by Addison Cole
Tony pushed himself up on one elbow. “I think it’s a good idea.”
“You do?” She felt her eyes bloom wide and tried to rein in her hope that this might bring him some relief from the hurt he tried so hard to hide. He was good at putting on a brave face. Amy hadn’t realized how good until she’d allowed herself to revisit the memories of that tragic summer again. Now she understood the strength it had taken for him to not only walk away from her that night at her dorm but to keep from pushing her away all these years.
“If you don’t have any plans, maybe we could drive out to Rhode Island together to visit his grave.”
“Tony, I would love that.” She could hardly believe they’d come this far. “I’ve decided not to talk to my father about that summer. I think it’s time I have a different talk with him. It’s time for me to cut his umbilical cord. I’m going to clear the air with him, but about how he hovers over me, not about you and me. What we do is private.”
“Are you sure you’re okay with that? He might not like it.”
“I’ve only remained under his thumb out of guilt. I don’t feel guilty about my mom leaving anymore. I never should have. It wasn’t my place, but I was never strong enough to draw that line. As we’ve come back together, I realized that it’s time.” She squeezed his hand, knowing it was the right thing to do.
“I support you any way you want to handle it. Just let me know what I can do to help.” He kissed her softly. “Will you consider doing one more thing for me?”
“Anything.”
He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a long, warm kiss to it; then he gazed into her eyes. She wanted to lie right there for hours. Just like that, staring into his deep blue eyes and wondering what he wanted. She loved the not knowing, and the anticipation of readily agreeing to whatever it might be. She loved pleasing him. She loved seeing the relief and love in his eyes when they found each other after a few hours apart and the way his arms engulfed her, making her feel safe and warm.
“Anything,” she whispered again.
“Let’s put the past where it belongs and really move forward.”
“I want that.”
He stared at her for a long moment with loving eyes and spoke just above a whisper. “Surf with me again.”
There were a million things that Amy was ready to agree to. This wasn’t anywhere near the list.
Chapter Seventeen
MONDAY MORNING HEAT beat down on Tony’s back and rose from the pavement, burning from all angles as he ran toward the bay. He’d gotten up early to try to get his head around visiting his father’s grave. He hadn’t been to the cemetery since the year after his father died, when he’d visited with his mother on the anniversary of his father’s death.
My father’s death.
He pushed himself harder and kicked up his speed with the thought. ALS. Tony had Googled the disease last night, and by the time he’d finished reading, he felt like he could barely move. Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis. The fatal disease was also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease. He couldn’t fathom what must have gone through his father’s mind after being diagnosed with such a vicious disease. His father had taught him to bike, to fish, to lift weights. His father had taught him to surf when he was six years old. Tony smiled at the memory as the bay came into view and sea air filled his lungs.
His father was a casual surfer. He had tried so hard to get Tony to go slow, take surfing one step at a time, but Tony would have no part of it. From the second the board was in his hands, he was a shark and the waves were his prey. He had to have them, to master them. To rule them. No one ruled waves. Tony knew that, but that didn’t stop the six-year-old boy from trying—and failing—so many times that his father begged him to stop and try another day. They’d stayed in the water until Tony’s entire body was numb and until he’d caught so many waves and swallowed so much sea water that it became part of who he was.
His father had been agile and strong, even if more academic in nature. He was tall and broad, with a flat stomach and a sharp mind. Tony ran down the beach trying to reconcile the image of his father then with the image he’d allowed to take over his memories. The soft-bellied man with a sharp temper, harsh nature…and ALS.
Tony pounded out step after step on the uneven sand as he thought of what he’d read about the fatal neurological disease that his father had faced. His father had been staring at the end of his life in clear view, regardless of if it was a year or two or only months away. It had become too real for him. He’d known what lay ahead: gradual degeneration and death of motor neurons. Eventually his brain’s ability to control his voluntary muscle movements would have been lost completely.
Tony stewed on that thought as he ran another two miles and circled back toward Seaside. He couldn’t decide if his father was a coward or the bravest man he’d ever known. Was it cowardly to leave his family without so much as a goodbye? To allow himself to fall into a bottle to escape reality? Or was it brave to leave this world on his own terms?
Coward.
His father could have talked to him. He should have talked to him. How could he have thought it was a good idea that his son believe him to be a jerk at the end of his life rather than the man he’d always been? It was a selfish thing to do. Any way Tony looked at it, it seemed like the horrifically wrong thing to do.
He sprinted up the slight incline in the road that led back to the highway, breathing hard, sweat dripping from every inch of his body, knowing that no matter how hard he ran, he’d never outrun the voice in his head that told him his father had only done the best he could. The voice that insisted it was Tony who was selfish for wanting his father to have ended things differently. Had he been so into his career that anything his father said to him would have been met with his own disgruntled stubbornness? Were his father’s suggestions of getting a college degree as a backup plan that unreasonable?
It was the way he said it. Demeaning and demanding.
Was it?
He crossed Route 6 and ran into Seaside, slowing to a jog as he passed Bella’s cottage and walking after he passed Jenna’s. He listened for the girls’ voices and heard Amy’s laughter above the others. His lips curved up. What would his father have really thought of his relationship with Amy? He’d loved Amy like a daughter. He’d loved them all like they were his children.
As Tony passed the pool and Amy’s cottage came into view, he realized the enormity of how he’d twisted his thoughts over the years. How just eight short weeks had warped his view of the man his father had been. And he wondered how much of that convoluted view had impacted Amy’s desire to keep their relationship a secret that summer. Even if his father had known about them, it wouldn’t have changed the outcome of her pregnancy—but it might have changed her decision to send Tony away, despite her concerns about her own father.
Chapter Eighteen
THE DRIVE TO Rhode Island was solemn. Every time Amy stole a glance at Tony, his jaw was working itself over and his brows were knitted together, as if he were deep in thought. She’d tried to make small talk with a comment about the weather and asked about his morning run, but his one-word answers only solidified her thoughts. He needed mental space for what they were about to do, which left Amy with way too much time to mull over her own predicaments.
She was finally in the position she’d always dreamed of. She and Tony were a couple, and a happy one. She’d built a successful career and managed to remain sane while being so crazy in love with him over the years that she’d doodled Amy Black like a schoolgirl, complete with little hearts. There were other versions, too. Amy Maples Black, Mrs. Tony Black, Tony Black’s wife. If she didn’t know herself, she’d think she had stalker tendencies. But she did know herself, and she simply loved him. Every bit of him, quirks and all. And Tony did have quirks.
He pushed himself harder than any man she’d ever met. He held himself to standards that seemed impossible to achieve, and yet he always seemed to make them look easy. He put her on a ped
estal that she definitely did not deserve. That was a super-big quirk in her book. But she knew she couldn’t change the way he viewed her any more than he could convince her that he wasn’t the best and only man for her.
She gazed out the window as they turned off the highway and drove into town. She’d been to Tony’s hometown and to his parents’ home a few times when they were younger. Their parents had gotten together around the holidays, but around the time that Amy was nine or ten, they’d stopped making the trips. She never knew why and had never thought to ask. Now it no longer mattered.
Tony stopped at a red light and squeezed Amy’s hand.
“I’m glad you suggested this, and I’m glad you came with me.” The tension in his jaw eased, but his eyes were still shadowed with worry.
“Thanks. I hope it helps.” She took a deep breath, thinking of the decisions she still had to make, about her job and surfing with Tony. Could she do that? She hadn’t even thought of getting back on a surfboard since that horrible afternoon.
When the light changed, Tony turned his attention back to the road. His teeth clenched again, but his hand remained linked to Amy’s. He’d worn a gray O’Neill T-shirt and a pair of khaki hybrid shorts, shorts made to be worn in the water as a bathing suit or on land as regular shorts. His hair was a bit unruly, which Amy loved because it suited her man so well. My man. She loved thinking about him in those terms. He was not what she’d call tame. Sometimes it surprised her that she’d been so attracted to him. Not because he wasn’t more delicious than a triple-scoop ice-cream sundae, but because she was reserved and a little conservative and careful. She was plain vanilla and he was honey-jalapeno kitty-kitty bang-bang. And somehow they blended together with the perfect combination of sweet and spicy.
Sweet Heat. Leanna’s new flavor. Maybe it was kismet that Leanna came up with the new flavor at the same time that she and Tony reunited. Or maybe Amy was just distracting herself from thinking about the job she’d accepted, surfing again with Tony, and visiting his father’s grave.
TONY PARKED IN the lot nearest his father’s grave and cut the engine. He felt Amy’s eyes on him and was glad she wasn’t one of those pushy women who couldn’t stand silence. She seemed to know when he needed to be left alone to process his own thoughts and when to reach out. She was in tune with him in so many ways, like knowing he needed to do this when he hadn’t even realized it himself.
He squeezed her hand, then silently stepped from the car and opened her door. He crouched beside her and took her hand.
“I want you to know that I can’t think of another person I could do this with, or who I would want to do this with.”
She smiled and touched his cheek. He loved her gentle touch.
“Thank you. There are so many things from our past that feel huge, aren’t there? Like they’ve been looming over us forever?” Her hair fell in front of her eyes, and she tucked it behind her ear. “I’m glad we’re trying to deal with them.”
“Me too. I guess I never realized how present they still were.” He pulled her to her feet and held her close. “All this stuff we’re going through and trying to understand will only make us stronger.”
They walked hand in hand down the narrow concrete path toward his father’s grave. Tony’s hands began to sweat. He wiped them on his shorts and tried to ignore the way his throat constricted. They stopped at the edge of the path near a large oak tree casting a shadow over his father’s headstone.
Tony remembered the day of the funeral. It had rained that morning, and the ground had been wet when they’d gathered around the grave site beneath a blue awning. He’d sat beside his mother, both dressed in black, both trying to present a brave front. Tony hadn’t moved during the service. Not an inch. He’d hardly remembered to breathe, and then they’d lowered his father’s casket into the earth, and he’d felt a piece of himself go down with him. He’d reached for his mother’s hand, to keep himself grounded in reality. He remembered wishing Amy were sitting beside him instead of so far away and feeling conflicted for thinking about her during a time when he should have been focused on the loss of his father.
Amy stroked his arm, pulling him from the painful memories.
He took her hand, and together they crossed the lawn to his father’s headstone. He crouched in front of the rose-colored marble and waited for sorrow to swamp him. He felt Amy’s hand on his shoulder. He reached up and touched her slender fingers and waited some more. He drew in a deep breath, anticipating the weight of sadness or anger. For tears, the inability to breathe, or the urge to scream.
Nothing changed.
Nada.
Zilch.
Amy crouched beside him and placed her hand on his thigh. Her green eyes were full of compassion, and there he was feeling…normal.
“You okay?” she asked.
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He reached out and traced his father’s name on the headstone. Jack Black. His mouth quirked up in a smile.
“Jack Frigging Black.”
“Well, yeah. That was his name.”
Tony covered his mouth, not wanting to seem insincere in front of Amy as his mind linked his father to the comedic actor for the first time ever, but he was barely able to cover his smile. The whole situation suddenly seemed absurd. When a laugh bubbled from his lungs, he sank down to his butt and pulled his knees up, tried again to cover his mouth, and finally gave in to the laughter.
“What is so funny?” Amy sat down beside him.
“This. All of it.”
Amy’s eyes grew serious. “I don’t follow.”
“Amy, my dad was a great guy. I mean, he really was a great guy. He taught me everything I know.”
“Yeah, but that summer…”
“That summer he was a jerk, and I was probably a stubborn jackass who thought he was going to be the world’s best surfer. I didn’t care what he thought about my career choice.” He took Amy’s hand in his. “Amy, I was twenty. All I wanted was to spend time with you and surf. That was it. Anything else was an inconvenience.”
“Yeah, but why is that funny?”
“Because look at the whole situation. I was twenty years old and still spending the summer with my family. Who does that? Twenty-year-olds are out working internships or they’re spending summers drinking and hanging out with friends. And there I was, a young man, trying to live a sane summer in a three-bedroom cottage with my parents. Ridiculous.”
“But…”
“Do you know why I even went to the Cape that summer?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “I went because I knew you’d be there. I went because I thought I was a mini celebrity and you’d finally notice me. And then we hid our relationship—from everyone. My head was so messed up by all of it. It’s no wonder I wiped every memory I had of my father being this great guy from my mind. I blamed him for us keeping the relationship secret as much as I blamed your father. I was pissed and in love and I was twenty. You can’t live with your parents for eight weeks at that age. Not as a man. Twenty-year-old men are all testosterone and attitude. They have no business being under the same roof as their parents for more than three days, tops.”
Amy crossed her legs and folded her arms across her chest. “Well, I liked who you were, and I didn’t appreciate the things I heard him say to you.”
“That’s because you loved me, babe. You wouldn’t have wanted anyone to say things that opposed my choices, the same way that I would have gone to the ends of the earth to keep anyone from saying things that went against your dreams. I’m not saying my father isn’t guilty of doing all those things we’ve talked about. I’m just saying that I see the situation more clearly. I understand a little more why he wasn’t himself.”
He smiled to let her know how much lighter he felt.
“I wasn’t just avoiding dealing with my father’s death all these years. I was avoiding dealing with us, who we were. Because dealing with who we were would have meant taking a chance that you really didn’t want me anym
ore and that I was holding out hope for something that might not ever come to fruition.”
Amy bumped him with her shoulder. “I call bull on you with that one. I made it clear how much I wanted you for all these years. I practically drooled every time I saw you.”
“Yeah, but you were drinking every time you acted like you wanted me in that way. I didn’t trust that it was real.”
“Tsk! How can that be? I thought guys were all about taking it when they could get it.” She turned away. “You turned me down so many times, it’s a wonder I got up the courage to keep trying.”
He ran his finger down her cheek, bringing her attention back to him.
“Because, kitten.” Every hint of humor left him as his tone turned serious. “You sent me away once without ever looking back. I couldn’t take a chance that you’d do that again. It would have killed me.”
“Or maybe it would have saved us both,” she said with a pouty frown.
Saved us both. He wasn’t sure if she meant that chancing it would have saved them years of heartache because they would have worked things out, or something else, and he didn’t care. He couldn’t change the past, but he could build on their lightened mood.
He pulled her into his lap, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Maybe if I had gone to college I would have known that.”
“Yeah, because a finance or business degree would have helped you to understand girls a little better.” She batted her eyelashes playfully.
“Or a marketing degree. It takes a bit of sales knowledge to really understand things like retail therapy, which I’m sure you’ll need at some point.”
Amy touched her forehead to his and smiled. His world righted itself again.
She mimicked his sarcasm. “If only you’d listened to your father.”
“If only…”
Their lips met, and Tony savored the kiss. They were sitting on the lawn of the cemetery beside his father’s grave and making out like he had just come back from war. In a way, he felt as though he had. Fourteen years was way too long to have such a skewed view of his father. It upset him that he’d carried around all those bad feelings for so long for a man who might not have handled things well at the end of his life, but really, who was Tony to decide the appropriate way to handle one’s mortality?
