Forgiven: The Nash Brothers, Book Two

by Aarons, Carrie

  My mother deserved for cleaners to come in after everything she’d been through … the cancer treatments had worked but left her body a shell of its former self, even in remission. But I couldn’t lie and say I wasn’t disappointed in how she’d allowed my father to transform her from a hard-working, small-town woman with a backbone to a politician’s wife. It seemed that she cared more about dinner parties and campaign rallies than she did about living her own life. Part of me wishes that my parents were still the humble, ambitious, bright-eyed innocents who lived in that ranch.

  “Oh, come off it, Lily, I know you were seen canoodling with Bowen at the wedding. The town has practically been foaming at the mouth for two weeks.”

  And there it is. I’ve been waiting for this moment since the morning I snuck out of Bowen’s hotel room, checking if the coast was clear like some sort of turncoat spy.

  I sigh. “Yes … it was … we had a lot of drinks, Mom.”

  “Oh, I call bullcrap. You’ve been lighter than air lately, stood up to your father at a charity dinner, have barely returned my calls for weeks, and now you’re seen kissing your ex-boyfriend at his brother’s wedding? You’re in love, my dear. And I couldn’t be happier!”

  She claps her hands together like some kind of fairy godmother turning my pumpkin into a carriage. The glee on her face makes me kind of giddy if only for the fact that I love to see her jubilant any time now. My mother deserves it.

  And now that she’s caught me, there isn’t much sense in denying it any further.

  I hold my hands up, trying to rein in her excitement just a tad. “Okay, okay … we’ve been seeing each other, but—”

  “Oh, I knew it! I’m a happy mama, that’s for sure. When can we have him over for dinner?” I can tell by her expression that she’s already scheming.

  “Mom, please slow down. It’s early, and there is … you know the history. We’re taking things slow.”

  “Slow? Honey, you’re nearly thirty. It’s time to bag that boy for good and give me some grandbabies.”

  I slap my palm to my forehead. “This is why I wasn’t going to tell you.”

  “Tell her what?” Dad enters the kitchen, all business in a navy striped suit.

  “Oh, sweetheart, I didn’t think you’d be home for lunch. What can I fix you?” Immediately, Mom rises from her seat and goes to the fridge.

  “Do we have any of the leftover meatloaf? I’ll take a plate of that. Thanks, darling.” Dad kisses her cheek as he passes her and heads toward me to take a seat at the kitchen table. “Now, what weren’t you telling your mother?”

  I’m about to open my mouth when Mom beats me to the punch. “She and Bowen are dating again! Oh, Eric, I could just float I’m so happy!”

  Mom is busy fussing around on the other side of the kitchen, but I’m sitting right across from my father. I see the way his face darkens, how his eyebrows furrow together and his jaw sets with a hard click.

  “Is that right?” He nods slowly, his cold, blue eyes focusing on me.

  There is something in his expression that has the hair on my arms pricking up, and my heart beating into my throat in a nauseous manner. That feeling of dread, of sick fear, right before something terrible is about to happen … it fills the air of my kitchen, unbeknownst to my mother. Only I’m privy to it, this primal anger rolling off my father.

  In a flash, it’s gone, replaced by the smarmy, fake nice politician’s smile I’ve become so accustomed to. “Well, honey, that’s great. How did you two get back together? When?”

  Something in my gut tells me not to reveal too many details. I’ve never felt this many alarm bells going off in my head, and heck, this is my father. It’s just … I saw something in him seconds before. Something almost … evil. I’ve never had that much split-second intuition in my life, but now I know what it feels like.

  “Oh, it’s not an uncommon story. Mutual friends, same hangout spots. Old feelings linger like they say. It’s nothing serious, just seeing each other.”

  Lies. Lies. So many lies. My stomach churns with keeping the truth from my parents because the people-pleasing little girl inside me knows that she should seek any method of approval.

  But adult me? I’m apprehensive. My guard is up.

  My father nods as Mom sets his plate down in front of him and moves to sit on the other side, between us.

  “And so, you think this is a good idea?” He’s trying not to give his feelings away, but I can hear the disapproval in his words.

  “Eric! Naturally, it’s a good idea. They love each other.” Mom rolls her eyes at him.

  My father stops his fork midway to his mouth when she says the word love. He sets it down, looks at me.

  “You do remember that this is the boy who almost killed you?”

  My skin peppers with goose bumps. “He didn’t almost kill me. We were in an unavoidable car crash, and he himself lost a lot that day as well.”

  It’s no secret to me, or to Bowen, or to anyone in Fawn Hill, that my father has never liked Bowen Nash. I remember the arguments we used to get into when I was in high school and blindly in love with Bowen. My father thought he was a bad influence, that he was too old for me, that he was just a jock who was using me for the one thing teenage boys are after. My curfew was limited, I fought with my father about going to the Nash’s for dinner, and one time, my father even had the gall to sic the cops on Bowen when he brought me home three minutes too late on the night of his junior prom.

  And now this again. After I woke up from my coma, my father didn’t start his propaganda against Bowen right away. But he may as well have. Over the course of the next year after the accident, Dad would try to poison my mind and my heart against him. Calling him irresponsible, a degenerate, reckless, and dangerous. Any chance he could, my father would remind me that Bowen abandoned me in the hospital, and until Penelope set me straight, he even tried to convince me that Bowen left me on that road without calling for help.

  I know that where my father was concerned, there were still inconsistencies with what really happened the night of the accident and following it. But who knew he’d still be wielding his torch of hate all these years later.

  “Oh, he lost a baseball career that would probably have flamed out anyway. You were always too good for him, Lily, and that was demonstrated in the fact that even when he left you in the hospital, when he wouldn’t return your letters or calls, you still forgave him. I don’t see why you would be seeking affection from that scared little boy again.”

  He says all of this in a jovial way, as if his point is the most accurate and most obvious.

  Mom’s eyes narrow in his direction, but he just tucks into his plate of leftovers and begins to check his phone. “Eric, what has gotten into you? The girl hasn’t laid eyes on a man in over ten years, don’t you think there is a reason for that? This is a good thing.”

  They’re speaking about me as if I’m not here, and suddenly, I’m seven again. No, not again. I’ve always been this obedient, insignificant thing that they can place in one spot and demand it do things. Smile, don’t speak unless spoken to, be home by curfew, no elbows on the table, dance with this advisor, don’t date this boy, stay at home instead of moving out.

  All of it rushes at me at once, and I fly out of my seat. Before I know what’s happening, my finger is in my father’s face.

  “How dare you! Talking about Bowen in that way … it’s slanderous. He is a good man.”

  I can’t seem to summon all the words I would use to describe Bowen’s goodness, because there are simply too many. And something tells me they’d be lost on my father.

  He blinks up at me, his eyes actually resembling the father’s I once knew. “Sweetheart, I’m simply trying to protect you. The Nash boys … they seem to find themselves in trouble. First with your car accident, and that younger one with those meth dealers. The other one is in trouble with the law for hacking or coding or whatever it is. I simply don’t want you getting mixed up in these thi
ngs. You’re too wonderful of a woman to give anything else to that riffraff.”

  My mouth hangs open. “I … I don’t even know what to say to that, other than you’re wrong. And when I do eventually bring him over here for dinner, at Mom’s request, I won’t tell him all the horrible things you’ve said about him! He doesn’t deserve to know the lies you’ve told me about him.”

  My father just scrolls through his phone, not bothering to look up as he sneers. “Don’t bother, it won’t last long enough for your mother to cook him a meal.”

  The chair scrapes the tile as I thrust it backward, and I’m in my car pulling out of the driveway before the tears even dare to form.

  27

  Lily

  Lily: I’m almost done here, just have to write up my assessment of the fourth-grade project I was helping the elementary school with. Want to grab dinner?

  I send the text in hopes that Bowen will say sure, and suggest Carlucci’s, the only Italian restaurant in Fawn Hill. I’ve been stewing for days over what Penelope and Presley said about laying down the law with him when it comes to our relationship and where it’s going. And ever since my father lit the match, I’ve begun to burn with the tension this issue is causing in my mind and heart.

  If we’re together, we should be together. No more not talking about what we’re doing … because we’ve been doing that all summer. And now summer is over. No more only seeing each other behind the closed doors of our homes. I want to be wooed; I want to date Bowen. As shallow and stupid as it sounds, I want to be seen about town with him. If not to quiet the rumors of our breakup so many years ago, then to show off how much I love him.

  Bowen: Sorry, late customer here at the shop. Then need to head home. Maybe you can come over later?

  And there it is again. This is the third time I’ve asked to go out for a meal, twice for dinner and once for brunch, that he’s turned me down. Now it’s becoming a pattern. And the fact that he turned it into me coming over to his place later … it makes me feel cheap and hidden. Like a booty call or a woman he is ashamed of being seen with in public.

  Lily: No, if I go home, I’m in for the night. Guess I’ll see you another time.

  My response is a little bit petulant, but a whole lot honest. I mean it; if he doesn’t want to share a public meal together, then I’m not driving over to his house after ten p.m. to take off my clothes and sleep in his bed. My friends are right … I’m not going to settle for being a good-time girl when Bowen had never treated me that way before. Just because we’re adults now, and the way we define relationships might be murkier in this day and age, doesn’t mean I’m going to agree to something I don’t want.

  Because what do I want? I want love and commitment, eventually marriage and a family. I want those things with Bowen, and we’ve fought through hell and back to even stand in the same room together let alone sleep together. It would be a shame if our generation’s ridiculous dating pitfalls were the thing that ended us for good, but I’m willing to let them if he isn’t willing to commit.

  Bowen: Sorry, baby. Working late. And I just want you to myself.

  Lily: Those are bogus excuses. We both know it. I want to go out to eat with you. If you don’t want to do that, then I have no problem going home alone.

  He hit me with the baby … probably as a cover-up tactic because he knows how much it melts me. But I’m not falling for it.

  Texting always makes it easier to say how we truly feel because you’re not standing right in front of that person. You’re venting all of your frustrations at a screen, writing them out instead of having to articulate them in real time. It’s both a pro and a con, because I know that I say things I wouldn’t be bold enough to say to Bowen in person. But it also can’t be read in the tone of voice I mean it in, so he is probably fuming at my attitude on the other end of the messages.

  When I don’t see a response for a few minutes, I put my phone down with a sigh. My hopes were up, and now they’re dashed. I have that awful, rejected woman feeling in my stomach that can only be cured with a sleeve of Oreos and some caramel ice cream.

  The last couple of studiers and readers shift their books around on their individual tables. The library closes at eight p.m. every weeknight, and it’s almost seven thirty, so in about twenty minutes I get to ring the last call bell. While I love my job, those chimes always sound like freedom. I’m the sole full-time employee in my building, with a few part-timers that come and go during the week. But I open in the morning and lock up at night. I am responsible for its management, every project we partner with the schools on, every reading circle and book club … all of it. When eight p.m. comes around, I’m exhausted and drained … and just ready to snuggle under my covers with my latest read.

  I put away the cart full of books that have been returned throughout the day. An encyclopedia in the research section, a couple of British history anthologies, several children’s books and a random assortment of fiction.

  By the time I make my way to the front, only two people are left sitting at tables, and it’s almost time to ring the bell.

  “Oh, I hope I didn’t catch you on your way out. I need to check out a book.”

  A deep voice comes from the entryway to the library where the double doors still stand open. I recognize it, and immediately, my heart beats double time.

  “What are you doing here?” I turn, Bowen’s large, muscular frame coming into view.

  He moves with grace and strength, my eyes combing his body from toes to hair as he comes to a stop in front of the big round help desk I stand behind. The dark stubble on his chin is shorter than it was when I saw him two days ago, and his ocean-colored eyes dance with amusement.

  “I told you, I need to check out a book.” The charming, crooked smile he’s flashing at me holds hints of apologies.

  My guard comes up, remembering that he’s the one who just blew me off for dinner. “Thought you were busy.”

  “I wanted to come see my girl at work. Let it be known that I love books just as much as she does.” He waggles his eyebrows and then winks.

  Then it dawns on my slow, overtired brain. He came here tonight to show up for me. There may only be two people left in this library besides us, but technically, it’s still public. Those two people see that Bowen Nash came to flirt with Lily Grantham at the library checkout desk … they’re here to witness it. Bowen is making an effort, because he could sense how upset I was about him shooting me down for dinner.

  “Thank you for coming.” I nod, trying to mask the emotion I feel from his gesture.

  Bowen sighs, reaching for my hand. He lifts it to his lips, and doesn’t kiss it, but simply rubs his mouth across my skin. The flesh he nuzzles simmers with heat that then travels all the way up my arm and suffuses my entire body.

  “Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blow you off, or make it seem like I don’t want to take you out.” His fingers lace through mine as our hands lay together on the counter.

  He’s laying that charm on thick, and I see a glimpse of that boy I fell in love with. The one who saw something he wanted and went after it with brutal beguilement. Bowen is captivating, enchanting in this state, and it’s hard to stay mad at him.

  I purse my lips, trying to keep up the charade of my attitude. “I guess I can let you off the hook this time. But only because you came all the way across town to visit me at work.”

  As if that’s really a trek. It’s only about five minutes from his barbershop to the library, but I suppose he did close up quickly to come over here and apologize.

  “You’re too good to me. How much longer you got?” He taps his fingers on the counter, and I fixate on his thick, callused fingers. Gosh, I need to keep it together, there are still people in here. Maybe this is why we don’t go out in public … I have ten years of unanswered lust to catch up on.

  Glancing at the clock, I realize it’s five minutes past when I was supposed to ring the last call bell. Without answering him, I hit the silver ci
rcle on top of the old-fashioned alert system on the counter and announce to the two patrons that it is seven fifty-five and we’ll be closing in five minutes. They look up, pulled from their thoughts, and both begin to pack their bags and/or fold their laptops and store them away. The college-aged girl brings the three textbooks she was using up to the counter, and I smile and nod a thank you. The boy, who can’t be much older than a freshman in high school, leaves his two books on the table before walking out.

  I roll my eyes because someone needs to teach that boy manners but I’m too drained for it tonight and go to collect those last two books. As Bowen roams the library, I go through the lockup procedures. Unlock the mechanisms that hold the entry doors open, close and lock from the inside. Shut down all the computers and turn off the lights from the back of the stacks to the front. Send the report of all the checked out books and overdue ones to the server and back it up before turning off my office computer for the night. Grab my coat and bag, lock my office, and then head out the employee entrance.

  However, there is still a gorgeous man roving my library, and so I go in search of him.

  I find him in one of the darkened stacks toward the middle of the room.

  “You know, I probably haven’t stepped foot in here since the research project I had to do at the beginning of senior year.” Bowen has a book whose title I can’t make out in his hand.

  I set my coat and bag down on a table and join him in the shelves. “Is that because you were avoiding my turf, or reading in general?”