Chapter 8
The words flew outof Slick’s mouth. His eyes went wide, and he dropped his gaze to the floor.
Whoa. She gave him a minute before saying, “I’m not sure I understand.”
He shook his head. “I’ve never told anyone. Well, except George.”
“George?”
“My colleague.” He waved a hand dismissively. “After my dad died, I had to handle some affairs for my mom. And while I was digging through paperwork, I found adoption papers. They were never filed, so I asked my mom about it. She said she met my dad when she was pregnant.”
“And they never told you?” That was wild.
“My dad treated me like his own from the start, so they never saw a reason to.” He poured the coffee into the mugs.
“What about the adoption papers?”
“They never saw a reason to file those, either. She said I was his son, and that was all that mattered.”
“Wow. That must’ve rocked your world.”
“Yeah, it did. My relationship with my mom hasn’t been the same since.” His shoulders sagged. “I guess that’s on me.”
It was obvious he carried a lot of guilt about that. “When did this happen?”
“A couple years ago.”
“Well… that’s big news.” She poured her milk and two teaspoons of sugar into her mug and stirred. “I don’t know how anyone would process that.”
Should she tell him about her similar experience? That she’d lived a lie most of her life thanks to her mom, her boyfriend, and her best friend? It sliced through her again, and she had to wonder if it would ever stop. Would it always feel like ripping off scabs?
But no, the more she told him, the easier it would be for him to put the pieces together, and she couldn’t have that. “If you hadn’t found those papers, do you think she ever would’ve told you?”
“No. In her mind, we were a family. She said they didn’t want to tell me something that would make me question my identity.”
“But your identity is in question. I mean, no shade on your mom, I get where she’s coming from, but you’re a grown man. You have a right to know the truth.” Calm down. Her getting worked up over it certainly didn’t help him.
“That’s exactly my point. But she said, ‘When should we have told you? At ten? Twenty? When you graduated from college? When was the right time to say this to you?’”
“And the answer is before I sorted through documents and found adoption papers.” She needed to stop. It was none of her business. “I’m sorry. She’s your mom. It’s your relationship, and I need to stop?—”
“Don’t.” The word shot out of his mouth like a dart. “Other than George, I haven’t talked about this with anyone, so it’s good to hear someone else’s perspective.”
She nodded. “Well, obviously I get pretty worked up over any kind of deception. She could’ve kept it a secret, and you might never have found out, and that would’ve been fantastic for her. But the thing is, what is a relationship without honesty? I’m sorry, but it isn’t real if there isn’t transparency. And out of respect for you, they should’ve sat you down when they felt you were old enough to understand and told you the truth.”
“I agree.”
“I mean, if only to hear your dad’s answers. It’s not the same to hear it from your mom, who might be trying to make you feel better. Her words don’t matter nearly as much as his. She took that from you.”
His lips pulled into a taut line, and the muscle in his jaw popped. Leaving his mug on the counter, he headed toward the back door, jammed his feet into running shoes and his arms into a fleece jacket, and slipped outside.
Leaving her sick to her stomach.
Had she just told a total stranger that his mother screwed him over? That the father he lost had treated him with disrespect?
What is wrong with you?Projecting her issues onto him wasn’t fair. It was a sensitive subject for him. She shouldn’t have been so aggressive.
I’m a self-involved idiot. And the longer she stayed in isolation, wallowing in self-pity, languishing in her identity crisis, the worse it would get.
Dammit.What had she done?
* * *
Fuck, it was cold. But he needed it. Needed the wake-up call.
It was the nature of his job to be on-call twenty-four seven, but a consequence of that was ignoring his personal life.
Instead of acknowledging his anger, he’d avoided his mom.
He didn’t want to deal with the fact that his dad wasn’t his biological father. It wasn’t just a ripple in the fabric of his life. It tore it apart at the seams.
It changed his entire reality.
As he stared out at the snow-covered forest, he shoved his freezing hands into his pockets. But he wasn’t seeing sunlight glistening on snow.
He was seeing his dad’s expression when he scored his first goal as a six-year-old. Where the other parents shouted, pumping their fists, his dad had remained quiet, his whole being radiating pride.
He remembered it vividly, his shock at getting the puck in the net. The way he’d immediately swung his gaze to the stands, seeking out his dad. The patient, encouraging man who’d taught him to skate.
He saw him parking along the Snake River, getting out of the car, and making his way down the hill to the boulders where Booker and his friends sat with the police after one of the guys had fallen through the ice and nearly died of hypothermia. The other parents were angry, yelling, flipping out. But Booker’s dad moved quietly through the chaos, grabbed him, and hugged him so hard, he could hardly breathe.
“I’m going to guess you knew a river wouldn’t freeze,” he’d said in Booker’s ear. “Make your own damn decisions.”
And his dad’s ravaged expression when Booker had awakened in the hospital after the injury that ended his NHL career before it’d even begun. His dad slept in a chair, never leaving his side. Not even to get a coffee.
A hand touched his back. “Come back in. It’s too cold out here.”
Ripped out of his memories, he hadn’t fully landed back in the now. So, head down, he skirted around her and went inside. The generator was working, warming the cabin up. He went back to the counter, but his coffee had cooled.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
And that brought him fully back. “No, don’t be. You’re right.”
“Even if I was right, I had no business attacking your parents.” She gave a helpless shrug. “I guess I’ve been alone too long and forgot how to interact with humans.”
“Not at all.” He drank the coffee anyway, and it was fine. Warm enough. “Every time I see my mom’s name pop up on my phone, I ignore it. I tell myself I’m in the middle of something. Or when she asks me to come home for Christmas, I tell her I can’t. That I’m working on a deal.” He shook his head. “But honestly, I haven’t dealt with the fact that my childhood was a lie. And it’s been easy to put all the blame on her because my dad’s gone. How can you be angry at a dead man?”
Okay, that was some heavy shit.
But it was good. It was a relief to get that out in the open.
Hellcat opened the microwave and pulled out the last bag of popcorn, ripping it open and adding it to the bowl. It mounded the top, a few pieces dropping to the floor. She looked like she was busy, like she wasn’t paying attention, but he was starting to figure her out. She was giving him space to talk.
Other than George, he didn’t open up to anybody. With his clients, he was the advisor, the counselor, the bondsman, the valet, the lawyer.
He surrounded himself with people who needed him but didn’t care enough to ask him personal questions. Because he wouldn’t risk it again, getting close to people and finding out he was more invested than they were.
Self-fulfilling prophecy? Probably. But it was better than going through the hurt all over again, finding out his friends didn’t give a shit about him.
Getting close to people required deep conversations.
And he didn’t want that.
Because I never want to think about the fact that the man I admired and loved lied to me.
That my childhood, my family, was fake.
But Hellcat brought it up, and now it was there, lying exposed out in the open. And now, he had no choice but to face it.
“You’re right.” The jagged-edged words scraped his throat.
She was crouched on the floor, picking up popcorn, and she got up slowly, as if any sudden movement might shut him up.
“Truth is, I’m stuck in that moment.” He leaned his back against the counter and held onto the cold tile. “When I found the papers and confronted her. When I found out the truth.” He could remember vividly that sensation of losing his footing on the slippery fiberglass edge of a boat. And he’d been shutting his mom out ever since. “I’m avoiding her because I don’t want to hear what she has to say.”
“She’s your mom. You know she loves you.”
“And she’ll do anything to protect my feelings. I need to hear it from my dad. He wouldn’t sugarcoat anything. If I could look into his eyes, I’d see the truth.”
He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation with a stranger. Maybe because he’d never see her again. But more likely because he trusted her. Which didn’t seem logical, but still.
Hellcat…she seemed real. Maybe with his friends he was na?ve and not paying attention to the signs of true friendship, but he was hyperaware now. And this woman cared.
“You did.” She said it softly but firmly. “You looked right into his eyes, and you saw his pride and his love. The reason you were blindsided is because he did love you like his own son. If he didn’t, I guarantee you would’ve felt it. Maybe you couldn’t have put your finger on exactly what was wrong, but your gut would’ve told you something was off.”
His heart raced, and his skin prickled at the memory.
I love you. His dad said it to him all the time. I’m so damn proud of my boy.
He blinked away the sting of tears. Not once in his life had he doubted his parents’ love or the closeness of his family.
“What did your mom say?” She came closer to him. “How did she explain it?”
“She said they came from a small town in Upstate New York where everyone knew each other, and she didn’t want me to grow up with a stigma around me. They didn’t want it to come out in conversation somewhere or for some kid at school to say something. So, they moved to a small town in Wyoming where no one knew them.”
“Well, from everything you say, your dad was a good man. If he chose not to tell you, it’s not because he wanted to deceive you. He had to truly believe you were his son. And your mom…I can only guess she was worried it would change your relationship if you knew. That you’d see him differently. Maybe they just wanted you to feel down to your bones that you were his son.”
“And I did.” He didn’t even know the weight he’d carried all this time until her words lifted it. He wanted to reach for her hand and tug her up against him. He wanted to plant his mouth over hers and kiss her. Desire burst hot and fiery at the base of his spine, and he grabbed the bowl of popcorn. “Let’s get busy. This tree’s not going to decorate itself.”
They settled back at the table, him threading the fishing line through the popped kernels while she used the tip of the scissors to jab holes in her snowflakes.
“Okay,” she said. “Rapid fire questions: favorite TV show. Go.”
“I don’t watch TV.”
“That’s not how you play this game.” She rolled her eyes. “And, seriously, in your entire lifetime, you’ve never watched television?”
“Honestly, no. I’ve either been hanging out with my friends, playing hockey, studying, or building my career. But you can tell me yours.”
“The first two seasons of Ted Lasso, but it doesn’t matter if you don’t watch TV. Okay, favorite pet?”
“I never had one.”
“What? With your idyllic childhood? I pictured a dog, a cat, a picket fence, and family dinner at six o’clock.”
“You’re close. I had the picket fence, and wherever I was, no matter what I was doing, I had to come home for dinner. Then I could go out again.”
“That’s sweet. Why no pets?”
“Because of hockey. I could only get one if I took care of it, and I played hockey, so it wasn’t possible.”
“But you wanted one?”
“Sure, I did. In fact, I had this idea in my head of my buddies and I living on the same street. We’d have babies at the same time, so they could grow up together and be as close as we were. We’d have barbecues and picket fences and dogs. I pictured us standing together at the rink watching our kids skate.”
“You’re trying to break my heart, aren’t you? What happened? How did friends so close wind up so far apart?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Huh.” She looked out the window. “If only we had the time.”
“I told you. I got injured, and I never heard from them again.”
“If only there was a way to tell the story with more words…”
“Yeah, yeah.” He’d told her about his dad. Might as well tell her about his friends. “It was the summer after we graduated from high school, the night before I was supposed to leave for training camp. One of my friends got some bad news. He was supposed to play hockey in Canada, but his parents told him they had to sell the ranch that had been in the family for generations. So, he texted, asking us all to come over. He wanted one last night together before we all went in separate directions.” The memory of his accident rustled up the familiar panic, and he swiped it away.
I’m good. I’m safe.
It was tucked far away in the past.
Except it wasn’t. Not really. Because every time he opened the door, the memories came spilling out, as containable as water.
Cole pulling out the keys to his dad’s Piper Cub. The excited look in Jaime’s eyes—it’s on.
The dread churning in his gut as they flew to the top of the cliff, armed with a case of cold beer.
Sitting around the bonfire, watching Jaime get that wild-eyed look before shouting that he was going to BASE jump. Cole joining him.
“You don’t have to do it,” Declan said quietly.
Three of them putting on their gear. Jaime tossing a parachute into his lap.
Three of them standing on the ledge. Him screaming internally. Don’t do it. Stop.
Jaime turning back around. “Suit up, man. Come on. One last time.”
That helpless feeling as he got ready. He couldn’t stop them, and he sure as hell didn’t want to join them.
As it all unfolded in his mind’s eye, his gut twisted and squeezed.
Because they did it. Three of them jumped. And for thirty seconds, Booker was alone up there. He scrambled to think of another way down. But there was no other way.
So, he stopped thinking and jumped.
That jerk of his parachute, the familiar glide, the rush of cool air in his T-shirt and shorts.
And then, the violent twist of wind. The ground hurtling at him way too fast.
He’d done it plenty of times before. He knew. He absolutely knew what was about to happen.
The crash. His legs crumpling. The searing, ungodly pain.
“Hey.” A warm hand landed on his thigh. “Are you okay?”
“Of course. Fine.”
“No, you’re not.” She cupped his cheeks and made him look at her. “You look like you were watching a horror movie.” Her fingers scraped through his hair.
“We went BASE jumping.”
“The night before you were going to start playing professional hockey, you jumped off a cliff with no parachute?”
“No, there’s a chute. And we knew what we were doing. It wasn’t our first time.” He cleared his throat. “They all had good landings.”
“But you didn’t.” She placed a hand on her chest.
He stared at it, thinking of how many times he’d pushed her away. She was a touchy-feely woman, and he made her feel like he didn’t welcome it. It was just the opposite. He found comfort in her touch. He needed to stop pushing her away.
“I didn’t. About ten seconds before I landed, I hit turbulence. Landed pretty hard. One of the guys raced home and got his truck. They loaded me in it and dropped me at the ER.” He took a moment. Because saying it out loud would sound so bad. “And that was the last time I ever saw them.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.” Her disbelief held a note of outrage.
He liked that she was offended on his behalf. “Wait, I take that back. I have seen them once. Last year, our coach died, and we saw each other at the funeral. After, we met for a barbecue.” He’d wanted to show them he hadn’t been affected by their abandonment. “But it was bullshit, so I left. My time’s important, and I’m not giving it to them.”
“I mean, were they total, callous assholes? If so, good riddance.”
“No. Remember, the guy who texted us that night quit hockey to stay home to help his family out.”
“Okay, so how could they blow you off like that?”
“I’ll never know why they didn’t bother to check on me in the hospital, but after that? My parents moved us back to New York pretty quickly. They didn’t even put the house on the market before they packed up and left.”
“Can I ask what happened to you?”
“A lot of broken bones. Everything would’ve healed just fine, but it was the calcaneus that ended my shot at hockey.”
“The what?”
“It’s the heel bone. It’s serious because it not only gives you support as you walk, but it connects your calf muscles to your foot. That’s how you push off to take a step forward.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Yeah. I had physical therapy for a while, but you never get back your normal foot and ankle motion. I’m fine. I can play sports and work out, but I’ll never have the flexibility or range of motion to play professional sports.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Nah. It was my fault.” He smiled because it was true. He didn’t blame his friends for it. “I didn’t follow my instincts. If I had, I never would’ve left home that night. In any event, I went from the hospital to our new place in New York. That’s how quickly we moved.”
“They wanted to get you the best healthcare?”
“No, they wanted to get me away from my friends. My mom always hated the wild shit we did. But my dad would remind her where we lived. That extreme sports were the draw to living in a mountain town like Calamity.”
“Until that night.”
“Exactly. After that, he happily got us out of there. But anyhow, like I said, never heard from any of them again.” He shrugged “Out of sight, out of mind.”
“Are you sure that’s why? I could see it happening with one guy, but not all of them. You know what I mean? What are the odds all of them were self-involved assholes?”
Declan wasn’t. Cole was a cocky son of a bitch, but he wasn’t selfish. “I didn’t think they were. But...” There you have it.
“Something’s off there. The guy who gave up hockey to help save the family ranch? That doesn’t sound like a guy who’d bail on his good friend. Did you ever ask them about it?”
“I asked my mom about it once, thinking maybe the hospital sent them away. She just said, ‘I guess they moved on. Out of sight, out of mind.’ So, I never brought it up again.”
“I mean, speaking as a total outsider, something’s fishy about that story. If it still bugs you, you should look into it.”
“Maybe.”
A log snapped, and sparks flew out. Finished with the garland, he stood up. “Let’s get this on the tree.”
They brought their supplies to the hearth, and together, they started from the top and wound the long strand of popcorn all the way around. When they ran out of length, they stood back to take it in. It didn’t reach the bottom.
“I can make more,” he said.
“No, we have cats.”
“Cats?” What was she talking about?
“Yeah, let’s pretend we have to leave the bottom bare, so the cats don’t eat the popcorn.”
He laughed. “Fuckin’ cats.” Whatever she wanted. It was her tree, after all. He’d be leaving the moment he could get out.
A pang of disappointment struck his chest. He didn’t want to leave her. He liked this woman, and that wasn’t something he’d experienced in a very long time.
Like what exactly?
You don’t even know her.
“Okay, now, let’s hang my gorgeous snowflakes.” She dangled a bunch of them off a finger.
As they worked together, he said, “Okay, your turn. Favorite pet?”
“Guess what? I’ve never had one either.” She sounded sad about that. “Seems like we have a lot in common.”
“What would you want if you could have one?”
“I don’t know. Unlike you, I didn’t have a picket fence life, so I didn’t grow up around people who had pet hamsters or cats or…bearded dragons.”
“Did you want a picket fence life?”
She got up on her toes to reach a high branch. “Deeply. Painfully. But it was probably because I didn’t have play dates and proms and stuff like that, so the thing I was shut off from became a big deal to me. Now, you…I’ll bet you were Homecoming King.”
A picture formed of him and the guys in a party bus, their dates shrieking with laughter as they worked the poles. There was a before and an after. And as good as his life was now, he couldn’t ignore the longing for the time when his happiness was embedded in knowing he had the rock-solid foundation of his best friends.
“Come on. You can tell me.” She kept tossing the string, hoping it would catch.
He came up behind her, taking the ornament from her and hanging it where she wanted. Into her ear, he said, “No, I wasn’t.” He was close enough that he got to watch goosebumps pop up on her arms. For a moment, they both stilled. He breathed in her sweet, feminine scent and let the heat from her body sink under his skin.
“No?” Her voice sounded breathy, almost shaky.
But this flirtation wasn’t going anywhere, and he was stirring up trouble, so he stepped back. “One of the guys in our group, he was the popular kid in school. He was friends with everyone. The rest of us pretty much just hung out with each other.” He watched her for a moment as she set an ornament on a branch and then leaned back to make sure she liked the placement.
She took it off and set it somewhere else. He was about to tell her not to take it so seriously. It wasn’t like they were having a real Christmas, but he stopped himself. He didn’t want her to be anything other than who she was.
The heat from the fire gave her skin a pink glow, and she looked so pretty and fresh. He figured they were around the same age, but she had a wonder about her that turned his jadedness on its ass. He’d seen the worst of things through his clients—domestic violence, toxic families… You name it, he’d dealt with it.
She set the last snowflake on the mostly barren tree. “I didn’t make nearly enough.”
“You made plenty. I just picked a massive tree.”
“I see what you did there.” She grinned. “You flipped the script.”
“You catch on quick.”
She examined their work. “It needs color. Between the white popcorn and white snowflakes, we really need to spruce this baby up.”
“Ah, shit. I forgot the marshmallows. Sorry about that.”
“That’s okay. We’ll make hot cocoa and eat them instead.”
“But to make it up to you, I’ve got another idea.” In the utility closet just past the kitchen, he found his dad’s tackle box. He hadn’t used it. Not once.
He just didn’t come out here enough. He’d have to do something about that.
Popping the latch, he opened it. Looking at his dad’s flies sent him spiraling back in time to the weekend they’d gone camping, and a storm hit out of nowhere. They’d stood across a ravine, watching jagged bolts of lightning. The sky above them was blue, but that ominous black cloud moved swiftly toward them.
In a calm voice, his dad had said it was time to pitch a tent. They wound up playing cards while hail pelted their nylon shelter.
That was his dad. Calm, kind…all while being a partner in a law firm. And, as far as he knew, his dad had never compromised his integrity or his morals for the sake of the firm.
Booker sat on a bucket of salt and closed his eyes.
And he saw his dad’s gentle smile. I love you, Dad.
But I really wish you’d told me the truth. Given me a chance to look into your eyes and get answers to my questions.
When he was little, his dad would carry him on his shoulders. On hikes, he’d grip his dad’s hair with one hand and reach for branches with the other. He could feel it so keenly, the rocking of his hips, the pure contentment of being on his dad’s solid shoulders. He could see the sun-dappled leaves.
Damn. He wished he’d never brought it up with Hellcat, because it was on the surface now, and he couldn’t ignore it.
He missed his dad, for sure.
A hand touched his knee, and his eyes flew open.
Hellcat knelt beside him. “Was that your dad’s?”
The dusty box had to be over twenty years old. “Yeah. He loved fly fishing.” He unlocked the lid and flipped it open. “And he was obsessed with making lures.”
“I see that. They’re absolutely gorgeous.” She reached out, her fingers hovering over one of the compartments. She gave him a questioning look.
“Of course.” He forced a laugh. “They’re not sacred.” Though, to him, they kind of were.
She picked one up. “What is this?” Her fingers brushed the dark gray feathers. The iridescence shimmered in the overhead light.
“That’s starling skin.”
“What?” She dropped it back into the box.
He bit back his laughter. “Here.” He picked up another one and offered it to her. “This was one of his prized possessions.” She hesitated to touch it, but he gave her an encouraging nod. This one had black feathers laced with lines of neon purple.
“It’s not skin, right?”
“No, of course not.”
“Oh, okay.” She ran the feathers over the palm of her hand.
“It’s jungle cock.”
She flung the lure. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I know it’s special to you. It’s your dad’s cock.”
It landed on his lap, and he burst out laughing.
“I mean, it’s not your dad’s actual cock.” Flustered, her eyes went wide. “Oh, my God. Whose cock is it?”