Reckless Deceptions

by Karen Rock

  Ryan shook his head since he didn’t trust his voice.

  “We’ll be back in a little bit.” His mother withdrew her hand. “Erica. How about you, sweetheart?”

  “I’m fine, ma’am.” A hint of Erica’s citrus scent announced her approach before her arm slid around his waist. “How’re you doing?”

  He shrugged. Tears burned the back of his throat.

  “Does the hospice nurse think he’ll regain consciousness again before…before…?”

  The crushing pressure on Ryan’s heart intensified. “I don’t know.”

  “I bet he can still hear you.”

  Ryan didn’t answer, his world consumed by his father’s immobile features, his slack mouth. Was he still in there?

  Erica released him, dragged a chair beside the bed, and pushed Ryan into it. “Talk to him.”

  “There’s nothing to say. It’s over.”

  “The hell it is.” She gripped his shoulder. “He’s still here and so are you. Say everything you’ve ever wanted to say to him. Don’t lose this moment; you’ll never get it back.”

  Her words shredded his resistance. Erica was right. She’d cautioned him to live in the now, even if the now was a fireball of pain.

  “Okay.”

  Ryan’s phone chirped to life, and Erica snagged it from his hand. “It’s the deputy.” Her shadowed blue eyes rose from the screen, a plea in them. “Let me take this, Ryan. Stay with your father.”

  He nodded and watched her disappear outside. The den’s pocket door slid shut with a click, sealing him in this emotionless vault, alone with a man he’d always disappointed. On the other side of the hospital bed, he spied the James Michener books, one for every Father’s Day they’d marked with other people’s words rather than their own.

  How little had changed. He still didn’t know what to say…what his father would even want to hear.

  On the night of the honor ceremony, Erica had said he determined the relationship he had with his father. Him. He turned the thought over. So what if the relationship was one-sided? If he was the only one who cared? It wasn’t about his father, but about Ryan and what he wanted, what he needed from his dad, even on the last stroke of midnight.

  The room was a little blurry through the haze of his unshed tears. He leaned forward and held his father’s limp, cool hand, noting the purple discoloration pooling in his fingertips with alarm. “Dad. It’s Ryan. I don’t know if you can hear me, and maybe, maybe—” His voice cracked. “And maybe it’s better if you don’t, since you probably won’t like what I’m going to say.”

  He cleared his tight throat. “I know you were only trying to do your best by us, raise us to be responsible…honorable men, but… I just wanted a father who was proud of me, who loved me…. You said a soft heart made a man weak, but dealing with your emotions, the good and the bad, makes you strong. So I’m here. Facing them. Facing you. Telling you that even though there were times I thought I despised you.” He peered at his father’s motionless eyelids and choked up.

  “And even though you never acknowledged you were wrong, you’ll always be my dad and…I forgive you.” His voice hitched. How foreign those last words tasted. Rich yet light as air. Like speaking sunshine. The truth. He needed to let go of his anger at his father, his regrets.

  Ryan scrutinized his father for any sign he’d heard him. A moment passed. Then another. And then, with an almost imperceptible squeeze, his father gripped his hand. “P-p-p-p,” his father vocalized.

  Ryan leaned closer, the din of his rapid-fire heart making it hard to hear. “What is it?”

  His father’s lashes lifted slightly, and his eyes slid sideways to the center of the room. Following his gaze, Ryan spied the piano. It gleamed in a pool of sunlight slanting through the half-drawn curtains.

  “Do you want me to play?”

  A breathy sound, ending in an s, indicated, incredibly, that he did. Memories of the humiliating night of his beating, when he’d stopped being a piano prodigy and became a man, slammed into Ryan’s heart. A punch to the solar plexus. It winded him. He opened his mouth to object, but his father’s finger twitched, pointing slightly as he wheezed with the exertion. Once again, his father requested a performance. Humiliation mingled with soul-deep hurt, certain that, like before, everything he’d known would leave his head.

  Still. He had to try.

  When words fail, music speaks….

  “Yes, sir.” Ryan’s feet carried him to the bench, and he sat. His fingers trembled as he lifted the cover. Perfectly tuned notes cascaded in the air, a silvery tinkle, as he skimmed the black and white keys. The sound carried him back to his childhood, to the one place where he’d been able to express himself, and without any conscious decision, he found himself playing the opening notes to Brahms’s op. 49, no. 4, “Lullaby.”

  It was a simple melody, lilting, soothing, and in his ear he heard his father’s bass humming it to him when he’d been a little boy, afraid of the dark and unable to sleep. Funny how he’d forgotten it, the good memory buried under the weight of the bad. Eyes burning, Ryan dropped his left hand to the keyboard, adding in chords. The opus grew richer, more complex, layered with emotion: longing, acceptance, love, peace. The close of a day, a life’s end, bittersweet.

  When his fingers ran out of notes, Ryan glanced up and spied his father staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Ryan’s breath caught around a sob. The pocket door banged open, and a short nurse wearing blue scrubs hustled inside, lifted his father’s wrist, and cocked her head.

  “Mr. Arnell? Mr. Arnell?” After a moment, she lowered his hand to his chest and placed the opposite one on top of it.

  “Is he gone?” Ryan joined her, peering at the chart where she scribbled, “TOD: One thirty-three p.m.”

  Time of death.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” the nurse responded crisply, her features pulled into an apology.

  Ryan’s heart dropped into his belly and his mouth opened, but there were no words. Instead, he stopped his watch. The glass facade reflected his anguished face. He never wanted to forget this moment. It hurt like hell, but he’d been present for it, and he had Erica to thank for not missing the one and only time he and his father had connected, when he’d finally played for him, played him to everlasting sleep.

  Erica rushed in, followed by his white-faced mother and brothers. When Mom’s knees buckled, he caught her and guided her into the chair. Drake muttered, “Oh shit,” and dashed from the room. Doug hung his head and mashed his eyes closed.

  “He’s gone.” His mom lowered her face to his father’s hand and pressed it to her cheek. “Oh my sweetheart,” she sobbed. “I should have been here.” Her streaming eyes rose to Ryan’s. “Was he conscious? Did he say anything?”

  The memory of the slight pressure of his father’s hand returned along with a stinging, knotted rush of emotions. Ryan’s eyes sought Erica’s. “He said he loved us.”

  Could he speak those words to Erica?

  If not, he’d lose her, too.

  Chapter 17

  “The funeral was beautiful.” Erica leaned in her bathroom’s doorway and peered at Ryan’s blurred shape behind her shower’s tempered glass. Water thrummed on his bent head. He pressed it against her ceramic tile walls, his shoulders bowed. Concern clutched her heart.

  In the four days since his father’s passing, Ryan had moved sluggishly and spoken rarely, as if sleep-walking through a nightmare. She’d given him his space, but dammit, she wanted him to share his grief. To vent it. He hadn’t even shed a tear. How he must be hurting, alone and struggling to express himself.

  “Khalid and Mahdi were discharged today,” she continued, raising her voice slightly. “They’re at the black site awaiting our interrogation.” She shifted her weight as she waited for Ryan’s response. Billowing steam flushed her face.

  “No word yet on w
here Fahad’s plane landed. His family’s concerned since his last transmission was shortly after take-off, over the gulf. Coast Guard’s searching but no signs of a debris field yet. Oh. And they released Greg Pullman today. There wasn’t enough to formally charge him. Without anyone to counter his story, it holds up. Guess we’ll know more once we question Mahdi and Al Monitor.”

  She paused, hoping for a response from Ryan. Again, silence reigned save for the gushing water. Sorrow raked jagged lines across her heart.

  In that moment, she understood the entire picture in all its scary, miserable mess at last. Ryan was as emotionally closed off as ever…his coping mechanism to withdraw on full display. Since they had become involved, she’d known Ryan was broken, but dumbass her, she’d fallen for him anyway.

  Twice.

  And now…

  Well, now she needed to know if he loved her. Surely, she hadn’t imagined the look in his eyes as they’d danced at the consulate party. Joy rushed through her like a summer storm at the memory, leaving her shaky and exhilarated. He was in love with her. She knew it in her gut. But she needed to hear it, too.

  He’d said he wanted to open up; he just needed a safe, secure place to let go and express himself. Growing up, he didn’t have that haven, and the CIA certainly didn’t foster any outpouring of feelings. He’d built a wall around his emotions, but lately…for her…he had built a gate, one that was still locked, one she held the key for…. But she…she had to make the first move, because right now, he was too raw to do it.

  Before she lost her nerve, she undressed, slid open the shower door, and ducked inside the steam-filled shower. She wrapped her arms around his lean waist and rested her cheek against his slick back. “Ryan, talk to me.”

  His muscles clenched against her. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I just need to know you’re in there.”

  He twisted around. Water plastered his dark hair to his head and streamed down his anguished face. “I’m here.”

  “What about here?” She pressed her hand against his slippery chest, right above his heart.

  His golden eyes shaded a deep amber. “I don’t know.”

  “You said you wanted to try opening up,” she said, “but you’re still avoiding the hard ones, Ryan. You’re still afraid of sharing your grief.”

  At first there was only surprise on his face, but it was pushed out quickly by anger.

  Clearly, she’d touched a nerve.

  She licked her lips, gathering courage, because she intended to keep on touching it. No way was she retreating.

  Tentatively, she slid her fingers up to stroke his hard jaw. “I was right about you from the beginning, Ryan. You need a wall to hide your emotions behind.”

  “Stop,” he said.

  She ignored him and forged on, compelling herself to speak, because otherwise, she would cry. “The taller, the thicker, the more impenetrable it is, the stronger you feel.”

  “This isn’t the best time,” Ryan grumbled, turning away.

  She ducked under his arm, not giving him quarter. “Except walls protect weakness; they don’t cure it. You can’t go your whole life hiding your emotional side and hating yourself for it.”

  “You have no idea,” he said harshly. “No fucking idea what you’re talking about. You know why I’m in here?”

  “I would if you’d start talking to me.”

  “I can’t even cry. This”—he sluiced the water streaming over his eyes—“is as close as I get.”

  Her heart contracted painfully. “You’ve always tried to be the man your father taught you to be. But he’s gone, Ryan. The only person you have to prove yourself to now is yourself.”

  And me.

  If you love me…

  “That’s why you don’t do serious relationships,” she continued. “It’s not because you have a dangerous job or because of distance. It’s about avoiding the chance you might feel something. Something that might hurt you, shame you for being ‘weak.’”

  He was standing still, his expression granite, water pearling off him like a fountain statue caught in the spray. She had no idea what he was thinking. All she could do was continue.

  “And not just avoidance, Ryan, but fear. You lost your brother. You lost your dad. Who else are you going to lose? What else will hurt you? And it’s scary—I get that.”

  Tears streamed down her face, and she brushed them away with her palms. “Being taught the world was out to harm me should have scared me, too, but it made me angry instead. I carried a chip on my shoulder until you showed me the only way to control my life was to control myself.”

  “Erica,” he said, his voice hoarse. He reached for her, but she wasn’t ready for him to touch her yet. She had to get this out. He had to hear all of it.

  “And here’s the scary, ironic part. I’m in love with you. Completely. And I know you love me, too. Maybe it’s too fast this time around. Maybe that makes it more frightening for you. But it’s real. And I’m petrified you’re going to push me away because it scares you.”

  She placed her hands on his shoulders, then pressed her wet body against his. “And you know what? If you do, I’m not going to fall apart. I’ll be hurt and angry as hell, but I’ll get through it. And I won’t regret falling for you, loving you. Not ever. Because it’s real.” She drew in a shaking breath. “Even if it is terrifying.”

  Her adrenaline rush faded, and doubt seeped in. She’d just gone off on him on the day he’d buried his father—a horrible, insensitive, shitty thing to do. But if he couldn’t feel anything today, of all days, then he was worse off than she imagined.

  “I told you we choose the relationships we have with other people. It’s up to them to meet us the rest of the way. On my end, what’s between us is a pretty fucking big love affair. Can you handle that?”

  She waited for him to answer, but he remained mute, water pouring, unchecked, down his face. She eased back to give him space, but he pulled her to him, then crushed her mouth in a bruising kiss.

  “Was that a goodbye kiss?” she asked when she caught her breath.

  “It’s an I need you kiss,” he said.

  “What about love?”

  “Erica, please don’t force this. My head is wrecked. I’ve got too much going on right now, and I can’t—can’t figure all this out. I want to—forget. Just for a minute. Stop the world and get off until the next go-round.”

  She opened her mouth to force the issue, then closed it at his tortured expression. He was right; her timing sucked. She’d own that. Maybe they both needed to hop off the planet and lose themselves in each other for a short while. She could give him that, even if he wouldn’t take her love…or return it. Not yet.

  Would he ever fully open up to her?

  Shoving aside her misgivings, she snagged the bath sponge, squirted vanilla body wash on it, and trailed it all over his body, the suds sliding along his hard muscles.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Making you forget.”

  The showerhead sprayed down, rinsing off the creamy soap. She traced the sudsy path, stroking him, her fingers trailing over the hard ridge of his shoulders, his abdomen. Her tongue followed, savoring the salty-sweet taste of his hot skin—tasting, licking, exploring. He moaned when she sank to her knees and her lips brushed the tip of his erection.

  With one hand on his muscled thigh and the other on his cock, she swiped her tongue over the head, then lowered her face.

  “You make me feel….” He gathered her long hair in his hand and pulled it away from her face as her tongue glided over the crown and down his shaft. “Oh Christ, Erica.”

  “What?” She peered past his chiseled abs, over his defined chest to his gorgeous face. His head was leaning back against the tile wall, his eyes glazed and half-closed, lips parted as he lost himself in her. Nothing turned
her on more than watching him at her mercy, enjoying her touch.

  “Everything,” he groaned.

  He looked absolutely, insanely hot. She swirled her tongue over the head of his cock and took it back into her mouth again, deeper this time. Ryan groaned with a sound that could be pleasure or pain or maybe a little of both. His eyes flew all the way open and met hers. His hand tightened at the back of her head, and his hips thrust up.

  “That feels so good, sweetheart.”

  His words made her insides quiver. She wrapped her fingers around his width like a fist and slid her hand up and down his length in unison with her mouth, caressing him with her tongue, coaxing him to the edge of ecstasy.

  His body was stone. He was growing impossibly hard, his breathing more ragged, his shaft swelling in her mouth. It was exhilarating, having him pulsing on her tongue.

  “Don’t make me come,” he whispered. “Not yet. I want to be inside you.” He lifted her up, and as soon as her lips met his, it was as if lightning had struck. The kiss was chaotic. Fiery. Electrical.

  It was deep and raw and so incredibly wild.

  A prelude to something even hotter. And she was done with preliminaries. “Then what’s stopping you? On with it, soldier,” she challenged.

  He remained mute as he turned off the water, but she spied the glint in his eyes. Once he opened the shower door and pulled her outside, he hauled her up and over his shoulder.

  “Ryan!” she squealed, surprised and exhilarated.

  “Hush,” he said lightly as he carried her into the bedroom. “I’m a man on a mission, remember? I believe you requested no further delays?”

  “Glad to know you can follow orders,” she gasped once he set her on her feet, facing her bed. Dripping water dappled her sheets.

  “Yes, ma’am.” His large hands came around her from behind, one teasing her breasts while the other stroked low along her belly. She moaned, loving and yet hating the sweet torture. She wriggled against his hardness and threw back her head while he trailed kisses to the underside of her neck, nuzzling and nibbling.