

Fuck. If I can’t respect myself, how can I expect Lola to give up everything to be with me? The crowd pushes past me. It’s time to embrace my past instead of acknowledging it as something that happened. It’s time to stop running. I can’t magically make a future with Lola happen, but I can stop using my past as a crutch.

For the first time in years, a huge weight falls from my shoulders. I need to call my guys. Everyone on the team survived when so many other operatives weren’t as lucky. My family might not be traditional, but I’m loved, respected, and appreciated. It’s time I accepted that–Lola’s wrong. I’m not a criminal. I’m a soldier. A leader. A tactician. I can be a good husband and father. It’s time to prove that to her.