Chapter 16
16
Noah finished his ice cream bar, wadded up the wrapper, and wiped his own fingers as he kept tabs on Bren in his peripheral vision.
She wasn’t going to tell him anything more.
And that was probably for the best, despite the odd sense of disappointment welling up inside him. A man who didn’t want to get involved shouldn’t knock on the door to someone else’s heart.
What had come over him, anyway? Minutes ago, he’d been dragging his feet about offering her a simple ride tonight, and now he was trying to elicit confidences?
This was crazy.
He shifted away from her and pulled out his keys.
They should go home and—
“My father was ... he was a piece of work.” The subdued, uncertain voice that spoke from the passenger side of the car sounded nothing like the strong, self-confident woman he’d come to know during their brief acquaintance.
Noah looked over again to find Bren watching him, expression wary.
The ball was in his court. And since he’d thrown out the first pitch—to mix sports metaphors—now what?
Several seconds ticked by as he wrestled with that question. Too many, based on the sudden mask that fell over her face, hiding the revealing hint of vulnerability that had flickered in her eyes moments before.
The corners of her mouth rose, though there was no humor in her smile. “That’s fate, right? Some of us get winners, like you did, and some of us get losers. But life goes on.” The artificial brightness in her inflection wrenched his gut. “Why don’t I get rid of our ice cream stuff? The trash can’s closer to me.” She reached for his crumpled wrapper.
Instead of relinquishing it, he pulled his hand back. Plucked her trash from her fingers. “I’m already damp around the edges. No sense both of us getting wet. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He fumbled with the handle on his door. Pushed through, into the rain. Jogged toward the can, berating himself with every step.
Offering Bren his ear had been a mistake. One that could be dangerous. Disruptive. Destabilizing.
Because it was very possible that if he let her tell him about past hurts and traumas, she’d claim more than his ear.
She might also end up infiltrating his heart.
And that would be a disaster.
Bottom line, there was no room for Bren Ryan in his well-planned life. She could divert him from the destination that had been his goal since the day he declared his major in college.
Yet after making his impulsive overture, how could he back away without adding more hurt to those hazel eyes that looked as if they’d seen too much sadness and suffering? In fact, her tentative outreach tonight had no doubt been a giant leap of faith for a woman he suspected didn’t trust easily.
Noah tossed the trash in the container and walked back to the car, slowing his pace despite the steady rain that was soaking through his dress shirt, buying himself a minute or two to think this through.
If there was an out, however, he wasn’t seeing it.
So he’d have to listen—and do his best to protect his heart.
When he slid back behind the wheel, her stiff lips curved up again. “Thanks for the treat.”
“You’re welcome.” He angled toward her in the dim car, the last scraps of daylight providing only faint illumination. Filled his lungs. Took the plunge. “I’m sorry you didn’t have a father like mine.”
Her smile faltered. Flattened. “Luck of the draw, I guess.” She dropped her gaze. Fiddled with her seat belt.
“Piece of work has very negative vibes.”
“It’s an apt description.” She peeked over at him. “Look, I get it if you’ve changed your mind about listening to my story. It’s not a big deal. No obligation, no offense. Why don’t we head back before the rain gets—”
“Bren.” Her breath hitched as he leaned over and touched the hand she’d clenched in her lap. “I haven’t changed my mind. But I do want to be up front about my concerns.” He took a steadying breath. “There’s a strange connection whenever we’re together. I suspect you feel it too. And both of us know that pursuing any sort of relationship would be foolish—for geographic reasons, if nothing else. I don’t want either of us to get hurt. However, I’d like to hear about your dad, if you’re still willing to share. We’ll just both have to proceed with caution.”
The ball was back in her court.
If she chose to tell him her story, fine.
If she didn’t? Disappointing—but also fine.
Sort of.
Seconds ticked by as she studied his hand resting on hers. Five. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty.
Finally, she raised her chin and turned toward him again. “I haven’t told anyone the details of my past. Bev knows bits and pieces, and Charley has intuited a handful of particulars, thanks to that uncanny perception of his. But I hear you about our ... connection. Talking about personal subjects could intensify that. It might be safer if we go back to the house.”
Yeah, it would.
Especially after her admission that she was thinking about revealing information to him she’d shared with no one else.
Yet that only made him more curious about her story.
It also raised a question.
“Why are you willing to talk to me about this? You don’t even know me that well.”
It was hard to read her expression in the dim light. “It’s the oddest thing, but for whatever reason, you feel like someone I can trust.” She stared at the drops of rain running down the windshield, her features shadowed, the sadness emanating from her almost as tangible as the odd black stain he’d noticed on her index finger tonight at church. “And I don’t trust easily.”
Earlier suspicion confirmed.
And the history she was about to share, which she guarded with such diligence, would likely explain why she was hesitant to expose her vulnerabilities.
He retracted his hand. Leaned back in the corner of his seat. Maybe they’d both come to regret this, but he wasn’t backing down now.
“So tell me about your dad.”
After a moment, she lifted her hand and touched one of her earrings with fingers that didn’t appear too steady. “These are imperial jasper. Bev made them. They’re supposed to represent peace and comfort and wholeness.” She dropped her hand to her lap again. “None of those were present in the house in Kentucky where I grew up.”
“Because of your dad?”
“For the most part. But Mom was complicit too.”
He frowned. “That’s a loaded word.” One that reeked of illegal activity.
“I don’t mean they were involved in anything criminal, if that’s what you’re thinking.” She darted a glance at him. “On the contrary. Everything was always 100 percent aboveboard. In the eyes of the world, our life was an open book. We were the perfect family during my early years. At least in public.”
A red flag began to wave in his mind.
“But not behind closed doors.”
“No.”
He braced. “Was your dad abusive?”
“Not physically, but he was cold, critical, judgmental, and verbally cruel. He was also a control freak. I was expected to conform to the rigid standards he set, to fit the mold he created for me, and when I rebelled—as I often did once I got older—the punishment was swift.”
He wrapped his fingers around the wheel. Squeezed. “Define punishment.”
“If I hung out with people who didn’t meet his approval, he locked me in my room for the weekend. If he found a speck of food on anything after I washed the dishes, he made me wash every dish in the cabinet. If my room was too messy to suit him, he’d come through and take everything he deemed to be out of place and throw it away. If I wore a skirt he thought was too short, I’d find it ripped to shreds, lying on my bed.”
The ice cream bar in Noah’s stomach began to curdle. “I consider that abuse.”
“Not according to him. He called it discipline. Building character.” Acid etched her reply.
“Where was your mother during all of this?”
“In the background. She had her own set of challenges to deal with. He totally dominated her. He picked out her clothes, her makeup, the social organizations she joined. He drilled her on what to say in public, told her how to conduct herself at church, ran background checks on new friends, and forced her to dump them if they didn’t meet his exacting standards.”
Noah cracked his window and filled his lungs with fresh air.
How could any young person grow up in a noxious environment like that and not be marred for life?
“Why did your mom marry him?”
“She claimed he was different early on. A real charmer was how she described him.” Bren’s lip curled, and she gave a soft snort. “That may be true, but I only saw the charming side of him in public. He was in politics, and image was everything. In the eyes of the world, he was polished, successful, smooth-talking, personable. It was all a facade, though. And it was disgusting.” Her bitterness came through loud and clear.
“Why did your mother stay with him after the charm faded?”
“She said it was simpler to conform than try to live on her own. Mom was a pragmatist. Dad provided her with a beautiful house, expensive clothes, fancy cars, a housekeeper, spa treatments, jewelry. She thought all of that was worth the stress of living with his demands. But the price was too high for me.”
“I take it you rebelled?”
“Big-time. As soon as I was old enough to see through the sham, I defied him at every turn. Too much, in hindsight, but it was all about shock value for me at that point. He was focused on image and conforming to societal norms in public, and I was determined to do the opposite.”
Ah. Some of the pieces were beginning to fall into place.
“Like having multicolored hair.”
“No. That came later. In high school, I went through goth and punk and grunge phases.”
“I assume your dad hated all of those.”
“With a passion. I ended up keeping my wardrobe in my locker at school, away from him, and I wore it around town to spite him. He also hated the crowd I hung with.” She toyed with the zipper on her jacket. “To be honest, the drugs and alcohol they were into weren’t my scene, but associating with them was another way to defy him. Unfortunately, my choice of friends came back to bite me on several occasions. I made a few mistakes, had a couple of minor brushes with the law. I regret those now.”
“Regrets and mistakes are part of life.”
“For some more than others. In my case, the defiance felt warranted to me back then. I couldn’t be like Mom and let him control every aspect of my life. And I couldn’t handle his constant criticism. No matter how hard I tried in the beginning to meet his standards, it was never good enough. It was always his way or the highway. In the end, I chose the highway.”
“When did you leave home?”
“A month after my seventeenth birthday. I’d planned to finish high school and stay until I was eighteen, but I couldn’t take it anymore.”
Bren’s kindness to Emma took on a whole new meaning in light of these revelations.
“Did he search for you? I mean, you were underage.”
“Not that I know of. I think he was glad to be rid of the thorn in his side. But I stayed under the radar until my next birthday, on the off chance he would.”
“What about your mom? Didn’t you think she might try to find you?”
Bren gave a stiff shrug. “I doubted it. She never stood up to Dad. To be safe, though, I did contact her after I left. I also tried to convince her to divorce him, to get out from under his thumb and create a new life. But she wouldn’t.” Bren sighed. Stared out the rain-streaked windshield. “Looking back, I think she may have been afraid of what my father might do if she left. Maybe that was part of what kept her tethered to him. But she was also hooked on all the amenities he provided.” She drew a shaky breath and refocused on him. “Except stuff doesn’t bring happiness, you know? Mom had all the material comforts she could ever want, but she was never happy beyond a superficial level.”
“Do you stay in touch with her?”
“I did, on and off, until she died five years ago. More off than on in the last two years of her life. We had less and less to talk about as time went on.”
Noah did the math. “She must have died fairly young.”
“Yeah, she did. In a car accident. I contacted a friend of hers after I tried to call her once and discovered her phone had been disconnected. She told me about the accident.”
Shock ripped through him. “You mean your dad didn’t even tell you she’d died?”
“No—and I know he had my number. It was in Mom’s phone, and he knew she and I talked on occasion.” A subtle thread of pain wove through her voice despite the years that had passed.
Noah’s throat tightened, and it took every ounce of his willpower to restrain himself from folding her hand in his.
Piece of work didn’t come close to describing Bren’s father. That required much stronger language.
“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine growing up in an environment like that.” Or turning out as normal as she appeared to be, given her upbringing—even if her colorful hair and triple-pierced ears had initially thrown him.
“It was tough. And it left me with issues. My self-esteem was in the toilet. So was my trust level. Especially with men.”
Making it all the more remarkable that she’d been willing to confide in him.
“I can understand that. What I can’t understand is how you managed to survive on your own at seventeen.”
Her forehead bunched, and she twined her fingers together in her lap. “It was a challenge.”
“Why do I think that’s a gross understatement?”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “Because you’re a smart man?”
“No. Because I can’t begin to imagine being on my own at seventeen. In those days, my biggest worry was prepping for tests, deciding which colleges to apply to, and trying to work up the courage to ask a girl to prom.”
She expelled a soft sigh. “College and prom weren’t on my radar. I was too busy trying to scrounge up food and find a decent place to sleep.”
“How did you manage to do that at such a young age?”
“I figured out early on that fast-food work took care of the eating problem, and I managed to hook up with three other girls who needed a roommate. Once I had a little money saved, I began wandering and taking a variety of jobs. Waitress, receptionist at a health club, barista at a coffee chain, dog walker, laborer at a landscaping company, house sitter. I wandered a lot, searching for a place to call home.”
“And you found it here?”
“Yes. In Hope Harbor—and at Grace Christian. And now you know all about me.” She played with the zipper on her jacket again. “Sorry to hit you with such a downer of a story.”
“Don’t be. I’m glad you told me.”
And that was the truth—even if the history she’d shared had cracked a door to his heart.
For there was much to admire about the woman sitting beside him. Most people who grew up in the circumstances she’d described would be scarred for life, not kindhearted, productive members of society who took in strangers in need, offered to loan someone their hard-earned cash, and spent time talking to an older man who was grieving the loss of his spouse.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Seriously. You’re an impressive woman, Bren Ryan.”
She shifted, as if the praise made her uncomfortable. And though it was too dark now to see her face clearly, he’d wager she was blushing.
“Don’t give me more credit than I deserve. I’ve made a ton of mistakes.”
“I stand by what I said. Plus, your mistakes are history. The important takeaway is that you overcame all the obstacles and ended up in a better place.”
“Far better.” She peered at her watch in the darkness. “I, uh, guess we should head back?”
“Yeah.” Even if he wasn’t quite ready for this interlude to end.
But prolonging it would be imprudent. Wasn’t he the one who’d cautioned them both to be careful about letting emotion cloud their vision?
And extending this evening any further could do that.
Resettling himself behind the wheel, he started the engine.
As they drove back to his father’s place, Bren didn’t speak. Neither did he. He had too much to process and absorb.
When he pulled up in front of the house and set the brake, Bren grasped the door handle.
“Why don’t you let me walk you to the cottage? It’s pouring, and I have an umbrella in the back seat.”
She assessed the rain streaming down the windshield. “I could make a run for it.”
“You’ll be soaked before you get to the gate. Sit tight until I come around.”
He grabbed his meeting notes from the back seat, along with the umbrella he’d learned to keep on hand during his visit, and stepped out into the rain.
As he rounded the back of the car, Bren opened her door and rose to meet him, her own notes clutched against her chest.
Tipping the umbrella to protect her, he walked beside her to the gate and pushed it open. As she edged past him, her hair tickled his nose, setting off a tingle in his fingertips.
Not good.
For the remainder of the short walk, he stayed as far away from her as he could without getting soaked.
At the cottage, she fumbled for her key. Slipped it in the lock. Turned to him, the light beside the door casting a golden glow on her complexion.
“Thanks again for the ride—and for lending me your ear.” Did she sound a bit breathless?
“Anytime.” Did he sound a bit breathless?
Probably.
How could he not, with the big hazel eyes of the woman who’d bared her soul to him issuing a subliminal invitation to taste her appealing lips?
And despite the fact they’d both agreed that giving in to the electricity between them would be ill-advised, he found himself leaning toward her, the magnetic pull as impossible to resist as one of Sweet Dreams’s luscious cinnamon—
The cottage door opened, and he jerked upright.
“Oops. Um ... sorry to interrupt. I thought I heard someone out here.” Emma looked back and forth between them. “I’ll, uh, go inside and—”
“No!” There was a hint of panic in Bren’s tone as she spun toward the other woman. “I’ll go with you. Noah walked me back with his u-umbrella, but he was just leaving.” She shot him a quick glance over her shoulder. “Thanks again.”
An instant later, the two women disappeared inside, closing the door in his face and leaving him alone under the umbrella as rain continued to fall around him.
Somehow he managed to jump-start his lungs.
As close calls went, that one had been a doozy. If he wanted to keep his distance from Bren, kissing her would have been the wrong way to go about it.
He slowly pivoted and walked back down the path.
Thank goodness Emma had come to the door. Her timing had been impeccable.
But if that was true, why wasn’t he grateful?
You know why, Ward.
At the chiding from his subconscious, he exhaled.
Yeah, he knew.
The truth was, as he’d feared earlier, ice cream hadn’t been the only thing in danger of melting tonight.
Because the heart he’d put in a deep freeze after the disaster with Candace was also thawing at warp speed.
And there didn’t seem to be a thing he could do to stop it.