by Joleen James
"Go on," Clea urged.
"Danny said he was going to kill me. I called him a coward and told him to go ahead and pull the trigger. But before he did, Billy hit him from behind with the bat. Danny lost his balance and fell, hitting his head on a rock."
"Wait," Clea said her brow wrinkling. "You said Billy hit Danny."
"Yes."
A storm of emotions passed over Clea's features, everything from disbelief to betrayal. Nick knew the exact moment when she realized that the last ten years had been built on lies.
"No! Damn you!" Clea threw the covers back and pulled on her robe. "You lied? You didn't hit Danny? Billy did?"
Nick winced.
Clea paced over to the door, her agitation obvious. "I spent the last ten years alone. You've admitted to me that you never wanted to push me away, that you thought it was for the best. Well, maybe that was best for you, but not for me. You've been calling the shots, Nick, and that's not fair. If we are going to have any kind of future together, I want the entire truth and I want it now."
Nick climbed out of bed and pulled on his jeans. When he finally got up the nerve to face her, the wounded look in her eyes nearly killed him.
"Nick," Clea said, her hand at her throat.
"Billy hit Danny." The admission lifted a giant weight from his chest. "It wasn't me. I didn't kill anyone."
The sentence hung in the air between them and before Clea even said a word he could feel her withdrawing from him.
"You said you wanted the truth," he reminded her, taking a step toward her. Around him, his dreams were falling away.
"No." She backed away. "I've changed my mind. I don't want to hear anymore." She held a hand up, as if to ward him off.
"Damn it, listen to me," Nick said. She turned her face away, her lower lip between her teeth. "I had to take the blame. This was my fight, not Billy's. Danny had been after me for years. Billy just got caught in the middle. He was a kid who happened to be in my car when Danny Bloomfield came looking for me."
Clea didn't speak. She stood still, so still he couldn't even see the rise and fall of her chest.
"I left Billy with Danny and I went to call the police. When I came back, Billy was gone and so was the gun. The police arrived. I told them I hit Danny. By the time Billy came to his senses and returned to the scene of the accident, it was too late. I'd already been placed under arrest. Billy tried to speak up, but I wouldn't let him. I told him to shut up and he did."
"Did Billy do something with the gun?" Clea asked.
"No. He remembered seeing the gun on the ground, but swore he didn't touch it."
"But why?" Clea asked, the words raw. "Why would Billy let you take the blame?"
"I didn't give him a choice." Nick paced the length of the room. "He was smart. Everyone knew he'd get a scholarship for college, and he did. I wanted him to have his life. I was nothing, Clea. I got into trouble. I was seventeen. I never thought they'd try me as an adult."
"But you both saw the gun."
"And it didn't make a damned bit of difference. The jury convicted me of manslaughter anyway. Danny Bloomfield was dead. Someone had to take the blame. There was no evidence that Danny had a gun. No one believed the Lombard brothers."
"I did." Her belief tore at his soul. "I believed in you, in us." Tears spilled over her cheeks. "I would have done anything for you, and you threw me away. You could have been free. You could have been there for your son. You wouldn't be strangers now. Do you even realize what you gave up? Do you?"
"Yes," he replied, remembering the photo history of their son. He crossed the room, his hands closing over her arms. His insides heaved with pain, with regret. "I thought about my choices every day."
"Yet you chose to go to prison. Damn you." Clea's palms hit his chest. "I'm so angry right now. Every time I think about how alone I felt, how terrified…" She broke off, her words dying away.
"Clea." He reached for her again, wanting to soothe her anger, but not knowing how.
"No." She stepped out of his reach, wiping her tears on the sleeve of her robe. "Just go, Nick. Leave me alone. I need to think."
"What are you going to do?" he asked, hating himself even more for asking. "Will you go to the police about Billy?"
She shot him a scathing look. "This isn't about Billy. It's about you and me."
"I spent my childhood taking care of Billy," he said. "It's what I had to do. God knows Maude couldn't take care of him. I didn't think that night. I reacted in the only way I knew how. I protected him, just like I always had. Can you understand that? I didn't know what else to do. I'm sorry."
She turned away from him, and he finished dressing. The silence in the room pressed down on him, and told him more than her words could have. He'd taken a risk telling her, but now that he had he wasn't about to give up on her, or on them. At the door, he took one last look at her.
"I love you, Princess," he said. "I may have made bad choices then, but I would never choose anyone or anything over you and John now. I've changed. You gave me a gift last night. I'll never forget that. Never."
He walked from the room, from her apartment, and out into the rain. Once again he'd made a mess out of things. But this time, he would prove himself worthy. In some ways he felt that the worst was behind him. There were no more secrets between them. Last night Clea had shown him the depth of her feelings. Feelings that strong didn't die an easy death.
* * *
Clea sank down on the bed. Her fingers touched the pillow Nick had reclined against just minutes before. She could still see the indent of his head. Picking up the pillow, she brought it to her nose and inhaled. The fabric smelled like him. A painful ache filled her chest. She loved him. She loved him so much it made his betrayal hurt even more.
His confession had taken her totally by surprise. Never had she suspected Billy. Yet, it made sense. She'd always known how much Nick adored his brother. But to go to prison for him? She still couldn't believe it.
She squeezed the pillow.
Where did they go from here?
Last night had been incredible. Nick's tenderness and fierceness had made her come alive in every sense of the word. For the first time in a long time, she looked forward to the future. She didn't want to lose that feeling again. She didn't want to let him slip through her fingers, yet she'd pushed him away, allowing him to think she didn't want him.
Had she done it on purpose, giving herself an excuse to go through with her move to New York?
Clea dropped the pillow on the bed.
Nothing stood in her way. She could go to New York, but did she want to? Was she doing the right thing for John?
Clea came off the bed. What role had Robert played that night? Was he as guilty as anyone? Could she really have been so duped by the man she almost married? The thought turned her stomach and made her anger burn, making her question every choice she'd ever made.
The lies had gone on for ten years. Before she could have complete closure on the past, she needed to hear from Robert about his part in Danny's death.
And she felt certain he had one.
If she'd learned anything today, she'd learned she did trust Nick. He could have continued lying to her, and she would have been none the wiser. Instead, he'd chosen to tell her the truth, risking their fragile relationship. Ten years ago Nick had lied for noble reasons. Had Robert lied for spite and revenge? If so, there was no contest between the two men, and maybe deep down Robert had known all along he couldn't compete with Nick when it came to what really mattered, integrity and loyalty.
While she wasn't ready to forgive Nick just yet, she was beginning to understand why he had protected Billy. Nick possessed honor.
Did she want to leave him behind and start over in New York?
No.
She had no idea where they would go from here, but she wanted Nick in her life. And as soon as she cleared the air with Robert, she intended to find Nick and tell him so.
* * *
Nick had
an offer on The Boss twenty-four hours after he posted the car online. He'd asked thirty thousand, but had settled for twenty-seven five. The buyer had agreed to meet him in Tacoma to make the exchange.
Under the terms of the contract Mr. Mullin had drawn up, Nick had his down payment for Mullin's Garage without any financial help from Billy. After the conversation he'd had with his brother the other day, he didn't want Billy to feel obligated to stay in Port Bliss. Billy had his own demons to fight, and he needed the freedom to fight them.
Nick would be fine on his own. Buying the garage gave him all the space he needed. He could hire another custom man and a mechanic with the money he would pull in from the cars he had lined up. With hard work, he felt confident he could take care of John and Clea in the style they deserved.
After seeing her photographs last night he couldn't let her give up New York. She needed to go. Talent like hers should be recognized. It was no surprise she'd won the internship.
She'd been so angry with him this morning. Her eyes had held all the betrayal he'd known she would feel, but he wasn't giving up on her, or their son. He loved them both. He couldn't bear to live without them. There were no more secrets left between Clea and himself. After what they'd been through, they could get through anything, even a separation while she followed the dream she'd put off for ten years because of him.
Nick paced his apartment. The time had come to get his life in order. He glanced at Maude's bedroom door. The end of the month was this weekend. The apartment would no longer belong to him. He couldn't put off cleaning things out.
Billy had promised to come by and help, but so far he was a no show. Steeling himself for the worst, Nick pushed the bedroom door open.
The scent of Maude's perfume assaulted him and his stomach rolled. But it was more than the smell of perfume, the stench of sickness lingered in the room. Nick turned away, taking a gulp of air from outside the bedroom.
He focused on the mother she had been before the drinking. That mother would have come to see him in prison. He never realized how much he'd hoped she'd visit him. Wanting her love, even after years of neglect made him feel weak. Yet, he knew he didn't hate her, not anymore. Somewhere along the way he'd begun to understand her choices. John had helped him see Maude as the woman she'd been before the drinking, the caring mother who had loved her boys. She'd tried with John, and that meant something to Nick whether he wanted it to or not. For the first time, he wished he'd come home before she'd died. He'd never have closure with her, and that saddened him.
Nick shook off his memories, picked up a couple of boxes he'd set near the door, and walked into her room. Looking around at the mess, he had no idea where to start. He planned to throw everything away. He started with the vodka.
Into the box it went, followed by her pills, her ashtray, butts and all. A kind of inner peace came over him as he worked, a cleansing. Having Maude as a mother had been rotten luck. Not his fault. Maybe she'd done the best she could after the divorce from his father. Nick stripped the bed, tossing the sheets into the box, leaving the mattress bare. Stained and dirty, the mattress looked as sad as he felt. Unable to stand the sight of it, he flipped the mattress over, intending to haul it from the room and onto the landing.
The shine of silver caught his eye, a key, hidden between the mattress and the box spring. Nick picked up the key, wondering what it opened. He glanced around the room.
Maude's jewelry box didn't need a key, the contents spilled out everywhere. None of the dresser drawers had locks. Going to the closet, he pulled the door open. Maude's faded dresses hung in a jumbled row, as untidy as the rest of the room. Her shoes lay in a pile on the closet floor.
Nick looked higher. The small closet shelf was packed tight with shoeboxes and assorted junk. He pulled down a box, and lifted the lid, finding report cards for Billy and Nick, as well as Mother's Day cards they'd made Maude, and assorted other children's art projects. Why had she kept this stuff? Maude had always seemed tough. Had it been a façade? He was coming to realize his mother had a small soft spot for her boys, a soft spot she'd also had for John. He didn't know what to think anymore. He tossed the box aside, going onto the next one.
He found boxes filled with scarves, gloves, and even old hair clips. Junk. Maude had more junk than anyone he knew. He continued removing Maude's things from the shelf until nothing remained. There was no box that fit a key. He wasn't sure he wanted to find a secret box anyway. A shroud of sadness had settled over him. He didn't know how much more he could take.
Maude's dresser still waited to be emptied. Cursing Billy for not showing up to help with this loathsome task, Nick yanked a drawer open. Maude's underthings lay in a tangle. He yanked the drawer out, and turned it upside down, dumping the contents into the box. Something solid fell from the drawer. A metal box.
A small metal box with a silver lock. He took the key from his pocket. Did he even want to open it? What did Maude have that she felt she had to lock up?
Nick left the bedroom and placed the box on the kitchen table. Taking a deep breath, he inserted the key and lifted the lid. There wasn't much. A bankbook and an envelope. Nick opened the envelope. Inside were photos. Slowly, he removed the faded pictures.
Maude with a young Senator Bloomfield. Maude kissing the senator, drinking with him. Shit. Disbelief shot through him. What the hell was his mother doing with the senator? Maude looked younger, a lot younger, in the photos. She'd always been a looker, that had been her problem. Nick flipped one of the photos over and looked for a date seeing the year he'd been born.
Nick picked up the bankbook. Starting with the month of Nick's birth Maude had made neat entries, five hundred dollars each month. There were also deductions for school pictures, shoes, clothing, and even attorney's fees. He'd always wondered how Maude had paid for his attorney. Nick flipped to the last page. The last deposit had been made on his eighteenth birthday.
Child support. Holy shit.
Nick dropped the bankbook into the box. His stomach rolled. Was Senator Bloomfield his father? It would explain everything. Had Danny known? Did that explain his hatred for Nick?
A sharp rap sounded at the door. Billy entered. "Hey, Nick. Sorry I'm late." He paused, getting a good look at Nick. "What's wrong, man?"
Nick couldn't reply. He didn't know what to say to Billy. How did his tell his brother that in the space of an hour he'd discovered they didn't share the same father?
Billy looked from Nick to the box. "What do you have there?" His brow wrinkled with concern as he picked up the bankbook. He flipped to the last page, disbelief on his face. "There's over seventy-five thousand dollars here. What is this?"
"I don't know."
"You're scaring me, Nick." Billy studied him. "You look like you're going to be sick." Billy picked up the photos, going through them. "Maude and the senator? No way."
Nick needed air. Going to the window, he swung it open, and closing his eyes he inhaled.
"There's a lot of money here, Nick, and your name is written in the front of the book."
Nick grabbed the book from his brother. He didn't want one penny of Senator Bloomfield's hush money. He couldn't even begin to think about why Maude hadn't used more of the money to clothe and feed her kids. Maybe the thought of payment to keep quiet about her son had sickened her as much as it sickened him. Is that why she'd been such a drunk? Had her bad taste in men been her undoing? For the first time he felt compassion for his mother. Had she really loved her sons before her addiction to booze got in the way?
"Is he my father, too?" Billy asked, an aching note in his voice. "The account only lists your name."
"I don't think so. The photos are dated. I think Hank Lombard is your father. Mom must have married him when she found out she was pregnant with me."
Nick turned away. For ten years he'd wanted answers to his questions about the night Danny was killed. He finally had the power to get those answers.
Bankbook in hand, he started for the door.
/> "Where are you going?" Billy asked.
"I'm going to see the senator. I want the truth from his lips."
"Jesus, Nick. If it's true, Danny and Robert are your brothers." Billy flopped down onto the kitchen chair. "I killed your brother."
So many secrets, so many lies.
It was time for the truth.
Chapter Eighteen
"Clea, hello," Ellen Bloomfield said. She kept one slim hand on the oak door, using the door as a shield to keep Clea from entering the house. Robert's mother wore a soft blue sweater and black slacks. Pearls encircled her throat and dotted her earlobes. Ellen Bloomfield had a strength; a polished look and attitude that even Vivian couldn't match.
"I'm sorry to intrude," Clea apologized. After Nick's confession she'd wasted no time driving up to the lake to see Robert. Her confrontation with Nick had left her with questions only Robert could answer. She hated to think she'd been deceived by her fiancé, but the more Clea thought about Nick's version of that night ten years ago, the more she suspected Robert did have something to hide. "I need to speak to Robert." She knew he was there. His BMW was parked in the driveway.
"I see," she said, the words frozen and unforgiving. A gust of wind picked up, blowing a lock of Ellen's impeccably styled hair across her cheek. She let go of the door to set the strands back into place. A second gust of wind caught the door, blowing it open, giving Clea a clear view inside.
Robert stood in the hallway, a glass of liquor in his hand. His clothing appeared as neat as she'd expect, but there was a slight droop to his eyes that told her he'd been drinking for some time.
A pang of pity for him shot through her, but just as quickly she pushed the emotion away. If he'd done all she suspected him of doing, he didn't deserve her concern.
"What're you doing here?" His eyes held the light of hope.
"I need to talk to you, alone." She glanced at his mother.
"All right." He drained the liquor in a single gulp, then set the empty glass down on the hall table. "Let's go down to the boat house where we can have some privacy."
