She smiled at his biting sarcasm, sipping her tea. “Do you go to AA meetings now?”
“Yeah. Three times a week, at least until I’ve been sober a year.”
“Do you have a sponsor?”
“Yeah. Why all the questions? Curious about alcoholism?”
“Curious to know how a man who’s been cruel his whole life begins to change.”
Respect gleamed from his green eyes, and a laugh ripped from his throat. “Always liked you. Had spunk, and never shied away from protecting Kyle.”
“I had to,” she said quietly. “He had no one else to protect him.”
He winced, and they fell into silence.
She cursed herself for bringing up bad memories, but they were hard to forget—even when she was sipping tea in his house and had brought him breakfast.
Maybe this was a mistake. It felt like a betrayal to Kyle.
“I should probably go,” she said, pushing up from the table.
“No!”
She stared in surprise.
“I mean, there’s no need for you to go yet. And I’m not trying to defend myself or get smart with you. Old habits die hard, you know?”
She slowly sat back and offered a smile. “Yeah, I know.”
They sipped their tea for a while in silence. Then he spoke. “My sponsor checks in daily. Rehab forced me to see things in myself I’d been hiding for a long time. The ugliness of hating yourself eventually takes a toll on a man. It was easy to know why I drank. It was hard to stop, because I knew I had nothing left to hide behind.”
“Catherine?” The name of Kyle’s mother rolled off her tongue. She’d encouraged Kyle to never be afraid to say her name even though his father had tried to bury her memory.
“Yeah. It’s a long story.”
“Seems like besides tea with the Queen, you got a lot of time to tell me.”
He laughed again, rubbing the top of his head in the same familiar gesture his son used. “Maybe one day. There’s definitely more hours in the day when you’re sober. I’ve binge-watched series on Netflix, drank endless cups of coffee, and started to read. Even got myself to church one morning.”
“Did an earthquake strike when you walked in?” she teased.
“Nah, it was not that big of a deal. The priest prattled on, but I liked the dark and the quiet. I liked the peace.” He paused, crumbling up the empty bag of food he’d finished, then lifted his gaze. “How’s Kyle?”
“Good. He’s working on his new screenplay.”
“I saw him on the red carpet once, on television. It was for that big action flick, Last Man Down. It was good.”
“He was always a talented writer.”
“Yeah, had his nose in a book or scribbled in journals since he was young. Reminded me of his mother. She liked to write.”
Her mouth fell open. “Catherine wrote?”
“Yeah, poetry. She loved to read and write poetry. That was her other love, besides horses.”
“Did you ever tell Kyle he was like his mother?”
“No. It was something that made me resent him so much.” The admission came out raw but truthful.
She thought about Catherine writing poems and stories, like her son. Thought about how the alcohol twisted Patrick’s memories; instead of being proud, he only ended up destroying a gift that could have brought joy and healing. She pushed the sad thought aside.
“We’re going horseback riding later,” she said.
Pain flickered over his features. “Do you still have his horse? Lucy?”
“She died a few years back,” she said softly.
“I threatened to shoot her, you know. Her leg was lame. God, how Kyle loved that horse. And I used it against him.”
“I remember. He came to see me and asked Mom to take her in. Kyle spent every spare moment nursing her back to health until she was able to walk again.” She struggled for the next words. “Why did you want to hurt him so badly?”
He ducked his head. “Don’t know. Of all the terrible things I’ve done to him, that’s the scene that replays over and over in my mind. It’s on repeat. It’s my own personal torture of regret.” He seemed hesitant about giving her more, so she was surprised when he continued. “It was my anniversary. The day we had gotten married had been so hopeful. I woke up that morning and swore not to drink. Swore I was going to be clean that day—for her. For Kyle. Instead, I barely got through three hours before the shakes started and I fell back into the bottle. I hated myself. Couldn’t stand to look in the mirror because I made myself sick. I took out all that bad stuff on my son. When I heard about Lucy being lame, a switch flicked inside. It was as if the whole thing was another reminder of everything I’d lost.” Anguish radiated from his figure.
Ophelia studied his frail frame.
He’d lost so much in pursuit of the bottle. Though his actions had been cruel, she realized he was a tortured soul.
Sympathy flickered.
“Lucy was well loved at my mom’s.”
“Your mom was good to Kyle. Tried with me, too, but I was too far gone to save. You still in love with my son?”
She jerked. Tea slapped over the side of the mug and splashed on her hand. “What kind of question is that?”
He shrugged. “Just a question. You ran off together, then you came back alone. Always wondered what happened.”
“Things didn’t work out. We were young. Had no idea what we were doing.”
“Sounds like me and Catherine.” A faint smile ghosted his lips, and she didn’t spot the usual bitterness. “Fell in love with her the moment I saw her. Told her I was going to marry her right then and there. All these years, all these regrets and what-ifs that drove me to drink . . . once I really examined everything, I realized nothing could have changed. I’m grateful for the time I had with her. And I’m grateful Catherine was strong enough for both of us to save our son.”
“Kyle doesn’t believe that. He thinks you hate him.”
Patrick gazed at his clasped hands on the table, trembling slightly. “Don’t blame him. I was mean. I wanted to hurt my own son. Never gonna be forgiven for that—by myself, or you, or Kyle, or God. Don’t expect it. But I’d do anything to make him see it wasn’t his fault his father was an asshole who wanted to destroy everything good around him.”
Her heart ached. So many lost opportunities and broken hopes.
“Maybe you can talk to him. Ask him to come see me. Just once. I’d like to give him something important.”
She closed her eyes, torn between her loyalty to Kyle and the driving instinct to try and heal the rift between father and son. His quest for fame and success sprouted from Patrick’s consistent cutting remarks that Kyle wasn’t good enough for anything. To finally hear his father’s apology and truth could heal something he didn’t even know was broken.
“I’ll talk to him,” she finally said. “I’ll try.”
“That’s all I want. Just for you to try.”
She nodded. “Now I really better go. I’ll check on you later in the week.”
“No need. I’m better now.”
“I will anyway.”
She said goodbye and drove back to the inn, thinking about Kyle and Catherine and Patrick and how love could get so tangled and lost along the way. Wrong choices and terrible mistakes had been made.
After speaking with Patrick, she wondered if there could really be second chances—if one was strong enough to forgive. To try again. To take a leap and risk her heart again.
She was beginning to see a bigger picture. Kyle had hurt her, but he’d craved success and acceptance after so many years of Patrick telling him he was nothing. He’d been young and desperate, and lost his way.
But he was here now, fighting to show her he’d changed.
If Kyle could eventually communicate with his father, knowing how he’d changed, could she also give Kyle that type of chance? To start believing they could have a future together and heal all those scars of the past?
&
nbsp; The questions whirled in her mind for a very long time.
Chapter Seventeen
Kyle stroked the horse’s head and murmured nonsense in a low, soothing voice. Little Foot—another one of Harper’s rescues—had a playful personality and liked to butt him off center, then pull back his lips in a snicker. Kyle had chosen him immediately, knowing the horse would be fun to ride. He’d picked out Flower, the pretty gray filly who had spunk, for Ophelia. He’d already brushed and saddled them up, but Ophelia was running late.
He wondered if she’d even show.
“Doing some riding today?”
He turned to see Harper enter the barn. She was dressed in her usual jeans and boots, a black knit cap pulled over her head. Her red jacket was the only flash of color. The horses immediately began to fidget to fight for her attention and her affectionate smile. As she went down the line saying hello to each, he was reminded of how special Ophelia’s sister was.
“Yeah, we both need some fresh air. Occupational hazard.”
She nodded, stroking Little Foot’s nose and patting Flower on the rear. “Did you do any riding in California?”
“Not that much. Most of my friends in the business weren’t the horse type.”
“You must’ve missed it. You grew up taking care of them. You saved Lucy single-handedly. She was finally able to walk again because you believed in her.”
His throat tightened at the memory of his beloved horse—and his father’s cruel actions. “I hated leaving her, but I know you and your mom took good care of her.”
“We did. She was family because you were.” She tilted her chin, her gaze direct. “Ophelia told me the truth. About your marriage. The big breakup. That you’re not divorced.”
Shock barreled through him. He prepped himself for accusations and a billion questions, but Harper just kept her silence, as if waiting for him to take the lead.
“Wow, I didn’t expect her to tell you. She’s been so determined to keep it a secret, but I’m glad you know. I wish I could just tell Ethan and deal with the fallout.”
“Yeah, Ethan’s a bit on the protective side. Testosterone, I guess, plus the best-friend’s-little-sister thing. You still love her?”
Kyle rubbed his head and laughed. God, Harp was a piece of work. Never afraid to ask whatever was on her mind, and she refused to apologize for anything.
But he didn’t even think of denying her the truth. “Yeah, I still love her.”
She nodded. “I could tell last night. It was like an explosion of chemistry, the way you looked at her.”
“That obvious, huh?”
“What are you going to do about it?”
He blinked. “I’m going to convince her to give us a second chance.”
She didn’t look too impressed. “What’s changed from before? You still going to leave at the end of winter? Head back to Tinseltown to make big-time movies? I get it—it’s your job—but you know that’s not the type of life Ophelia can live.”
He shifted his weight. “Yes, but I’m coming back. And maybe she can come out to California for a little while and hire an assistant for the inn. If we want to be together, we can make it work. Look at Mia and Ethan.”
“They made some hard compromises.” She nodded, then tilted her head and studied him. “Why is Ophelia so wary of trusting you again?”
His temper flared.
Harper certainly didn’t seem like she believed that the power of true love could conquer all.
He dug deep and tried to be brutally honest. “I wasn’t there for her. Got too wrapped up in my career. Too focused on her being a successful singer to see it wasn’t making her happy. It’s my job to make sure she knows I’ve changed.” He paused, considering her guarded expression. “Why? You don’t think we’re good together?”
She surprised him by smiling. “I think you were meant to be soul mates. All these years, it was as if she was just waiting for you to come back. But I don’t want to see my sister get hurt again.”
“She won’t.”
She narrowed her gaze thoughtfully. “She changed, you know. When she got home. It was as if a light had gone out in her. She stopped singing. Became quieter, more Zenlike.”
Pain tore through him. He hated the idea of how much he’d hurt her.
“After some time, she seemed happy again. Different, but happy. Then I saw you two together at the family dinner, and I realized her light was back—the old Ophelia, who was always so full of life. You bring that out in her. But if you mess it up again, I’m worried she won’t recover.” She studied him with a probing gaze. “Make sure you listen to her. It’s the only way to figure out what you both need and how to make her happy.”
The words both puzzled and intrigued him as they floated in the spaces of his mind between memory and the story he was penning.
He’d been wrong about how badly Ophelia had wanted a singing career. What else had he misjudged about her?
Harper was right. This time, he needed to listen and make sure he gave Ophelia what she needed.
On cue, she rushed into the barn, her face pleasantly flushed. “Sorry, I got sidelined,” she said. “Hi, Harp. You riding with us?”
Her sister shook her head and spun on her bootheel. “No, you guys enjoy the ride. I’ve got a bunch of stuff to do in the barns.”
“Okay. But you’re still coming to dinner tonight, right?”
“Of course,” she called out. “Especially if Kyle is helping you cook again. See ya later.”
Ophelia shook her head and laughed. “Guess you’ll be helping me again in the kitchen.”
He dropped his voice to an intimate pitch. “Good. We make a great team.”
Her cheeks reddened, and she focused on the horses. “All saddled up?”
“Yep, all set.” His gaze took in her snug jeans, flannel shirt, short puffy blue jacket, and high riding boots. She’d pulled a knit hat low over her ears, allowing some wild curls to escape. A pair of tortoiseshell sunglasses perched on her pert nose.
She looked adorable.
“Oh good, Little Foot is getting fat. Harper wanted him to get more exercise.”
At the sound of his name, the brown horse bumped Kyle again, then gave a snort. Kyle grinned. “Yeah, this one’s a comedian. I was dying to try out Phoenix, but Ethan said he wasn’t ready for strangers to ride him yet.”
“Phoenix has come a long way, but I think he was really abused. Poor thing. Ethan and Harper have done amazing things with him. He’s got a resilient spirit.”
A cloud of worry passed over her face. She chewed on her lower lip, as if in deep thought. He wanted to ask what was on her mind but decided not to press. They’d have plenty of time to talk on their walk.
“Let’s go.”
They mounted the horses, grabbed the bridles, and headed toward the side path through the woods. It was mostly flat and relatively clear—like the valley trails the tourists preferred for the spectacular views.
The squeak of the saddles and clump of hooves drifted to his ears. The air was cold but clear, with no wind to steal his breath. His hips rocked gently back and forth, and he stretched his legs in the stirrups, relaxing into position as he had since he was young. He took the lead, guiding Little Foot toward the left on the widening path so Ophelia could flank him.
“Kyle, I have to tell you something. You may get upset.”
Dread coiled in his stomach.
She’d changed her mind. She had made a terrible mistake, didn’t want him in her bed, and wanted the divorce now.
He tried to remain calm. “You can talk to me about anything, baby. Just tell me.”
“I went to see your dad.”
It took him a while to process her statement.
He was so fucking relieved she wasn’t rejecting him, he didn’t know how to respond to her confession. His father?
She hated him as much as Kyle did.
“Why?”
Her breath released into the silence. “Last week, I was dr
iving back from town when I noticed an ambulance at his house. I stopped to check on him.”
He didn’t like the sudden prickle of worry that skated through him. He’d had nothing to do with his father since he’d left. “Did he go to the hospital?” he asked.
“No, he refused to go in the ambulance, but he was pretty sick. He also told me he’d had a heart attack a while ago, so I’ve been worried. I ended up making him soup and bringing him groceries later in the week.”
He’d had a heart attack?
A mess of emotions began a riot in his gut. He hated thinking about his father and everything that had happened between them. He’d learned long ago to get past the hatred and resentment, but now there was just an empty void that had taken its place.
“Were those the only times you saw him?”
“No, I went again today. To check up on him. Bring him food. He’s all alone in that big farmhouse, with no one to talk to. I know he speaks to his sponsors and goes to AA meetings, but the town wrote him off a long time ago, and he doesn’t seem to be trying to socialize.”
“Do you blame them? Do you blame me?” he asked tightly.
“Of course I don’t blame you! But he’s changed, Kyle. He’s talking openly about how he treated you, and how sorry he is. He’s been sober almost a year. I’m not making excuses for him or his past behavior. Neither is he. But he wants to talk to you. I think he needs to tell you some important things face-to-face.”
Pain crashed through him. His hands fisted around the reins.
How long had he ached for his father to acknowledge him? To apologize? To explain the shitty way he’d acted was one big mistake that he regretted?
For as long as he could remember—until Kyle realized it was something that would never happen in his lifetime, so he had accepted it and moved on.
Now he wanted to talk.
Rage replaced the pain. His voice felt as stripped and stark as the trees bending slightly in the wind. “No, Ophelia. I’m not going to talk to him. Too much time has passed. Nothing he says will change a thing.”
“I understand. He asked me to ask, though.”
They walked for long moments in silence. He struggled to move past the conversation but felt stuck.
A Brand New Ending (Stay Book 2) Page 19
