by Malcom, Anne
He let himself be led up the walk because her hand was warm in his and her smell chased away whatever bitter scent he’d been so sure he’d be breathing in forever.
As a man known to react to deadly situations faster than most highly trained soldiers, he didn’t even find his faculties until they were standing in front of a door.
Blue, to match the shutters.
The paint was vibrant, fresh, because his father touched it up every year. It was nice to know that he kept doing that. That even if everything else had changed, fallen apart, been ruined, his father still made sure the paint on the door was fresh.
It was a simple thing that gave him hope. And unfamiliar emotion.
It wasn’t that that gave him strength or bravery. It was the small hand gripping his.
She didn’t say anything as he stared at the door. She knew him enough to know he needed the silence. She knew what he needed better than he did.
Because he didn’t know who the fuck he was. Who was going to knock on that door? Liam? No. It would be Jagger.
Because whatever he’d done, he’d killed Liam. It wasn’t a complete lie to let his parents believe they’d buried their son. They had. The most important parts of him. The parts that would’ve made his father proud, his mother smile and his sister tease him.
The man who’d been worthy of the woman standing beside him.
Or so he’d thought.
She saw Jagger. Every single ugly and rancid part of the man he’d created out of the ruined skeletons of the man named Liam.
She’d seen it all.
And she was still here, holding his fucking hand. Gripping it so hard that it might even bruise him.
She was still fucking here.
“You can do this,” she whispered.
He tore his eyes away from that blue door into the crystal blue eyes of something that hadn’t stayed the same over the years. Something that had changed more than he could’ve imagined. Something magnificent.
“How do you know that?” he asked, his voice breaking at the end. He couldn’t even control his fucking voice.
She smiled at him instead of shrinking away from his weakness. His cowardice. She squeezed his hand. “Because if you couldn’t, you wouldn’t have been standing in front of the house in the first place.”
It was so simple. Her voice was so sure.
Strength didn’t come from the ability to kill a man, from being able to stomach blood or throw a punch. Or even learning how to take one.
Strength came from people who squeezed your hand when you were weak.
He walked down the path.
Knocked on the door.
And waited to face his past, while he had his future firmly in hand.
Caroline
There are so many beautiful reunion videos floating around the internet, shared many times over, to spread the beautiful version of a hello after a long goodbye.
This was not beautiful.
Mary answered the door.
She first smiled at me warmly, then moved her eyes to Liam. The smile froze on her face. Her eyes went up and down the man in front of her, the color draining from her carefully made-up face. Liam was frozen beside me too, squeezing my hand with enough force to bruise my bones. Despite the trauma that she had to endure, the years had been kind to Mary. Probably because of her religious skin care routine and the fact she didn’t drink, didn’t sit out in the sun without a wide-brimmed hat and heavy SPF and believed in beauty sleep. So though she had aged over the past decade and a half, her hair graying and covered my tasteful highlights, she looked much the same as she did when Liam left.
Obviously the years had been a lot less kind to Liam.
But that didn’t stop her from recognizing him immediately.
She let out a strangled sob lifting a shaking hand upward, stretching out to touch Liam’s scarred face, as if she wasn’t sure she’d encounter real flesh. When she did, her limbs collapsed from under her.
Liam caught her.
They both sank to the floor, her looking extraordinarily small in his arms when she’d always been such a big and vibrant presence.
I stood, watching, tears streaming down my face as Mary clung to the leather of his cut in a death grip now she was faced with life.
Witnessing the sight wasn’t easy, it was a private pain that wasn’t meant to be seen, but I had experience with private pain. It was my job to make it public.
Eventually, Liam stood, helped Mary up.
Neither of them had spoken yet.
Mary stared at him with a toxic mix of pain and joy, each fighting the other for control. I knew this because still, it was a battle I waged when looking at Liam. She lifted shaking hands to cup his face. “My boy,” she croaked.
“Honey, who’s at the door? Is it finally Trevor with that part for the lawnmower he promised he’d give me. He better have a cold one—” Kent was cut off when he reached the door.
His eyes met mine, light and happy, then he moved his gaze to Liam.
He froze too. Not quite like Mary
She moved to face Kent. “He’s back,” she cried. “Our son is home.”
Jagger
“You hate me,” he said into the night.
It had been a long day, to say the least.
It had been a fifteen-years packed into a day. He thought going off to war was bad, he thought enduring unthinkable torture was unbearable, that living a separate life and forgetting the one before was tough, losing his brothers was agony, and loving Caroline was torment, but this was all of it mixed into one.
Never had Jagger had to expend so much energy into staying upright, into making sure his hands didn’t shake.
Holding his mother in his arms was home. She smelled the same, of flowers and lemon.
He had been terrified of rejection. Of his mother glimpsing his scarred face, his scarred soul and shutting the door in his face. For causing her pain. Or whatever was beyond pain. Because making a parent believe their child was dead was beyond pain. And he was responsible for that. He deserved the door in his face.
He didn’t deserve to feel his mother cling to him like he was worth clinging to, have her tears of pain and joy.
He didn’t deserve his father’s immediate acceptance, some form of understanding gathering on his face when his mother released him so he could face his father. A man who had brought him up tough, yet fair. Who loved him in his own way. Different than the coddling, tender way mothers did.
Jagger didn’t know what to do in that moment. “I’m sorry,” he croaked, his words cracking at the edges.
His mother let out another sob, she was now in Caroline’s arms.
Caroline’s presence was the reason he got up from his knees, why he remained standing.
“Oh son,” his father rasped. The words were a prayer, a thank you, an ‘I forgive you.’
Then his father took two strides and yanked his son into his arms.
His mother joined.
Antonia had not had the same reaction. It was after the tears, after they stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do, what to say. He was a stranger as much as he was their son. He knew that. He knew that they knew that.
Caroline sewed up the tears in the moment artfully. “I’ll make us some tea,” she said, closing the door. “And pour us some scotch.”
His father let out a sound that was between a chuckle and a sob. “Better make mine a double, sweetheart.”
She smiled at him through glassy eyes. Moved forward to squeeze Jagger’s hand for less than a second. He loved her more than anything in that moment. The simple hand squeeze, the smile, her calm.
She was the glue for the rest of the afternoon. While he explained a very condensed version of the past fourteen years. Leaving out the parts he was most ashamed of. Though, that was hard, since he was ashamed of the entirety of it.
The reasons that had seemed so concrete at the time turned to dust as he sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by memories, in front of t
wo people that raised him. Two good people.
They only took what he was willing to give them, didn’t ask questions. His mother held his hand the entire time, as if she were afraid he might turn to dust if she let go. He felt a bit like that.
At some point during the afternoon, the door slammed.
“I’m home!” Antonia called. “I know I said I was going to pick up the chicken for tonight. But I forgot. And Mom, before you—”
Antonia cut off as she entered the dining room. Jagger stood.
Fuck. While the years had only slightly touched his parents around the edges, graying his father, softening his mother, they had completely changed Antonia. He left her when she was a troublesome teenager who got on his nerves for always hogging the bathroom and playing bad music.
She was a woman now.
And she was staring at him with none of the mixture of joy and pain his father and mother had.
This was straight up anger.
“What. The. Fuck,” she hissed.
He stepped forward. “Toni.”
She moved forward. Fast. And slapped him. He didn’t flinch. She slapped him again. He let her. And when it became apparent she was going to keep hitting him, he snatched her wrists. She struggled, choking on tears. He yanked her into his chest, fighting tears of his own. And eventually she calmed.
He let her go, she looked him up and down with a hard gaze.
It became apparent she was not going to accept the explanation like his parents.
“Toni,” Caroline said, moving past him and grabbing her hand. Antonia took it like it was a life raft. “How about we go for a walk?” Caroline asked, brushing hair from her face.
She nodded.
Caroline gave him a look before leading his sister out.
He had no idea what Caroline said to her on that walk. He just knew they were gone for an hour and when they came back, Antonia’s eyes were red and puffy, and so were Caroline’s, but she ran to hug him. He squeezed his sister. “You’ve turned into a beautiful woman,” he whispered against her hair.
“Well, one of us had to be the pretty one,” she joked. “Because it’s not gonna be you.”
His family laughed.
And there, somewhere, he realized it was going to work out. Not perfectly. Or happily. But somehow it would work out.
Caroline’s family was different. Her mother didn’t have much of a dramatic reaction. She was a staunch and kind woman, and he was scared to death of her. She stared at him a long time after they walked through the front door hand in hand. “I’m going to make us something to eat,” she said finally, her voice shaking slightly. “You look like you need a good meal.” She moved forward. “You look like you need a good meal. And a break from the day I’m guessing you’ve had. The fifteen years you’ve had.”
He struggled to contain his tears. “Yeah,” he agreed.
Caroline’s father took one look at him and stormed out of the room. Caroline went to follow him. He kissed her hand. “I’ve got it, Peaches.”
She chewed her lip. “Well, I don’t think he had any firearms in the back garden.”
He laughed. “If I haven’t been shot yet, I think we’re good.”
Though he wasn’t as sure as he sounded.
Trevor loved his daughters fiercely. He would shoot anyone who hurt them, and he’d happily go to prison for that. Jagger idly wondered how he’d handled what Caroline had been through, not being able to end the fucker who stopped her from being able to have a fucking shower without breaking down.
He was pacing amongst the dozens of flowers that made up the garden.
When he spotted Jagger, he stopped pacing. “You broke a promise to me,” he accused. “I’m sure you’ve got reasons, by the look of you, they’re fuckin’ good ones, and that’s the only reason I came out here and not to my gun safe. That and the fact my daughter finally has something behind her eyes other than fake happiness and ghosts. But you broke your promise.”
Jagger clenched his fists at his sides. “I did. And I’ll spend as long as it takes making it up to her.”
Trevor nodded. “Yeah, you will. And she’s already forgiven you. I’ll take longer. But I will too. Because you’re a son to me. And a parent will always forgive a child, no matter how big their mistakes are. And son, this is a fucking big one.” He gave his scar a long and pained looked. Jagger was used to it. It didn’t bother him, strangers witnessing his pain, gawking at it—no matter how much it bothered Caroline. But the stare of his family, the way they looked at it as if it were their own scar tissue, that burned more than the wound that created it.
“It’s been a hard fifteen years,” Trevor said. “For my daughter. But it doesn’t seem like it’s been much better for you.”
Jagger laughed. “You could say that.”
“It looks like it’s looking up for you, son. Because my daughter is at your side. I trust her.” He paused. “She wasn’t covering a story in Arizona, was she?”
Jagger shook his head.
“That patch, that gonna bring any danger into her life?” he asked, the first person to openly acknowledge the piece of leather.
Jagger wasn’t sure if they simply didn’t notice it, or because there was only so much information a family could take in in a day.
“Maybe,” Jagger answered honestly. “But Caroline has made it clear she’s never going to live a life without danger. But now she’s not gonna do it alone. This patch has turned me into a lot of things, not a lot of them good, but it means that I know how to protect her, and I’ll go all the way to do that.”
Trevor nodded once. “I don’t doubt that.” He looked inside to where Caroline was standing at the window. Her mother was beside her. Both of them beautiful. Strong. “Liam.”
Jagger turned. Trevor walked toward him, raised his hand and didn’t punch him as he expected. He clapped his hand on his shoulder. “I’m thinking that patch hasn’t turned you into a lot of bad, ‘cause it’s what brought you back here.”
He didn’t agree. But he was here.
His father laughed at the question he asked when he finally made it home. His mother was inside with Caroline, doing the dishes, though she found reasons to come out to the porch every five minutes just so she could lay eyes on him. His father’s laugh was easy, throaty, just like he remembered. How could it be just like he remembered after what had happened? After everything he’d done?
“Son, no matter what a child does, a parent does not hate them,” his father replied. “Trust me, your sister has tested that theory out plenty. Still love that little shit.”
Jagger smiled, even though he didn’t think he’d smile such a smile again.
“I was afraid,” he choked out. “That you’d hate me if I came back. Hate me if I didn’t.”
His father was silent for a long time. Jagger looked over to see tears glistening in the man’s face. It punched him right in the fucking chest.
Then he looked at Jagger, straight in the eye, with all that naked emotion, love that men—especially in the South—were not meant to have, let alone show.
He leaned over to take his son’s hand, even though it didn’t look like his son’s hand. Even though it was covered in ink, in blood.
“Many parents live their whole lives with children that didn’t come back to them. We had fifteen years. And that felt like a lifetime. I’ll be honest, kid, it was no picnic. But it wasn’t a lifetime. And you came back. There’s likely some stuff to work out, with Caroline, not with us, because our son is home. Sometimes it’s that simple.”
He wanted to agree with his father. He was a smart man. A man he looked up to. Whom he idolized. He had been in the army, had an illustrated and distinguished career that he gave up when his wife became pregnant. Worked to own his own business. To teach his son how to treat women, how to pull apart an engine and put it back together. How to be a man.
A weight had been lifted from his shoulders at his family’s reaction—it hadn’t been to jerk back in sh
ock or horror, to sling accusations. It was simple to them, Liam was home.
“I’m not Liam,” he said finally.
His father looked back out onto the yard. “I know, son. But you’re still our son.” He squeezed his hand. “And it’s that simple.” He took a pull of his beer. Looked to him. “With us, it’s that simple. With Caroline...you’ve got work to do.”
Jagger downed his own beer. “Don’t I know it.”
“She’s worth it.”
His father’s words weren’t a question.
“Yeah. She is.”
“You fight for that woman,” his father instructed. “She is not the same girl she was. And that’s a bad thing and a good thing. But you fight for her. Do not let her go.”
“Don’t plan to.”
But it turned out, he didn’t need to fight for her.
Because, to Caroline, turning up at Castle Springs, facing his past, was her definition of fighting, even with all she’d seen.
His mother wanted him at home that night.
He knew it.
He wanted it.
But he needed Caroline. Time without her, mere weeks, had been grueling. He couldn’t breathe until he was inside her.
His father must have seen that kind of need, so he murmured to his mother, he made promises to come back for breakfast ‘as soon as he woke, no matter how early,’ kissed his sister, mother, shook his father’s hand, and he took Caroline home on the back of his bike.
They barely made it inside her condo for the first time.
They got as far as the hallway the second.
And the third, finally ended in bed.
“I think that it’s time we started trying to be responsible,” Caroline whispered into the night. “Or at least the outlaw version of it.”
Jagger froze, thinking of a conversation from a lifetime ago. Of slipping a ring onto Caroline’s finger. “Are you proposing to me, Peaches?”
She rested her chin on her hand. “Depends, is that a yes, or a soul-crushing no?”
He kissed her in response.
Epilogue
