Falling For Nick

by Joleen James

  "How far is the fort from here?" Nick asked John.

  "Not far. I was almost there when I tripped." John's mouth puckered, as if he might cry. "I dropped my flashlight, and I couldn't see."

  "It's all right," Clea said, her arm around him. "We're here with you." She glanced at Nick. "Should we try and take him back? It's cold and the rain is freezing."

  John's teeth chattered.

  "The fort is close, let's go there first and get him warmed up," Nick said. "You two stay here. I'll go ahead and take a look."

  "All right, but hurry," Clea said. "John is frozen." Nick disappeared down the path. She had a thermos of hot chocolate in her backpack. She removed it, and poured her son a cup. "Here, drink this."

  John nodded, taking the cup from her.

  While he drank, she covered him with a blanket. Next she tried to call her mom, but the phone didn't pick up the signal this deep in the woods.

  "Are you feeling better?" she asked.

  "Um hum." He took another sip of the cocoa.

  "Why would you come here, in the night?" She wanted to understand what had driven him from home. "What you did was so dangerous."

  Before he could reply, Nick returned. "The fort is just ahead. It's dry inside. Let's go."

  Clea took the cup from John. Nick bent to help the boy up. She waited for John to protest, to tell Nick to leave him alone, but John didn't speak. The three of them walked to the fort in silence.

  She'd envisioned a small, crude lean-to, but the fort looked solid, with four walls and a roof. The inside had to be about ten by ten.

  "There's a door." Nick nodded his head toward the entrance.

  Clea held the door open so Nick could help John inside. Nick turned, holding his hand out to help her. "Come on."

  Clea took his hand and let Nick pull her in. Once inside, she checked on John. He sat on a mattress in the far corner. She shined her flashlight around the interior, surprised to find the fort filled with so many things. A rug covered the floor. There was a small table. In the center sat a red plastic lantern. Nick had already spied the lantern. He turned the switch and filmy white light filled the room.

  "Where did all this stuff come from?" Clea asked.

  "Toby's mom," John said. "She lets us leave it here."

  "I see." She glanced at Nick. "The boys come here with Toby's dad. It's their camping place."

  "I used to come here with Billy," Nick told John. Clea could hear the nostalgia in his words.

  "I know," John admitted.

  "How do you know?" Clea asked, curious.

  "Dad's name is carved on the wall."

  She'd never heard John call Nick "Dad" before. Had Nick noticed? Yes. Nick only had eyes for John.

  Clea went to the wall. Behind her, she heard Nick follow. Nick Lombard. She touched the carved letters. Below Nick's name, John had carved his. John Rose. What did it mean to John to play in the same fort his father had played in? Had he felt a connection to his father here while Nick had been in prison? Is that why John loved the fort so much?

  Nick reached out, his own fingers touching the carved letters. "It's still here."

  "Yes." She went to join John on the mattress. He appeared scared and small, huddled close to the wall. Clea put her arm around him. "How's your knee?"

  "It's okay."

  Clea examined the tear in his jeans. The wound no longer bled. Clea pulled the first aid kit from her backpack. Instead of removing his pants, she tore the fabric covering his knee open wider to give her access to the cut.

  "Does your shoulder hurt?"

  "A little," John said.

  "Are you cold?" she asked, as she cleaned the injury. Inside the fort the rain didn't hit them, and the wind couldn't touch them, but the air was freezing.

  "Yes."

  Nick took his jacket off and handed it to Clea. "Cover him with this. It will keep him warm."

  "No, Nick, you'll freeze," Clea protested.

  "I've got a sweatshirt on," Nick said. "I want my son to be warm."

  She could see how important it was to Nick to take care of John. She took the coat from him and removed the blanket from John's shoulders. She could feel the heat from Nick's body still in the coat as she slipped John into the jacket. "Is that better?" she asked.

  "Um hum." John slumped back against the wall, tired and dirty and cold.

  She glanced at Nick. "How long are we going to stay here? Everyone is probably frantic by now."

  "Let's wait and see if the rain lets up," Nick said. "Did you try to call?"

  "Yes, but my phone doesn't work."

  Nick rubbed his hands together. He had to be freezing.

  She tossed Nick the blanket. "Come over here and sit beside us. We can all share this blanket to keep warm."

  Nick came and sat on the other side of John. They held their son between them, warming him with their bodies. Nick hadn't said much since finding John. Clea wondered what he was thinking.

  "Do you want to tell me why you ran away?" Clea asked.

  "No." John stared down at his lap.

  "We're going to have to talk about it, honey. Something is bothering you. It's not good to hold it inside."

  John's head jerked up. "I saw you kiss him."

  "Who?" Clea asked, her stomach flipping over.

  "He saw us kissing," Nick said.

  "Oh, no," Clea moaned, understanding.

  "I told him you were upset," Nick said. "That I was comforting you."

  Clea met Nick's eyes over the top of John's head. "You two have talked recently?"

  "Last night," Nick said.

  "When? At the apartment when I was in the bathroom?"

  John exchanged a look with Nick, but kept his mouth clamped shut. When he didn't respond, she said, "Someone tell me what's going on."

  A heavy silence filled the small fort.

  "John," Clea prompted.

  "He's ruining everything!" John cried. He tried to scoot away from them, but there wasn't anywhere to go in the small fort.

  "How is Nick ruining everything?" Clea asked, trying to understand.

  "He kissed you. He likes you. What about Robert?"

  "Oh, John." Clea wanted to cry for her son. How could she explain her feelings for Nick to him when she didn't understand them herself? "Is that why you ran away, because you saw me kissing Nick? Is that why you got into the fight at school today?"

  "No."

  "Then why, honey?" she said, desperate for him to talk to her.

  "You'll be mad at me," John said, his voice tiny and small.

  "I promise I'll try and understand." Clea touched his arm in a gesture of comfort.

  "I did some things to The Boss." He glanced at Nick, who nodded his head in encouragement.

  "What kinds of things?" Clea asked, not sure she wanted to hear any more.

  "I scratched the paint. And I shot at the windows with my BB gun."

  Nick groaned. "You shot at the windows?"

  "Yes. And…" John said.

  "Dear Lord, there's more?" Clea asked, horrified.

  John nodded. "I slashed one of the tires. I wanted to cut them all, but Nick caught me last night."

  A pent up sigh left Clea's lips. "I see." She glanced at Nick. Compassion and something else - pride, shined in his eyes as he looked at John. "Then what happened?"

  "John and I had a talk," Nick said. "We came to an understanding."

  "You did?"

  "I told him he could work off the damage. I wanted him to tell you, and he did." Nick made eye contact with John. "I'm proud of you. You did the right thing telling her."

  "Yeah, right," John said, but he didn't sound convinced.

  "He was supposed to start at the garage after school today, but he didn't show. I know why now," Nick said. "Is that why you ran tonight, John? Were you afraid I was going to tell your mother when you didn't show up after school?"

  "I don't care what you do," John said.

  Clea closed her eyes, willing herself to be cal
m. Would working with Nick be good for John? It would force them to spend time together. Was Nick onto something with this idea, or would working for Nick anger John more?

  Clea chose to side with Nick. John was out of control. She needed Nick's support and help with him. "I'm with Nick on this one, John," she said. "I'll expect you to work with him after school until you work off the damages. Your father loves you. And he loves that car. What you did must have really hurt him. It's time for you to start thinking about Nick's feelings. He's tried to make things right with you. You need to give him a chance."

  "Mom," he moaned in protest.

  "I want to say one more thing," Clea said, cutting him off. "I understand why you vandalized the car, but I'm still bothered. There are other ways to express emotions. I wish you had come to me to talk about your feelings for Nick. I know things aren't the way you want them, but that doesn't excuse your behavior."

  John didn't reply.

  "Vandalism isn't the answer. Running away isn't the answer." Clea hugged him to her, his body stiff. "We need to work through all the changes together. You, me, Nick, and Robert."

  "Why? You're just going to take me away anyway," John cried. "Robert will be my dad, not Nick."

  "That’s not true," Clea said. "Nick will always be your dad. Robert will be your step-father. You'll have two dads."

  "It doesn't matter where you live, John," Nick said. "I intend to be part of your life wherever you go."

  John leveled a stare on Nick. John wanted to believe Nick; she could see the naked hope in his eyes. How could she make him understand that Nick would be there for him? And she did finally believe Nick would be there. He loved John. She'd seen that love a thousand different times as they'd searched for their son tonight. Nick wasn't going to give up on John. Nick had always gone after want he wanted, and to her knowledge he'd succeeded. He'd won her once. She had no doubt he'd win his son.

  Nick went to the door and peered out. "The rain stopped. Do you want to start back?"

  "Yes." She rubbed John's back. "Can you make it?"

  "I'll carry him," Nick said.

  "I can walk." John sat up straighter, the look of defiance back on his face.

  "All right." Nick took Clea's hand, helping her to her feet.

  "Thank you," she said. At the door, she turned and mouthed for Nick's ears alone, "For everything."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nick glanced at the clock. Three fifty-five. His stomach sank. He'd heard John's school bus drive by twenty minutes ago. He'd hoped that after their talk at the fort last night John would show today. He never realized he'd be this disappointed when he didn't.

  Taking a rag from his back pocket, Nick wiped his hands. His shift working for Mullin had ended at three-thirty. He usually looked forward to this time of day, the time when he could work on his own projects. He'd contracted the work on a '53 Chevy Bel Air this morning. The car had arrived earlier and sat waiting for him in the bay. The owner wanted a full restoration from the mohair that lined the roof to the chrome bumpers. A classic car like this one would look damn good in his portfolio. When he finished, he hoped Clea would photograph it for him. He was eager to get started, yet one dark cloud hung over his satisfaction - John.

  John had barely looked at him last night when he'd left him at Clea's. All his glances had gone to Robert, who'd met them at the door. Robert's excitement at seeing John faded quickly when he'd noticed Nick. Reaching for John, Robert had snatched the boy from Nick's arms. He'd wanted to retaliate, to take John back from Robert, but somehow he'd managed to hold his anger in check.

  Clea's mother had been there, too. Vivian had hurled accusations at him like sharp stones, telling Nick that this was all his fault. Not wanting to hear any more, he'd stormed out. To his disappointment, Clea hadn't come after him. He had no idea what she was thinking. Did she blame him, too?

  "Hi."

  Nick turned at the sound of her voice. She stood in the doorway. Her hair looked windblown, sexy. No matter how many times he saw her, Clea's beauty always caught him off guard, and it took him a minute to recover his senses. "Hi." John stood beside her. "Hi, John."

  John didn't reply.

  "John's come to work off his debt," Clea said, her tone up-beat. "I'm sorry we're a little late. I wanted to make sure John had a snack first."

  "It's okay." Nick gestured for them to move inside. "Come in."

  Clea walked directly to the '53. "That's an old car."

  "I know it's not much to look at now, but when I finish the restoration, it'll be a real beauty."

  She stepped closer to take a better look.

  "I've got two more lined up after this," Nick told her. "The web page is working. In fact, I could use another bay, but Mullin will only rent me this one." Nick smiled. It felt great to know his business plan was working. It felt even better to share the news with Clea.

  "I knew you'd succeed," Clea said, and he could hear the sincerity in her voice, see it in her eyes. She ran her fingers over the roof of the Bel Air. "I like the colors."

  "Root beer and cream," Nick said, telling her the names of the colors.

  She smiled. "I like that. It sounds delicious." Clea touched John's arm. "What do you think of the car?"

  "It's okay." John kept his head down, his focus on his tennis shoes.

  Wanting to get John's attention, Nick pulled the door open. "Get in. See how much room it has? They don't make cars like this anymore."

  "No," Clea agreed. "Go ahead, John."

  A frown on his face, John got in the car. "It smells funny."

  "Like dust and mold." Nick grinned. "It's old. It's supposed to smell that way."

  "Well, I'll leave you two alone to get to work," Clea said, backing away. "I'll be back at six to pick him up."

  "I can bring him by," Nick offered.

  A skeptical look crossed her face. "I suppose that would be all right."

  "Okay." Nick gave her a wave. "Go on, we'll be fine." He said the words with a confidence he didn't feel. He had no idea if John would respond to him, or if he could handle his own son. Squashing his doubts, Nick said, "John and I have plenty of work to do."

  "Bye, John," Clea said.

  "Bye." John popped the glove box open and looked inside with interest.

  Nick leaned into the car, dipping his head to avoid hitting the frame. "Ready to get started?"

  "I don't know what to do," John said, the words petulant. He touched a chrome tissue box, which was mounted under the dash. "What's this?"

  "It holds a box of tissue." Nick reached inside the car, tapping the box. "Look, it swings out so you can take a tissue."

  "Cool." John glanced at him. Nick could see the wonder in his eyes, that familiar excitement he too felt when looking at an old car. John had the same car bug Nick did. Cars were a common interest for them, one Nick intended to exploit if it helped him get closer to his son.

  Nick smiled. John glanced away. Nick ignored his frustration, refusing to give in to it. It wasn't going to be easy to win his son, but he would never give up trying.

  * * *

  "I can't believe you just took your son over to that filthy garage and left him there," Vivian said.

  Clea stood at the kitchen counter chopping carrots for a salad. The blade bit into the carrots with more force than necessary. If she didn't rein in her annoyance over her mother's questions, she'd cut her fingers off.

  "John is fine, Mom. He needs to be responsible for his actions. He's lucky Nick is giving him the chance to pay for the damages instead of calling the police."

  "The police!" Vivian's voice rose. "It's Nick's fault John did those things to his silly car. If Nick had stayed away, John would be the happy little boy he's always been."

  Clea sighed. She scooped the carrots into the bowl. "I don't think John's been happy for a long time, Mom. The counselor seemed to think his anger started a long time ago, but Nick's return caused John's emotions to snowball. We need to talk about Nick with John. Nick can't
be a dirty little secret, Mom. He's John's father."

  "Oh for God's sake." Vivian pressed her fingers to her temples. "He's a sperm donor. He hasn't shown any interest in John up to this point."

  "You're wrong." Clea came around the counter and took a seat on the sofa, next to Vivian. "Nick wrote me. He sent me money every month he was in prison, but I sent the money back. I didn't open the letters. I denied John his father. Do you see that? I'm to blame for this mess, not Nick."

  "That's not true, Clea. You were trying to protect your son," Vivian said.

  "No, Mom." Clea's hand went to her heart. "I was trying to protect myself. Nick hurt me. I loved him so much. Maybe I still do." It felt liberating to say the words out loud, voicing thoughts she'd left trapped inside her for ten years.

  Vivian blanched. "You don't know what you're saying. Nick will never amount to anything. People like us don't fall in love with people like him."

  "People like us?" Clea repeated, wishing she could make Vivian understand. "There aren't any rules when it comes to loving someone."

  "I won't listen to this." Vivian stood, the blanket covering her legs dropped to the floor.

  "Sit down, Mom." She didn't want her mother to get upset, to add to the stress she already felt, but Clea couldn't pretend anymore. Something was happening between her and Nick. Something she needed to explore before marrying Robert, or taking John away.

  A knock sounded at the door. Clea glanced at her watch. Five forty-five. Nick and John were early. "That's probably John. Can we let this drop for now? I don't want him upset."

  Vivian sat down, her mouth pinched.

  Clea went to the door and pulled it open. Robert and his parents stood on the landing, none of them smiling. A feeling foreboding came over her.

  "Hi," she said, unable to keep the surprise from her tone. She'd expected Robert, but not Ellen and James Bloomfield.

  "Hello, darling." Robert kissed her cheek.

  "Come in." Clea pulled the door open wide. "Hello, Senator. Ellen."

  "Good evening, Clea," Ellen Bloomfield said, as she passed in a cloud of expensive perfume. Impeccably dressed in a navy pants suit, a brightly patterned scarf at her throat, Ellen exuded cool sophistication. In fact, Ellen was always a little on the cool side, even when it came to her family. She never showed too much emotion. Clea hadn't realized until now how much that bothered her.