"He had such a fierce look in his eyes. Like he was daring me to intrude, daring the world to hurt you. Like he had just appointed himself your protector and God help anyone who tried to get in his way."
Courtney patted her eyes with the tissue then crumpled it in her hand. "You never told me that."
"Well, to be honest, I tried to forget it, convince myself I had imagined it. I think it scared me a little at the time, seeing something so fierce in someone so young." Her mother blew her nose then reached for her coffee. "Harland has been such a huge part of your life, for so long. I think even then I knew you two would end up together."
"Yeah, well. Not quite."
"Maybe. Maybe not. You never told me all the details of exactly what happened between you two and I never pushed. I was able to piece enough together to figure the gist of it, so I won't push now. But I will tell you this much: not many people get a second chance in life. Very few people even get a first chance at the kind of connection you and Harland have. And no matter what happens, you will always have that connection—and I don't mean just because of Noah. So no, I don't think you're crazy. And no, I don't think Harland has plans on disappearing from Noah's life, no matter what happens with the two of you. Harland isn't his father."
"I know, but…" Her voice trailed off and she looked away, trying to control the chaos swirling through her mind—and her heart. As soon as she tamed a thought, a feeling, it slipped from her grasp and whirled away, leaving her even more confused than she was before.
Was she thinking too hard? Trying to be too rational? But what else could she do?
"Have you actually talked to Harland about any of this?"
"About what?"
"About your concerns and worries with Noah. With Harland. With all of it."
"Well, no—"
"Courtney Marie Williams. Do not sit there and tell me you haven't even talked to the man about any of this! Don't you think you should at least do that before working yourself up into these worries?"
"I—but—"
"No buts." Her mother pushed away from the table, reached down and tugged her arm. "Go upstairs, clean up. I'll take Noah to daycare and you can get yourself over to Harland's to talk to him."
Courtney opened her mouth to argue. She didn't want to talk to Harland, not about this. Not when it meant opening up and admitting her deepest fears. But her mother just stood there, a look in her eyes that promised dire consequences if Courtney didn't obey.
So she sighed and left the room, her feet dragging as she went upstairs, her mind whirling as she thought about what she would say to Harland when she got there.
Chapter Twenty
She'd knock one more time. If he didn't answer the door then, she'd leave because he obviously wasn't home. And oh, God, why had she thought this was a good idea? Why had she let her mother bully her into coming over here?
Courtney took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then raised her hand and rapped it against the door. Not too hard, in case Harland was sleeping. But so softly so she wouldn't have to lie when her mother asked.
And her mother would ask, that was a given.
She waited, her head tilted to the side because she thought she heard footsteps on the other side of the door. Maybe it was just her imagination, maybe she should just turn around now and—
The door opened. Courtney's breath left in a rush, like someone had punched her in the stomach. She should have never come here, never listened to her mother. She wanted to turn around, to run and never stop. But her feet were frozen in place, her entire body unable to move as she looked into a face she hadn't seen in almost three years.
A face so much like Harland's. So much like Noah's.
No. No, the face was nothing like her son's. Nothing like Harland's. The physical resemblances were there but that was it. The honeyed eyes staring at her now were cold, flat and unforgiving, devoid of life. This face was harder, with angry grooves pulling at the mouth and harsh lines spreading around the eyes. He may have been attractive years ago, might even still be considered attractive by women who preferred hard and unforgiving men. Men with a razor edge and hearts of stone, men who put nothing ahead of themselves.
Courtney swallowed, tried to look unaffected by the man in front of her, the man she had hoped to never see again.
He leaned against the doorframe, the hint of muscle still clear in the arms he folded across his chest. The plaid shirt pulled around his waist, straining against the extra weight he carried. The jeans he wore were stained, dirty, and she caught the faint whiff of stale smoke.
A cold smile spread across the granite face as he stared at her. "Well, well. Didn't expect to see you again. What do you want?"
"I—" Her voice trembled and she almost stepped back. How could he still have this effect on her? How could he still scare her, after all these years? She had never liked him, not since the first day she had met him. He had been harsh and unforgiving even then. Too tough on Harland, too free with insults and the back of his hand.
But she wasn't that young girl anymore. She wasn't the scared teenager about to become a single mother. She was older now, he shouldn't be able to frighten her the way he had.
Not unless she gave him the power to, and she didn't want to do that, not anymore. So she took another deep breath and reached inside herself for a courage she didn't feel. "I was looking for Harland."
"What do you want with him?"
"I just—I wanted to talk to him."
"Why?"
His questioning threw her, almost like she was being interrogated. Her mind whirled, trying to regain its balance. "I just wanted to talk to him. If he's not here, I'll just come back later."
No, she wouldn't. She would stop by the rink after practice, or call him. Or just wait for him to come by the house. But she would not come back here, that much was certain.
She turned around, ready to leave, felt something close over her arm. A gasp of surprise escaped her and she looked down, seeing the large hand clasped around her upper arm. She tried to pull away, felt a second of blind fear.
"What the hell are you up to now? I told you he wanted nothing to do with you."
"Let go of me."
"No. Not until you tell me what you're up to."
"N-nothing. I just wanted to talk to him, that was it." She yanked her arm again, hoping he'd let it go. Let her go, so she could just turn and run.
"Isn't it bad enough that you went ahead and had your little bastard after telling him you weren't going to? What do you want now? Money? Are you going to try to bleed my son dry? Too damn bad. Now that he fucked up his play, he's not making the big money like he used to."
"No! I don't want anything from Harland. And Noah is not a bastard! He's Harland's son. Your grandson!"
"That's not what you told my son, now is it? You admitted the kid wasn't his. Just like I told him it wasn't. You were always too wild for him, even growing up. Always demanding his attention, trying to sink your claws into him."
"That's not true." Courtney blinked back the tears, tried to pull her arm free one more time. Why had she come here? If she had known Harland's father was here, she would have never come here.
And the words…no, she shouldn't be surprised by them. Shouldn't be hurt by them. They were the exact same words he had thrown at her the last time she'd seen him, in the parking lot of the grocery store when she was seven months pregnant.
He had stopped her, hatred and disdain in his eyes as he gawked at her rounded belly. Then he'd all but threatened her, told her to never contact Harland, to never let him know that she was having the baby.
She had been so shocked she hadn't said anything, much like she was right now. Her mother had been with her then, had stepped in front of her and gotten right in Mr. Day's face. Courtney had no idea what her mother had said but the man had scurried away, like he couldn't put enough distance between them fast enough.
She wasn't going to let him do this again. Belittle her, humiliate her.
She pulled against his hold, trying to twist her arm from his grasp. "Let go of me!"
"Listen you little whore—"
A flash of something whirred in her peripheral vision, fast and furious. The grip on her arm disappeared and she stumbled back, fighting to catch her balance before she fell. Her arms pinwheeled, searching for something to grab, and came up empty. She landed on her bottom with a small "umph", too stunned to move.
Not because she had fallen.
Because Harland had his father pinned against the wall, his hands twisting the shirt collar tight around his throat. Mr. Day's face was an angry mottled red, his eyes flashing hatred as Harland shook him.
"What the fuck are you doing? You touched her? You fucking touched her? Who do you think you are?"
"Get off me, you piece of shit, before I—"
"Before you what? I'm not that little kid you used to smack around anymore. I'm bigger now. And I know how to take care of myself. So tell me, what the fuck do you think you can do to me?" The words were cold, made more menacing because they were softly spoken instead of screamed. But Courtney heard the pain underneath, felt the anguish Harland was feeling as he pinned his father against the wall.
She scrambled to her feet, hurried over to Harland and wrapped her hands around his wrists. "Harland. Stop, please. Don't do this. Don't let him do this to you."
She felt the trembling in his arms, felt the tension running through him. Had he heard her? Yes, she could see it in the way his jaw briefly relaxed, in the slight relaxing of his hands.
"Please Harland. You're not like him. You've never been like him." Her voice cracked but she didn't care, just kept pleading, trying to get through to him, trying to banish the image of Harland sitting in jail. Because she had no doubt that his father would do that—press charges against his son, revel in the idea of his own son sitting in jail. "Don't do this. Please. For me."
Time slowed, nearly stopped. Courtney's lungs hurt from not drawing breath; her heart beat fast and heavy in her chest. Harland nodded, just a quick move of his head, barely noticeable. Then he released his grip on his father, shoving him to the side as he stepped back. He grabbed Courtney's hand, tugged her so she was standing behind him. Protecting her, shielding her.
"Get out. Pack your shit and get out. If you're still here when I get back, I'll have you arrested. If anything is missing when I get back, I'll have you arrested. Is that clear?"
The color drained from Mr. Day's face, leaving it a pasty white—a stark contrast from the bright red it had been seconds before. His eyes widened, grew even colder. "You aren't serious. After everything I did for you? All the shit I went through for you?"
"Everything you did? What, Dad? What did you do?"
"Taking you to games, to practices. Pushing you. Making sure you were ready. Everything I gave up for you. And then this…this little…" He glanced back at Harland, swallowed. "Then she comes along and tries to destroy it? And this is how you repay me? By taking her and her bastard's side?"
Harland's hand tightened around Courtney's. Seeking strength? Reassurance? She didn't know. He leaned forward, his voice still dangerously low when he spoke to his father.
"Noah is my son. I'm his father. Nothing you do, nothing you say, nothing you think, will ever change that."
"You? A father? What the hell do you know about being a father?"
"Nothing. But I know what not to do: everything you did. Now get your shit and get out."
"You can't mean—"
"Oh, I mean it. I've never meant anything more in my life." Harland stepped back, tugged on Courtney's hand. Then he was leading her outside, across the parking to his SUV. He helped her in, started it up, and drove.
And kept driving, not stopping until they reached the Galleria. He pulled in, drove around until he found a remote spot, away from the crowd of cars, and parked.
He didn't say anything, just sat there, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles grew white. But even then, despite that, she could see the trembling in his hands, his arms.
His whole body.
She undid the seatbelt and leaned across the console, moving as close as she could to get her arms around him. He held himself stiff, not moving, barely breathing for the longest time. Then the tension slowly left him, draining away, the trembling easing. He released a ragged sigh and shifted in the seat, folding his arms around her and tugging so she was partly sprawled across his lap.
And he just held her, neither one of them saying a word for the longest time.
Courtney pulled away, just enough so she could see his face. There was a haunted, dazed look in his eyes. He looked shocked, stunned. Like he wasn't quite sure what had happened. She pressed her mouth against his, surprised at the chill of his lips.
"Are you okay?" He nodded, a short jerky motion of his head. She pressed another kiss against his lips, cradled his cheek with her hand. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah." His voice was hoarse, ragged, like he hadn't used it in a while. He cleared his throat and nodded again. "Yeah. I'm fine."
"Harland, I—"
He shook his head, cutting her off, still not quite looking at her. "I've never stood up to him before. Never. I always did everything he said, always believed everything he said. Never fought back. But when I saw him touching you, heard what he was saying…I lost it. I don't know what happened. I just lost it."
He gave himself a little shake, his eyes slowly starting to focus. He turned to her, fear and sorrow so clear in his gaze. His hand reached for her jacket, started tugging at it. "Did he hurt you? I need to see. I need to—"
"Harland, I'm fine." She grabbed his hand, held it tightly in hers, felt his fingers shaking as they twisted with hers. Her arm still stung and she'd probably have a bruise there, but she didn't want Harland to see. She was afraid of what he'd do if he saw, afraid he'd blame himself for some reason. "I'm fine. It's okay. Everything is okay now."
"Is it? Courtney…God, I can't believe—I am so sorry. So fucking sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"
"Forgive you? Harland, you had nothing to do with this. You're not your father. You're nothing like him." And oh God, it was true. So true—and she had always known that. Deep down, she'd always known the truth. How could she have ever been afraid Harland would be like his father? How could she have ever thought to compare him to his father? She knew better.
But Harland was shaking his head, sorrow and regret still filling his eyes. "I'm not talking about this. Before. Three years ago, when I—"
"Harland, don't. Please. It's in the past now. It doesn't matter."
"It does matter. It's always mattered. I let him talk me into believing that you had slept around. That the baby wasn't mine. He just…he kept pounding it into me, day after day after day until that was all I heard. And I let myself believe him because he was my father. Because he seemed so fucking worried, so fucking concerned. And I thought—"
He sucked in a deep breath, ran a hand over his face, dropped his gaze. She could see the flush fill his face, feel the slight tremors still running through him. "For the first time in my life, I thought he was really concerned. That he really cared. He was my father, why would he lie? So I let him convince me. I let myself believe it. And that's something I'll never be able to forgive myself for."
"Oh Harland." She wrapped her arms more tightly around him, like she could somehow take on his pain if she only held him tight enough. She dropped her head on his shoulder and squeezed her eyes against the tears. "It's not your fault. There's nothing to forgive."
"Yes, there is. I wasn't there for you. I wasn't there for Noah. And I missed so much. So fucking much. Those are moments, years, I'll never get back."
They were quiet for a long time, just holding each other. And Courtney knew what she had to do, knew she had the answer to all her unasked questions. No, maybe he would never get those moments back, but she could help him see them. And she could make sure he'd have other moments, every moment that stretched ahea
d of them.
She didn't need to be afraid, didn't need to let her fear rule her. She just had to trust in herself. In what she felt. In what she knew, deep down in her heart.
What she'd always known.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sweat dripped down his face as he raced across the ice, down toward the net. Jason passed the puck; he watched, barely daring to breathe, as it skipped across the ice, coming closer. Harland reached out with his stick, stretching—
The puck hit the blade, bounced, almost slid away until he pulled it in closer. He spun around, swept his left arm out, pushing away the defender creeping up on him. Eight feet. Five feet. The net loomed closer. He darted left, changed direction at the last minute, shot around the second d-man. Close, so fucking close…
He pulled the stick back, held his breath, and took the shot.
The puck bounced off the goalie's glove, hit the pipes, and bounced behind the net.
Fuck!
Harland moved in for it, him and Jason both flying. Jason reached it first, took it around the back of the net, shot it toward the goal.
Rebound.
Harland moved in, got his stick on the puck. Left, right, left again. Shoot.
Another rebound.
How the fuck did he miss that?
Jason slid behind him, moved in to finish the job and—
Score!
The red light flashed soundlessly behind the net and the arena erupted with boos. Harland ignored them, moved in with Kyle and Ben to pull Jason into a group hug, patting him on the back. Then they skated over to the bench, settled down as the first line moved into place for the face off.
Harland reached behind him for a towel, dragged it across his face, then grabbed a bottle and shot a long stream into his mouth. His heart was still racing, but not from exertion, not totally.
He should have had that shot. It had been damn near perfect, his timing just right. How the fuck had he missed? Not once but twice. Every single game. He kept waiting, thinking the next one would be the one.
Playing the Game Page 14
