Chapter 42
"Everlong," Foo Fighters
Victoria
After tearing out of the house, I realized too late that Eric had my car keys. Grateful to be wearing sneakers for once, I took off, knowing he could easily catch up, but hoping he wouldn’t.
Why had Eric come home with me, knowing what my family had done?
Cooling down to a jog, I turned the corner onto their street, where Eric paced inside the iron fence of his mother’s house. My throat constricted until I was almost nauseous, and I wondered which hydrangea his mother would hate me the least for puking in.
Though she probably hated me enough, since my family destroyed her life.
I hesitated outside the gate, not ready to enter the courtyard where he stood, resenting my voice for cracking. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted to, but I …” he said, shifting his weight. He braced his hands behind his head, expression forlorn. “Would you still have invited me?”
My mouth opened, then I closed it as the city air stifled my lungs.
Could I have looked Richard in the eye with Eric at my side, knowing what Sinclair Larsson did to his family? Would I have told Dad, tried to get compensation for his mother?
Would Eric have felt like I was buying him off? Would I have been?
Or would I have pushed him away again, and stuck my head back in the sand?
When I didn’t respond, his hands dropped to his sides.
“You were long gone from Sinclair Larsson before Jim died,” he said, pacing the length of the small yard.
“Hell, I wasn’t even here, I was stationed in Washington.
I sent home whatever money I could, but it wasn’t enough.
My mom lost the love of her life, then as the payments added up, she sold their condo. ”
When Mom died I watched Dad lose himself, but we still had a home. Dad had enough money to send me to boarding school. How had she fought through her grief and raised two teenage girls when she lost her home?
And why had my family allowed it to happen?
My palms ached from gripping the iron, as if the fence could keep the tears at bay. I tried to lock down my emotions but my next words came out as a sob. “My family destroyed yours.”
Eric shook his head firmly. “Sinclair Larsson followed the terms of the lease Jim signed. It’s not like your grandfather showed up at his funeral to collect the rent.”
“My dad probably approved the policies,” I said. “I thought—I never …”
I bit my lip, trying to find a way to confess that when I worked there, I assumed they knew best …
then once I knew about the corruption, I’d turned a blind eye.
And my negligence meant that families and small businesses had suffered to line Richard’s pockets so Beverly could have another stupid dinner party.
I’d been so high in the skyscraper, I hadn’t seen the people on the street.
“I wanted to tell you, but I knew you’d feel responsible.
I would just be one more person making you feel guilty for shit that was out of your control.
One more person asking for a handout,” he met my eyes, expression plaintive.
He stepped closer, holding out my car keys. “I’ll take the train back tomorrow.”
Eric stood tall, prepared to face the consequences for his lie of omission.
He didn’t gaslight me that I should have figured it out or lecture me that billionaires are inherently greedy.
He didn’t remind me that he was the injured party, even though he was, or say I was overreacting, even though I might be.
I leaned over the fence, fingertips brushing his calloused palm under the cool metal keys. I could take the car and leave him here. He’d fulfilled his offer to be my shield in the Hamptons.
But I didn’t want to run. Not anymore.
What did I want?
I wanted to punch his stupid handsome face for keeping this secret. He’d take the punch. He wouldn’t even block. Hell, he’d probably coach me on how to do more damage.
And I wanted to hug him for the reason why he hid it, to prevent me from hitting the self-destruct button on our … whatever we were to each other.
I closed his fingers around the keys. “What can I do?”
“I didn’t bring you here because I expect you to fix shit.”
But that was why people brought me in: to negotiate and troubleshoot. If he wasn’t looking for a solution … “So why did you bring me here?”
“Because I like you,” he muttered, eyes downcast as his foot kicked a stone. “I think they like you too.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious,” he said, his eyes lifting to cautiously meet mine. “You’re incredibly likable when you let down your guard. You’re kind and generous, you’re whip smart, you’re funny—”
“I’m not funny.”
“You’re clever. You don’t see it, but I do.”
“Why are you looking so closely?” I snapped, annoyed that he was putting me on a pedestal. “Have you seen how women look at you when you play?”
His lips tilted in an arrogant smirk. “How do they look?”
“Like they want to devour you,” I scowled.
His smile widened. “Jealous?”
Of course I am, but didn’t want to admit what he already knew. “You could be with any of them. Why are you putting up with my bullshit?”
“Everyone has bullshit,” he shrugged, stroking his five o’clock shadow. “I like your bullshit better than theirs.”
No kidding everybody loved him, when he came up with answers like that. His sisters looked at him like he walked on water. Which reminded me…
I pulled on the gate to let myself into the yard, propping my hip against the fence. “Your family calls you Cruz.”
“I told you everybody calls me Cruz.”
“I know, but …” I swallowed. “I thought you meant guys in the Navy. Bros, jocks, you know.”
His big hands rubbed his jeans before he sat down on the concrete stoop.
“Eric was my biological father’s name,” he confessed. “When Mama got pregnant, she hoped he would marry her. She named me after him, thinking maybe an Eric Junior would get him to commit. Turned out he was already committed to his wife and two kids. Mama was his side piece.”
Feeling like I’d been punched, my arms curled around my stomach. That’s why he’d been so upset when we caught Lawrence cheating.
He interlaced his palms, letting them dangle over his knees.
“For years it was just me and Mama. The school counselor suggested martial arts to help with my temper, so she saved up for classes. That’s how she met Jim,” he said, voice brimming with affection.
“He was the first to call me Cruz, letting me become somebody else in his dojo. Somebody who released his anger on the heavy bag.”
He glanced east, probably where Jim’s martial arts studio had been. I lowered myself to the opposite side of the step.
“The night I earned my yellow belt, Jim requested my permission to ask out my mom. He knew we were a package deal.” He tilted his head towards the sky, the waning sunlight warming his golden skin.
“Jim saw that Mama still had a lot of love to share if she could lower the walls she put up. And he was willing to wait until she was ready.” He dropped his hand between us, face up.
I unraveled my arms. “So why did you let me call you Eric?”
“You started calling me Eric when you found out I was your super. I figured that you couldn’t forget that I kissed you, so my name established a professional distance.” When I lifted a brow at his surprisingly accurate observation, he purred, “Spent a lot of time thinking about you."
My fingernails traced the lines on his palm. “Technically I kissed you first.”
“Technically you did,” he smirked, watching me draw circles in his skin.
“After a while, I thought maybe you saw something I couldn’t.
Maybe I’d been hiding behind Cruz, this loud goofball …
and Eric could be somebody else. Somebody who chose his path instead of waiting for the next opportunity to land in his lap.
Somebody who tried instead of expecting to fail. ”
I shifted my hips closer, still caressing his hand, letting our knees touch.
“And when your family called you Vickie in that bullshit condescending tone,” his palm contracted, then fingers stretched, “I realized that calling me Eric was your sign of respect.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, interlacing our fingers, “that my family hurt yours.”
“Not your fault,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Jim. You shouldn’t have been blindsided.”
I blew out a long breath. I wish he’d told me, but I understood why he didn’t. I wouldn’t have taken it well no matter what. And it’s not like I was blameless.
A neighbor’s door clattered open nearby, releasing the syncopated beats of Latin music.
“I fucked up,” I said, chest aching. “My family hurt yours, and I made it about me.”
“Yeah, but you also had the world’s shittiest weekend.” Cruz exhaled, his voice low and rough. “I thought bringing you here would help, but it just added another awful surprise to the shitshow.”
“Not an awful surprise. Your family—” I brought a fist to my mouth, fending off the wave of longing for the way they loved, loud and messy and unconditional. … and resentment that I'd never had that. “They’re incredible, Cruz.”
My mother’s absence pressed against my ribs, heavy and suffocating. Cruz must have seen it on my face—or maybe his grief for his stepdad resonated on the same frequency— because his fingers tightened, rough calluses against my palm.
“I used to love surprises,” I admitted hoarsely. “Growing up, my mom planned five for my birthday every year. Broadway matinees, tea at the American Girl store, a night in the Eloise Room at the Plaza … They both took the day off, and that was the best gift that two workaholics could give.”
Cruz leaned into my shoulder. His gaze tracked down the block where a couple argued in rapid Spanish, but I could tell he wasn’t watching them.
“Oh my god. That’s why you don’t want to open a gym, isn’t it?” I asked. His breath hitched, but he didn't answer.
I recognized that silence. I’d lived years in that silence—when the tension between grief and anger left you breathless.
“It’s a damn good reason,” I said. “I’ll stop pressuring you.”
His shoulders sagged in relief, and I slouched enough to rest my head on his shoulder.
I don’t know how long we sat on that stoop, my French tips interlaced with his calloused hand. The city buzzed on with the comforting white noise of cabs honking and friends hollering, but on that small concrete slab, we’d found a stillness within the noise.
Then he cleared his throat. “I have one more confession, since we’re doing this.”
I tensed. But as much as the truth hurt, I preferred honesty. “I’m ready.”
“Before I met you, I heard you singing in your shower.”
“You what?” I screeched, twisting to stare.
His free hand flew up in surrender. “I wasn’t watching! Your voice carried through the vents.”
I couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up and burst out. “The vents? Really? What song?”
He leaned closer, his voice thick. “You’re not the only one who’s had to walk across fire.”
“Oh my god, that’s so embarrassing.”
“No, it was hot. Trust me, I was dying to get a look at the woman with that sexy voice. And then when it was you? The woman I’d been dreaming about for a month? Unbelievable.”
I rubbed my forehead. “That’s how you knew to sing Melissa Etheridge.”
“I’m ballsy, but even I wouldn’t sing a 30-year-old song without a hint,” he said, shooting me that irresistible smile. “I think it worked out, didn’t it?”
I kissed him, reveling in his warm breath and soft lips, the bristle of the missing beard he’d let me shave off without complaint. Overflowing with gratitude for this man, who saw through the perfect appearance I hid behind.
“So you want me to call you Cruz?” I asked.
“Yeah, just Cruz,” he said. “What about you? You’re my Cobrecita … but did you ever want to be somebody else?”
I chewed my lip. I’d escaped my identity as Vickie Sinclair Larsson, reinventing myself as Victoria Blackstone. Had I gone too far in crafting the perfect image and lost what made me … me?
Could I be a woman who follows her heart and plays piano for joy?
“Is it too late to be Tori?”
“It’s never too late to start over.” The countdown timer on his watch beeped. “Ready to go home, Tori?”
He pulled me up to standing, interlaced our fingers and walked back inside, where his family lingered in the kitchen looking guilty.
Three hours ago, we’d escaped Richard's birthday party early and barely anybody cared. But when he left, his family would ache with missing him.
He reached for the food that his mom boxed up, placing a warm kiss on her temple, giving one-armed hugs to his sisters, never releasing my hand.
“Cruz,” I said quietly. “What if …”
We’d planned to stay the night in the Hamptons and drive home tomorrow. When we snuck out, I’d just wanted to be home in Saratoga Springs.
But he’d brought me here to meet his family. They’d welcomed me into their home with open arms. He thought they’d like me, if I let them.
He’d offered me a weekend which I’d taken without thanks. He’d offered them an hour and they’d dropped everything for him … and I’d been an asshole, eating up half the allotted time, sitting outside as he comforted me.
“What if we stay the night?”
He coughed in surprise, and his mom’s eyes widened.
“I'll find a hotel,” I clarified, not wanting to force our way into their small house. “We can drive home tomorrow, so we can …”
I didn’t know what we would do, just that I didn’t want to tear him away from them, not when it felt like we just arrived.
Not when they loved him so much.
He kissed my lips, right there in front of his family. When he pulled away, his forehead rested on mine. “You’ve had a hell of a weekend, you don’t want to go home?”
“I want to stay,” I said, but he still looked skeptical. So I lifted my chin and turned on my brat voice. “We’re staying. I have Hilton points to burn.”
His eyes flared with heat at my bossy tone. He turned to his mom and sisters. “Apparently we’re spending the night.”
His mom’s face lit up and his sisters both squealed. Adriana launched into me with a big hug, her laugh piercing my ear drum. When Cruz pried her off me, Gloria came next, whispering in my ear, “Thank you for bringing my boy home, it’s the best gift I could have gotten.”