The Finish Line

by Stewart , Kate

  “Well, I would love to know.” Diane retorts, her eyes flitting from Cecelia to me.

  “I’m sure you would,” Cecelia snarks, hurtling the milk back into the fridge before slamming it closed.

  “What’s important now,” I referee, “is that we’re together, for good.” Cecelia cuts off the burner, adding the last of the pancakes to a platter before setting them next to the bacon waiting on the table.

  “Orange juice?” She barks in what feels like accusation at the three of us, and we collectively shake our heads in reply.

  Timothy digs in, looking for any excuse to keep his eyes down and his mouth full. Diane ignores the food, staring between her daughter and me as I busy myself, piling cakes onto my plate and digging in, hoping to ease some of the churn in my stomach. Cecelia’s focus remains fixed on me as she feeds some bacon to Beau.

  “That bacon is yours,” I scorn her. “Eat.”

  “I’m not hungry.” I can’t help my grin as a glimpse of the stubborn nineteen-year-old that ruined me for all others peeks through. “Trésor…”

  “You eat,” she snaps before her eyes again soften and dart between her mother and me.

  “Please,” I ask, nudging her, using her maternal concern for me to my advantage. She narrows her eyes, letting me know she’s onto me but shoves a bite into her mouth anyway.

  “So, I’m assuming you aren’t coming with us now, due to company?” Timothy asks, now attuned to the chemistry at the table.

  “Where were you headed?” I ask as mother and daughter resume their stare-off.

  “Cecelia was going to camp with us for a few nights before we head out west. We’re going to Colorado, Arizona, Utah, and New Mexico.”

  “Going to hit the four corners?”

  Tim points his fork at me. “Exactly. Standing in four states at once. It’s this camper’s dream.”

  Cecelia is already shaking her head when I glance her way. Though two days may buy me enough time to get a handle on my situation, just the thought of parting with her for any amount of time gnaws at me. But if there’s a chance, this disruption might be a Godsend if I can get her to go.

  “If you want to go—”

  Slapping her hand on the table, she points her cutlery in my direction. “Finish that sentence, King, and I will stab you with this butter knife.”

  I can’t help my chuckle. “Well then,” I look between them, “You’ll stay here. At least for the night? There’s no need to cut your visit short.” I turn to Diane, who’s focused on Cecelia, her eyes glistening as she continues to grapple with it all.

  “Tobias—” Cecelia starts.

  “These are your parents,” I say definitively, doing my best to make it easier on her, which wins me nothing but another scathing glare. I frown at her as she blazes her eyes down my frame before lifting her wrists one by one and straightening the cuffs on her pajamas—in threat.

  She smirks when she sees me conclude that she knows exactly what she’s been doing to me with those fucking pajamas.

  What. The. Fuck?

  Timothy clears his throat before finally commenting on the growing tension. “If we’re imposing, it’s no problem. We can just cruise on a little earlier.”

  “It’s no imposition,” I counter, making my stance clear as Cecelia sinks in her seat.

  “Are you sure that’s best right now?” Cecelia slings, insinuation rolling off her tongue. She seems to be prepping for war when all I’m trying to do is make peace. I’m tempted to pull her ass aside and redden it before I lick it or simultaneously do both. “Yes,” I nod for emphasis, cutting my hand through the air. “End of.”

  She narrows her eyes. “Don’t you dare—”

  “Cecelia,” Diane cuts in with the voice of a patient mother, “why are you—”

  “I’m done,” she snaps and stands, hauling her plate to the sink and tossing it in before looking back to Diane. “And done pretending too. You haven’t even told him, have you, Mom? Your new husband.”

  “Husband?” I ask, surprised by the news and taking first note at the rings on their fingers. It must have been in one of my recent reports. In my defense, I’ve been busy the last eight months.

  “Yes, husband,” Cecelia clarifies, her eyes trained on her mother. I’m expecting blood-colored eyes and a moving crown of snakes to appear any second with how she’s behaving. I make a mental note to see how far away she is from her sugar pill days in her birth control.

  “Haven’t you learned anything? How do you expect to get through a life with him with secrets like this?”

  Timothy calmly sets down his silverware and eyes me. “Can someone please tell me what I’m missing?”

  “Unfortunately, your wife and I share some tragic history.”

  A tear escapes Diane’s eye, and Cecelia plays immune, but I know the strain in the relationship is hurting her, so much so it’s metastasized to uncontrollable anger.

  “He knows,” Diane lifts guilt-sick eyes to her daughter. “I told him on the drive home the last time we were here, after I signed the papers for the restaurant and the house, even though you refused to tell me why I was doing it.” Her gaze flits to mine. “And also after you refused to tell me why you’d lost fifteen pounds you couldn’t afford to lose.”

  Insinuation clear, that revelation strikes me where intended, and Cecelia fires back. “Don’t play concerned parent. It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

  “Never, you’ll always be my child. And I had no idea what you were going through because you didn’t share it with me.”

  “We all have our secrets, don’t we?” She says, none of us safe from that jab.

  “Look at me, baby.” Cecelia lifts her blazing eyes to mine, so much hurt shining in them, I want to shield her with my body. “What hurts you, hurts me.”

  She fists a tear from beneath her eyes. “Tobias, this is too much.”

  “It’s not. I promise you, Trésor, it’s not.”

  The slide of Diane’s chair has us all turning her way as she offers a barely audible ‘excuse me’ before she scurries out of the kitchen, grabbing her cigarettes on the counter before rushing through the back door.

  Timothy stands to go after her, and I stop him with a hand on his shoulder. He glances over at me with clear apprehension.

  “So, you’re—”

  “Yes. But more importantly, I’m the man in love with her daughter. Please, let me.” Timothy studies me for several seconds before giving me a slow nod. I don’t give Cecelia a chance to object before making my way out into the back yard.

  I find Diane fighting with her lighter in the center of the yard before she manages a flame, inhaling her first hit deeply, eyes closed, tears staining her cheeks. Sensing me, she opens her eyes and faces me while I approach with my hands tucked in my sweatpants.

  “Mind if I have one of those?” She nods, opening the box, and extends it to me. I pluck one out, and she lights it, her eyes heavy on my profile before I back away. “Thank you.”

  “I can’t even begin to imagine how this happened.”

  I pull on the cigarette and exhale a stream of smoke, thankful for the slight relief it brings. “It’s a very complicated story.”

  “Did you become involved with her to hurt her, because of us, because of what I did?”

  “No. In fact, I went to great lengths to make sure she was kept out of it, but I failed.”

  Her tone sharpens. “I might not have a right to ask, but when it comes to her, I don’t give a damn. What exactly do you mean by that, Tobias? You had plans for Roman because of what I did?”

  “Initially, yes. Roman was my target until I found out the truth of what happened. But I had no intention of hurting her. Protecting her has always been a priority for me.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since the first time I laid eyes on her.”

  “Which was?”

  “When she was eleven.”

  “Jesus.” She’s visibly shaking as she takes
a drag of her cigarette and studies me carefully. “You love her, that’s clear.”

  “I do.”

  “Roman never told me you were involved…God, that man.”

  “He was good at keeping secrets. But he was very aware when Cecelia and I parted ways, years before he died, that our relationship was over. We worked together to protect Cecelia.”

  “I guess I have no choice but to try and believe you.”

  “I hope you do. I would never hurt her.”

  “But you have.”

  I nod because it’s the sad truth. “But mostly to protect her.”

  Her gaze loses focus as her chest constricts and her shoulders drop forward before she speaks. “So many, many times over the years I wanted to reach out, to confess the truth to you, to Dominic, and beg your forgiveness, but you disappeared. And eventually, he did too.”

  It’s then I know my assumption was right.

  “It must have been hard supporting three children every month.”

  Her eyes drop. “I didn’t want you to go without. I’ve taken so much from you, and I saw how miserable you were in that house with Delphine.”

  I exhale, tapping the ash off my cigarette. “For years, I thought the boxes without a return address mailed to our doorstep were from friends and relatives of my parents. Boxes with hundreds and hundreds of dollars’ worth of clothes and gift cards, toys, shoes. But no one is that generous, are they, Diane?”

  She sniffs, wiping her nose. “Delphine hated me, and I knew she would turn me away, but I just couldn’t let you go without. I know it doesn’t make up for what I did.”

  “You made a mistake,” I say pointedly, as her eyes cloud with tears. “Those boxes saved us, sometimes for months at a time. I can safely say that act of kindness inspired me to pay it forward in a major way.”

  A sob bursts from her as I take another drag of my cigarette, keeping just enough distance so she’s comfortable but standing close enough to catch her if she breaks, which seems possible. From the minute I met this woman, all I saw was agonizing guilt, and knowing she’s lived with it all these years only makes me want to convince her further to set herself free.

  “You know, you and I have a lot in common,” I confess, “we both suffer from the horrible plague of survivor’s guilt.”

  “I c-can never tell you how sorry I am for what happened.”

  Tossing my cigarette, I grip her shoulders, seeing so much of the woman I love in the woman before me—certain that Cecelia inherited her heart. “It’s tragically ironic how well I know your pain because maybe if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to look at you now and tell you I forgave you a long time ago. It was an accident. I felt how deeply you regretted it the day we met. Your mistake changed my life in an irreparable way, but it also shaped me into the man I am today—for better or worse—a man who loves your daughter. It’s crazy that somehow, despite what you took away, both you and Roman gifted me the only person in the world capable of loving me in a way that fills me with so much peace. Cecelia is my home and my reason for trying to forgive myself, and she needs to be your reason too. From what I’ve gathered, you’ve punished yourself long enough, and it’s affected you and your relationship with your daughter. It’s not too late for either of us, Diane. Cecelia is making me believe it.”

  A telltale sniff just behind the lattice has me grinning. “Come on out, Mon Trésor, I know you’ve been listening.”

  Cecelia’s red-rimmed eyes meet mine and drift to her mother as she steps in front of her. “This is why you had so many jobs, and we still struggled?”

  Diane nods. “I couldn’t let them go without, and I know you suffered for it.”

  “Roman didn’t know?”

  Diane shakes her head. “God, no, he would have been furious because it would seem like an admission of guilt. He was so paranoid. But I’m not sorry I did it. I’m only sorry you suffered.”

  “Mom,” Cecelia’s voice lifts as she pulls her mother into her arms. “We did okay. God, I only wish you would have told me.”

  They start to speak in hushed whispers as I turn and head back toward the house to give them privacy.

  I don’t really believe words can heal as much as they hurt. But I so want to believe it’s not too late for us—that truly living again without that jagged ache is possible. More hope sparks as I glance back at the two of them and see mild relief in Diane’s expression a second before I close the back door.

  Tim set up their RV for the night, insisting they sleep in it, no doubt due to the drama that unfolded today. I help him set up camp, and with Cecelia occupied with her mother, dashed away to check both phones.

  Oz identified the asshole watching us and is digging further into his background at my order.

  Tyler was able to execute my request for air coverage, and the ETA was a half hour.

  And fuckwit’s superior ordered me to continue my watch and report. After a tension relieving shower, I spent the rest of my day satisfied with bought time, intent on figuring out Antoine’s motives and intent.

  I will have to utilize my time wisely to make more headway with Cecelia, and I plan to do just that as soon as our unexpected guests leave.

  After dinner, we gathered around a makeshift campfire Tim and I managed to scrounge up outside their camper.

  Cecelia, Diane, and I sip wine as Tim tosses back the beer he has stocked in his cooler. We are all a few drinks in when Diane speaks up, inevitably ending a day’s worth of progress.

  “You haven’t mentioned Dominic,” she asks, looking between Cecelia and me, “where is he now?”

  I stop the glass halfway to my mouth as Cecelia’s expression falls, and she turns questioning eyes to mine. We’ve never been faced with the question together, and try as I might, it’s clear on both our faces.

  Diane looks between us, her eyes budding with fear. “Please tell me he’s okay,” she pleads with me as Tim grips her hand in his.

  “He died six years ago,” Cecelia speaks at the same time I do.

  “I think it’s time you know the truth.” Cecelia’s gaze locks on mine as I finish. “The whole truth.”

  “Tobias—”

  “It’s time,” I stress softly before staring into the campfire.

  “Tobias,” Cecelia urges my eyes her way, and I gaze back at her, the fire lifting some of the red tint in her chestnut hair as she quietly assesses me.

  “It’s time.”

  After a few tense moments, Cecelia nods somberly. For the next few hours, we take turns talking, and I reveal a lot of my story, of the moments I’ve been reliving since I’ve been in Virginia, taking the opportunity to come a bit cleaner with Cecelia.

  I leave out my history with Antoine, a secret I’ve kept for twenty years. As Cecelia and I recall the details of our sordid past together, Diane’s eyes dart wildly between us while Timothy speaks up every so often with a question or a ‘holy shit.’

  At one point, too much truth sends Diane into a tailspin, her emotions getting the best of her, especially when we relay the events of the night Dom died and the aftermath. Thankfully, she maintains enough composure to make it through the recall of Cecelia’s return to Triple Falls leading up to me coming for her three weeks ago.

  “And so now…” Diane eyes me, her voice hoarse. “What will you do?”

  “I’m leaving that up to your daughter,” I say honestly. “She’ll be the one to decide.”

  Fear shudders through her physically as Cecelia swallows, refusing to answer her mother’s question. It’s clear she’s raw and exhausted from a day of hashing out our past, and for the first time ever, speaking her full story. The sad part is, I still have too much to tell.

  I’m not at all worried about hood secrets or any of our secrets being spilled, for that matter. For the most part, Diane has been looking out for the both of us since we were children. I feel safe in that knowledge and better for her knowing the truth of our reality.

  “Is this the life you want?” She asks Ceceli
a. “Even after all that’s happened, as dangerous as it is?”

  He is, is what she wanted to say, but I can’t fault her for it.

  “It’s my decision, and I’ve made it.”

  Diane bites her lip for several seconds before lifting her eyes to mine. Timothy clears his throat. “I’m in awe, man. Truly. This is…what a fucking amazing story.” He shakes his head and glances over at me. “I’m still amazed you went to prep school with the President, and you planned it,” he sips his beer, “too fucking cool.”

  “We’ve hit quite a few bumps in the road.”

  “I never knew that part, either,” Cecelia says, her voice filled with hurt and underlying anger.

  “You don’t know a lot of the details,” I admit softly, knowing I’m in for it.

  “No, I don’t,” she redirects, anger simmering in her voice.

  “Ask me anything,” I remind her of the times I’ve tried to reveal myself to her in degrees over the last few weeks. Her eyes flare before she darts them away.

  “Except it’s not…” Diane says softly. “It’s not a story, is it, Tobias?”

  “No,” I tip back the rest of my wine, emptying my glass, “it’s not.”

  Diane turns to Cecelia, her expression blank as she gazes into the flames.

  “What—”

  “Mom, don’t, okay? Just,” she sighs, “Don’t.”

  “I can’t help it!”

  “Well, you’re going to have to trust me. I’m not yours to protect anymore.”

  “That’s…bullshit, kid. I’ll always be your mother.”

  “This isn’t that, and you know it.” Cecelia stands and glances my way. “I’m tired. It’s late.” She walks around the fire to kiss her mother’s cheek before palming Tim’s shoulder. “We can talk more tomorrow morning.”

  Diane nods, barely registering her goodbye as I speak up in an attempt to ease her mind.

  “Nine people are guarding us, watching this house, two of them safeguard Cecelia at all times, some are combing the streets of this town for any possible threat. There are two drones in the air right now scanning every square foot of this land and the land around it.”