Bursting With Love

by Melissa Foster

  It can’t be this easy. Jack watched his siblings talking and joking with one another as if one of the biggest defining moments of his life hadn’t just taken place. Was it even possible that his siblings could accept him back that easily without any angst over his not keeping in touch? Could Savannah have been right about family ties?

  “Jackson.”

  His father’s serious tone sent a jab of reality to his gut. There wasn’t a chance in hell this was going to be an easy night. What was I thinking? He turned to meet his father’s somber stare. His military-style haircut was now more gray than brown, though his thick, furrowed brows were still dark as ever. The skin on James Remington’s once chiseled features now hung a little looser from his cheekbones and jowls, but his imposing nature was just as strong as it had always been. Jack looked into the midnight-blue eyes—which were so much like his own—of the man who was his mentor, his hero, and his harshest critic. He pulled his shoulders back, knowing that even though he was younger and stronger, he couldn’t quite pull off the same commanding dignity that his four-star-general father always had.

  “Dad. Mom.” Jack had the urge to run into his mother’s arms, as he had when he was a boy. He wanted to settle into the comfort and surety of her unconditional love and forget so much time had passed. But that wasn’t an option. Instead, he took in his mother’s beauty, his heart warming as she crossed the floor toward him.

  Joanie Remington was the polar opposite of Jack’s father. She dressed in loose bohemian clothing and wore her gray hair long, while James looked as though he’d walked out of a military photo shoot: pristine navy jacket with perfectly pressed slacks and white dress shirt. Joanie opened her arms and embraced him.

  She touched his cheek and looked up at him with the same bright blue eyes that she’d passed down to Kurt and Rush, and the love he saw pulled at his heart.

  “Jackie, I’m so glad to see you,” she said.

  She was nearly the same height as Siena—and Savannah, Jack realized. Her hand on his cheek reminded him of the endearing way Savannah had touched him earlier that morning. He’d turned his mom away so often, and once he moved to the cabin, he didn’t even have a phone line. He’d kept his cell phone but never left it on. When messages rolled in, he ignored them. Things between him and his father had gotten so tense after Linda’s death that it had been easier to block his mother out of his life, too, than to try and volley between the two. He realized now how much that must have hurt his family, especially his mother, who had been nothing but supportive his whole life.

  “Me too, Mom. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come around.” He kissed his mother’s cheek and tried to suppress the tears that welled in his eyes. He blinked until his eyes dried, then shifted his gaze back to his father. Sage remained by the open door, and Jack had a fleeting thought that maybe he should just walk out that door. Escape his father’s torment. There is no escape. I deserve whatever he doles out.

  “Dad.” He felt like he was sixteen years old again, telling his father that he wasn’t going to join the military right after high school—and he wasn’t sure if he ever would. His heart had hammered in his chest then just as it did now.

  “Son.” He shot a look at Joanie, who lifted her brows and her chin in the silent urge Jack had come to know as a child. His father had ruled their house with an iron fist. No one dared go up against him, but every so often, his mother would take a quiet, though meaningful and determined stance, and in those times, Joanie headed the charge. There was no mistake in Jack’s mind that his father had a diatribe ready to push his disgruntled agenda—or that his mother would not allow that to happen.

  His father continued. “You look good, Jack. Different.”

  “I am,” was all he could manage.

  Sage shot a look at Jack. His eyes widened, and in that flash, Jack knew that Sage had seen something unnerving. A second later, Rush walked through the door with the same stern look as his father and took his place beside him.

  Jack clenched his jaw, wondering why his brothers and sister hadn’t warned him that Rush would be there after all. He felt Siena’s gentle touch on his shoulder, her breath in his ear.

  “They didn’t tell me,” she said; then she crossed the tense space between the three men and embraced her father. “Hi, Daddy.” She hugged Rush, though it was more of a fast grab than a hug.

  “Sweetheart, thank you for having us all here today,” his mother said, as Siena kissed her cheek and took her place beside her. Jack knew that by standing on the side of the room with him, they were supporting him, too.

  The lines drawn in the Remington family weren’t like other families, where lines were faded and the families were unsure if they were imagined or really existed. James Remington made no bones about the lines he’d drawn through the years. He expected high achievements and ethical conduct—and military careers. As the eldest, Jack had forged the path for the others to follow. When he’d chosen not to attend West Point, his father had been livid, but after a few tough months, their relationship survived, and Jack assumed it was yet another one of his mother’s determined battles that had kept him from having the same struggle with each of his other kids.

  The decision to join the military had less to do with his father than with something inside Jack—a need to do more for his country than engineering—and it had pleased his father, which was why Jack was so confused now. He didn’t understand why his father had been so angry with him when he moved to the mountains. He thought, of all people, his father would understand, but, then, he hadn’t been thinking straight at that time. His father probably felt that Jack had shamed him on some level, embarrassed the family.

  “Isn’t it wonderful that Jack’s really coming back to New York?” Siena’s cheerful voice reverberated against the tension in the room like she’d thrown it at a brick wall. “Daddy, would you like some wine?”

  “Yes, please, honey. Thank you.”

  Always the damned gentleman. During his formative years, Jack had tried to emulate his father with his gruff nature and arrogance, but by the time he hit puberty, he’d seen his harsh exterior as unattractive, and he’d done everything he could to avoid becoming the same man. As he looked at his brother and father, two strong-willed opponents, he realized that he was more like his father than he cared to admit. The last two years, he’d hidden behind the stone wall he’d learned from James Remington. Now Jack took a deep breath and did the only thing he could under the circumstances. He opened his arms as the man he hoped to be and embraced first his father, who stood rigid against him, then Rush, whose muscles were so tense they jumped against Jack’s chest.

  “Good to see you both,” Jack said. It had been a long time since Jack was the one reaching out. Hell, it seemed like forever since he’d been palatable on any level.

  Sage answered another knock at the door, and they turned their attention to the deliveryman as he handed several bags of food to Sage.

  “I’ve got this,” Dex said. He pulled out his wallet and paid for the food, then helped Sage carry the bags to the table.

  “This looks great, Siena,” Kurt said as he lifted several cartons of Italian food from one of the bags.

  His mother put her hand on the small of Jack’s back. “Jack, Rush, why don’t you join us at the table.”

  Jack noticed that she hadn’t invited his father, and while he was thankful for the support, he was sick of the ominous stares and the lines that determined sides within their family. Lines caused pain, and Jack had experienced enough pain for one lifetime.

  “Thanks, Mom. I’ll join you in a moment,” Jack said.

  Rush’s face flushed. His eyes darted between Jack and their father. “Dad?”

  Jack watched the exchange and wondered why his thirty-two-year-old brother was asking for his father’s permission to sit at the dinner table.

  His father narrowed his eyes at Jack and said, “Go on, son,” to Rush.

  While the rest of the family dished food onto t
heir plates and talked among themselves, Jack and his father had a silent battle of wills. Jack gathered his courage like a shield before speaking.

  “Want to take this up to the roof?” Siena’s loft was on the top floor of her building, and she had access to a narrow set of stairs that led to a sitting area and garden on the roof of the building. The idea of having it out with his father in front of everyone else twisted his gut and made every nerve in his body burn, but if he’d have it no other way, Jack was determined not to walk away without a resolution.

  His father nodded, and Jack led the way.

  “James,” his mother called.

  They both turned toward her.

  “Why don’t you take Rush with you?” she suggested.

  As Rush rose to join them, all eyes shifted to Jack.

  Jack wondered why his mother was putting him up against the firing squad.

  “Jack?” Sage said with a lift of his hand, a silent offer to come along.

  “I’m good.” Jack led them out of the apartment and up to the roof. The cool night air did little to clear the mounting tension. He had to hold it together no matter what they said, and he knew that falling right back into anger wouldn’t solve a damn thing. He felt more like his old self than the angry man he’d become, and he wasn’t going back.

  Jack folded his arms across his chest and planted his feet hip width apart, then watched Rush do the same. Jack knew from his military training that he and Rush were using their arms like protective shields that would deflect the pain of whatever was to come. But his father had mastered deflection without any props. He stood with his shoulders back, legs strong, and his arms by his sides.

  Jack opened his mouth to speak, and his father’s words silenced him.

  “Why now?” his father asked.

  The question took Jack by surprise. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected—a lecture about how everything he’d done for the past two years was bullshit or how he’d shamed the family. But, Why now? He blinked away his confusion and tried to form an answer that his father would find acceptable, but he couldn’t string together any coherent thoughts. His answer came all on its own. Honest and simple.

  “It was time, Dad.”

  Rush shot a look at their father. Jack knew he was weighing the narrowing of their father’s eyes and the repetitive clench of his jaw and trying to figure out his next move. A sense of empathy washed through Jack. Rush was a major competitive skier, a celebrity in his own right. Six two, strappingly handsome, well educated, and he had the world at his fingertips. Yet he was still hamstrung by their father’s rule—it was the reasons why that Jack couldn’t figure out.

  His father nodded. “And what changed? What brought you to this realization that your family finally meant something to you?”

  Jack took a deep breath, feeling anger swell in his chest at the jab. “My family has always been important to me. You know that. I lost someone I loved.” He fought against his raising voice but was powerless to stop it. “That’s not a glitch in a strategy or a failed mission. It was a life-changing event.” He took another deep breath and ran his hand through his hair, buying himself time while he calmed down.

  “No, Jack,” his father began. “What has changed in you?”

  Rush’s brows drew together, and he looked between Jack and his father. Jack rubbed the scar on the back of his arm, feeling pinned between them as Rush struggled with some internal battle.

  “Everything,” Jack said through gritted teeth. He began pacing, an act that he knew his father saw as a weakness. Always face your enemies head-on. He didn’t care. He wasn’t a puppet, and goddamn it, he wished he could show his father that Rush wasn’t a puppet either. Jack was there to make amends, not have his spirit crushed by his goddamn father.

  “Look, I’m not you, Dad, and I’m not Rush.” He stared at his brother until he saw a shadow of something he hoped was understanding pass through Rush’s eyes. “I might be weaker than you both, but damn it, that’s who I am. My wife died. I didn’t know how to deal with it, and I blamed myself.” He took a step forward, standing only inches from Rush. “You blamed me. You said if I hadn’t been so damn wrapped up in myself, I wouldn’t have let her go out that night.” He held his stare for a beat longer, seeing the nervous twitch in the left side of Rush’s mouth that he’d forgotten about until that moment. Then he faced his father. “You fought in battles. You led men and you led your family. You protected the citizens of this country, and you continue to protect your family every goddamn day of your life.” He felt his nostrils flare and took a moment to get a grip on his emotions again, channeling his anger to the flexed muscles in his legs and back.

  “Everyone except me, Dad. Because you couldn’t protect me from Linda’s death. No one could. You were so goddamn busy demanding strong work ethics and achievements that you didn’t prepare me for tragedy within my own family.” Anger caused his voice to rise again. “When I joined the military, you said, Be proud of those you take down, Jack. You’re a good man. Always put your country first. Be proud? Do you see the irony?” He stomped a few feet away, then paced back and looked his father in the eye. “Well, guess what? My wife’s dead because I was so wrapped up in putting my country first and preparing goddamn strategies for the next mission that I couldn’t drag my ass away long enough to go out and pick up the things she needed from the store. And guess what else, Dad? I’m not proud. And why are you so goddamned mad anyway? Because you couldn’t protect me from the guilt and hate I harbored? Well, guess what? No one could protect me from myself.”

  The truth of his words hit him like a punch to the gut. Did he really blame his father? He took two stumbling steps back, his arms hanging at his sides. The fight drained from his muscles like lumber turned to sawdust. When he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper. “No one could.”

  Rush took one step toward Jack before his father touched his arm, stopping him in his tracks. Jack saw the motion and was past caring. The realization that he’d turned away from everyone because he felt alone in his torment was still kicking his ass and twisting his brain into a repetitive cycle of reality slaps. No one could have protected him. His dad had prepared him for school, for the military, hell, he’d prepared him for killing human beings and getting past it.

  Jack’s eyes welled with angry tears. “You never sat me down and said, Jack, sometimes life will kick you in the ass and hurt the people you love most, and when you can’t help them, the guilt will eat you alive.” He swiped at his eyes with the crook of his elbow and stalked away to the brick wall beside the door to the stairway.

  “Jack,” Rush said.

  Jack looked up just in time to see Rush break free from his father’s grasp and cross the roof to him. Rush’s eyes shifted between his father and Jack several times, before Rush said, “Aw, fuck,” and wrapped Jack in his arms. “I’m sorry, man. I’m so sorry. I was so pissed at you for not being a man and carrying on with your life. You left the Grays high and dry—at least that’s what I thought.”

  Jack embraced him, and Rush put one hand on the back of Jack’s head, the other on his back, and held him against his massive chest. Their hearts beat in a frantic, angry rhythm against each other.

  “I couldn’t help the Grays. I could barely help myself,” Jack said through his tears.

  “I know. I get that now. I fucked up, Jack. I’m so sorry.”

  The lump in Jack’s throat practically stopped his breath from passing through. It took all his focus to choke out the last of his words. “I love you, man.”

  Jack caught sight of his father, stone faced and standing in the same stoic position as he had been the entire time. Jack couldn’t fix whatever his father was holding against him, but he couldn’t carry any more anger in his own heart, either. He’d overdosed on anger and felt as though one more ounce would be too much. He drew back from Rush, nodding a silent acceptance of his apology, and crossed the roof back to his father.

  “I don’t really blame you, Dad
, and I no longer blame myself. I made a poor decision by letting her leave the house that night and by not going myself. But that decision cannot define me for the rest of my life. I’m a good man, and I have to believe that Linda knew that.” He looked down, took another deep breath, then met his father’s eyes again. “And I think that you know it, too. Even if you can’t allow yourself to admit it.”

  Rush motioned Jack over with his hand. When Rush put his arm over Jack’s shoulder, he had no regrets. He’d told his father the truth. Almost. He hadn’t told him about Savannah, and he wanted a clean slate. He faced his father again and forced his shoulders back, forced his spine to straighten, and in an uneasy voice, he said, “I met someone, Dad. And she knows I’m a good man, too.”

  Rush opened the door, and he and Jack descended the stairs.

  While Rush filled one of the missing pieces in Jack’s heart, there was another piece of his heart still on that roof—and he felt the gaping hole it left behind. He’d given all he had to give, and knowing it wasn’t enough made him sick to his stomach.

  AT THE BOTTOM of the stairs, Rush said, “So you met someone?”

  Jack knew Rush was just trying to turn the tides between them, but Jack couldn’t stop thinking of his father. He wished he understood what he’d done. If only his father had said something. Anything to clue him in. How could a father and son become so lost to each other? He turned back to Rush, surprised at how quickly Rush had become his buddy again. Maybe the ties that bind families together really are stronger than anything else.

  “Yeah. Savannah Braden. She lives on the Upper East Side.” Savannah Braden. The woman who changed my life. “You know her cousin Blake—”

  “No shit. Blake Carter’s cousin? No wonder he was asking about you. Is she cute?” Rush asked.

  “Beautiful. And smart. She’s a lawyer.”

  “What’s she doing with you?” Rush teased.

  Jack feigned punching his arm, and Rush pretended to punch Jack in his stomach. They were laughing as they approached the door to Siena’s loft, but Jack’s laugh was forced. Rush touched his arm.