Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
“Let me see.”
“Just a sec.” Sven grimaced at his reflection in the mirror before he stalked to the bedroom door to open it for his daughter. “I look ridiculous. The sleeves are too short and the hat is too small.”
“Are you saying you have orangutan arms and a fat head?” Brenna grinned up at him, clearly amused by her teasing and his discomfort. Tugging on the front of the suit jacket, she pulled him closer and turned up the cuff of one sleeve. “No worries. See? It has buttons to adjust the length. Same with the hat. Hand it over and I’ll fix it.”
“So much for getting out of playing Santa.” At her immediate frown, he sighed and followed her instructions. “I’m kidding. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure the fundraiser goes well. Do you think I need more stuffing?”
She poked a finger into the pillow he’d strapped on under the red coat. “Nope. You’ll split the seams if we add another layer. I want to see the beard, and put the hat back on with it.”
“Have you always been this bossy?” Despite an effort not to smile, part of one slipped out as he picked up the pile of cottony fluff from the dresser. Her self-confidence and take-charge personality had always made him proud to be her father.
Her laughter echoed off the walls. “You know it.”
Fifteen minutes and a nod of approval later, he rehung the costume in his closet and laced up his hiking boots. The roofing business slowed considerably during the colder months, but estimates, ice dams, the occasional repair, and an inspection here and there kept him from being bored from December to March. Thankfully, he wasn’t stuck inside doing accounts receivable today.
As he pocketed his cell phone, it buzzed in his hand. A quick check revealed a new addition to his and Brenna’s shared calendar. He stepped into their office to let her know he’d seen it. “That was fast. Did your new therapist get connected with an office already?”
She nodded without glancing his direction. Her eyebrows scrunched downward as she seemed to concentrate on the computer monitor almost blocking his view of her. “She had eight job offers by the end of our lunch meeting on Monday, so you have no reason whatsoever to question her qualifications. We discussed the options and picked one together because she wanted to be sure I was comfortable with the choice and that the location wouldn’t be a problem. She filled out her employment paperwork yesterday morning, so we’re all set. The office just confirmed my first appointment for Friday at two.”
Her reassurance about the therapist’s experience and actually having a job eased some of his concerns. “It’s supposed to snow on Friday. I have an estimate scheduled at one thirty, but I’ll switch it to earlier in the day so I can drive you there.”
“You don’t need to do that. Just drop me off on your way. The office is a few doors down from the library and I got a notification that a book I’ve been wanting to read is available.”
That she didn’t insist on getting there on her own was a win, so he gave a curt nod. “That works. I need to head out, but I’ll be back in time to make supper. Spaghetti or fajitas?”
“Oh, fajitas!” She finally looked over at him and grinned. “I’ll make the guacamole.”
Seeing her happy made his heart swell. “Sounds good. See you later. Love you, Bee.”
“Love you too, Dad.” She blew a kiss at him, like she had every day when he’d watched her walk into preschool and elementary school from the drop-off lane.
He fought to swallow past the lump in his throat as he stalked to the garage. How the hell had his little girl grown up so fast?
For a fair part of that time, they had lived with his parents. He’d relied on his mom and dad for babysitting services and so much more during the earliest years. Their support had gotten him through being a single dad while his daughter grew into the amazing young woman she was now—and they still propped him up on a regular basis.
She should have been mine and—
He blocked that automatic thought from his mind.
Should’ve, would’ve, could’ve didn’t change the past and wouldn’t bring back the girl he’d loved, no matter how often his stupid heart wished for it.
He buckled up while he waited for the garage door to rise behind him, fighting the same battle he’d waged against his feelings for more years than he dared admit to.
Autopilot kicked in as he drove toward his first appointment of the day. He’d walk, ridden, and driven the route to and past her house hundreds or maybe thousands of times in his life. Most days he was able to resist looking, but something inside urged him to take a last glimpse of the now-uninhabited Craftsman home since her father had passed away two weeks ago. In a perfect world, it would have a for sale sign in the front yard, killing any lingering hope that she might return. The hope that refused to budge reignited as soon as the mailbox came into view.
Enough already.
He couldn’t keep doing this, setting himself up for disappointment day after day.
She’d sworn she wasn’t coming back, and her promise had held true. That fact wasn’t going to change.
His gut twisted at the sight of a car parked in the driveway. A heartbeat later, a figure appeared on the porch with a bulging garbage bag in tow. It was nearly half the person’s size. A brown ponytail the same shade as his first-and-only love’s hung partway down her back.
Then she turned toward the street, revealing dark eyes and a serious mouth he would know anywhere. He’d kissed those lips for the first time when he was fourteen and the last time on the day before she’d left Creekside at eighteen.
She looked up, like she knew he was there. A momentary visual connection sent an electric shock zipping through his body, short-circuiting every part of him, but he jerked his gaze away and kept driving. If she’d wanted anything to do with him, she would’ve searched him out, not that he was hard to find. She hadn’t made even a minimal effort.
His chest tightened and didn’t loosen at all through an inspection in the town ten miles up the road and an estimate for a barn roof replacement a few miles closer. Life went on, with or without his participation or approval, but seeing her seriously tempted him to ask for a second chance. How could his soul ache so damn much after nearly three decades?
He continued going through the motions for the rest of the afternoon until he detoured around her block on his way home. Avoidance could never purge her from his heart, soul, or brain, but at least the odds of seeing her again were considerably lower.
Despite the lingering pain, he made the final turn onto his street and let out a slow exhale. Brenna had always picked up on extra stress he carried with him and ferreted out what was bothering him. This baggage needed to stay locked in a closet well out of her reach.
He pressed the garage-door opener button and took another deep breath to calm his wound-up nerves. Before he pulled into the space that had once held his truck and Brenna’s car, the kitchen entrance swung wide and she rolled forward. Her wide smile chased away most of the sickening feelings still churning in his stomach.
She waved her arms, like she wanted him to hurry, so he grabbed his lunchbox and exited the cab of his truck. “What’s up? Did you find somebody else to dress up as Santa?”
Her grin became an all-out laugh as she backed up to let him in the house. “Nope, because I’m not looking. You’re never going to believe what happened today! It’s a hundred times better. Seriously, a thousand or a million.”
He tempered the first thought that popped into his head—that she’d regained some sensation in her legs or feet. The doctors had told him an expectation of that magnitude wasn’t within the realm of possibilities. He closed the door behind him and set his lunchbox on the counter. “Give me a second to take off my coat and sit down.”
“I can’t wait! But you’re definitely going to want to sit for this news.” She tugged on his sleeve and gestured to the closest chair. As soon as his ass landed on the seat, she handed him a manila envelope. “So, you know how I said my new therapist is in town for the holidays? A relative left a house to her in the will, and she offered to sell it to me. For a dollar . She isn’t planning to stay here and she knows I’ve been trying to find an apartment or something to make accessible. She’s practically giving it to me. How cool is that? We can look at it before I decide, but she thinks it can be renovated to work with my chair. Her lawyer will handle all the paperwork. The envelope has a detailed description of the property, a copy of the survey, and an appraisal. Do you have an hour or two to go see it tomorrow?”
Your own house? Not yet.
Ignoring the guilty twinge in his gut, he nodded. “Morning is better, but I’ll rearrange my schedule if I have to. Make the appointment and we’ll look at it.”
The hopeful tears in her eyes as she held out her arms tightened the knot in his stomach. “Thank you, Dad. You’re the best.”
He gathered her into a careful hug that lasted until she fake-coughed like he was smothering her. After a quick kiss on her forehead, he loosened his hold. “Anything for you, Bee.”
“I’m so lucky you’re my dad.” She gave him another squeeze. “I’ll text Christy right now.”
“Christy?” The word came out more breath than sound.
“Christy Rime. Didn’t I tell you her name already? I thought I did, but maybe not.” With her phone in her palm, Brenna tapped at the screen. “She’s usually really quick to reply, so we should have a time set up before supper. Do you need me to chop anything?”
Christy Rime.
A million unbidden memories flitted through his mind, accompanied by too many feelings to process.
What had his daughter said?
She isn’t staying in Creekside.
The prospect of seeing his former love and having to watch her leave again reopened the old wounds that had never fully healed. He had numbed himself to a certain extent, but he’d given up on ever truly moving beyond the pervasive heartache that wouldn’t fade.
Blindsided by seeing her and discovering she was part of his daughter’s recovery, he sat in silence for several minutes, waiting to wake up from whatever hellish dream this was.
“Dad. Dad?” Brenna frowned at him. “Are you feeling okay? You didn’t fall today, did you?”
“Of course not.” His response came out gruffer than he intended, and forcing a smile wasn’t something he could do at the moment. “Did you make the guacamole?”
Her intense stare warned him she hadn’t fallen for his attempt to change the subject. “Let’s have spaghetti instead. What’s wrong? Is this about me mov—”
The cell chirped in her lap, saving him from the question he had no desire to answer.
She flipped it over and swiped upward. “She wants to know if we can come over now. I’m telling her we’ll be there in ten minutes.”
A wave of nausea and lightheadedness kept him in the chair when he would’ve preferred escaping to a rooftop. He shoved his fingers through his hair and grunted.
Her sigh reminded him of her teenage years. “I know you don’t want me to move out, but I’m ready to be on my own again. Besides, it’s only like three blocks away. She sent me the address.”
Two blocks. Less than half a mile.
He could walk there in his sleep.
“You’re not mad, are you?”
At her softly spoken question, he shook his head. “I’ve never been mad at you. Ever. Not once in your entire life. Grab your coat. It’ll take a few minutes to get you and your chair loaded in the truck.”
“Okay.” Without another word, she rolled out of the room, navigating the corner into the hallway like a pro.
Nine minutes later, he parked behind the same car he’d seen this morning and shut down the emotions trying to crawl through his skin. Brenna deserved to be happy, even if it was at his own expense, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to let Christy see how affected he was by her temporary return.
Giving my daughter a house doesn’t make up for leaving me in your dust.
He buried the jumble of grief, anger, and hurt deeper than before while he unloaded the wheelchair from the covered bed and helped Brenna into the seat. Then he followed her to a ramp leading to the front door.
It swung inward at their approach, revealing an older but no less beautiful version of his former best friend turned longtime girlfriend. Her gaze darted away from his and landed in the vicinity of his daughter. “Sorry for the short notice. My new boss wants me to run a training session at the clinic tomorrow.”
So that’s the way you’re going to play it?
“No worries. My dad just got home from work right before you texted, and I was done for the day.” Brenna looked up at him. “Dad, this is Christy Rime. Christy, meet my dad. Sven Carlsen.”
His lungs stalled when his lost love slowly extended her right hand past the handle at the back of the wheelchair. Then she locked familiar brown eyes on his, but the bare hint of a smile was framed by a tense jaw. “Mr. Carlsen.”
He swallowed to wet his suddenly parched throat as he battled a snarky greeting sure to pique Brenna’s curiosity. If Christy wanted to pretend they were strangers, he could too. “Ms. Rime.”
The first touch of her fingers sent a jolt up his arm and zinging straight to his groin. Her eyes widened, suggesting she’d felt it too.
It doesn’t mean a damn thing. She’s leaving in January. She’ll always leave.
He stuffed his still-tingling fist in his coat pocket. “Let’s take a tour.”
She led them to the living room with the same couch from their days doing homework together. Her father’s chair filled the same corner it had back then. The hardwood floor could use a light sanding and a coat of varnish, and the walls needed a fresh coat of paint. Otherwise, the room seemed to be in decent shape—basically unchanged since his last visit.
The rest of the interior passed his visual inspection. The kitchen and bathroom might require some plumbing and electrical updates during the accessibility renovation, but Brenna had no problem fitting her chair through the few doorways and the short hall. He had to admit it had a lot of potential, even with reminders of the past seeping out of every wall.
Leaving his daughter and her therapist inside, he walked the perimeter to note any exterior issues on his phone. The dilapidated bench in the backyard tempted him to wade through summers of digging in the dirt and winters of building snow forts, but he shook off the impulse to recall memories that included their first kiss under the maple tree.
She wasn’t staying, and he needed to remember that.
He added a last note to climb on the roof during daylight hours and then stalked to the front of the house, determined not to fall into her trap again.
Brenna waited beside Christy at the bottom of the ramp. “What do you think, Dad?”
Keeping his attention on his phone, he grunted. “I have some questions and I’d like a structural engineer to look at it.”
“Okay.” His daughter turned toward the bane of his existence. “I bet you know some of the answers, Christy. Why don’t you come have supper with us?”
His insides nearly revolted at the thought of spending another second with her, let alone a whole meal.
Is a twenty-four-year-old too old for a grounding?