Bad Boy Heroes Boxed Set

by Patricia Ryan

  After a long moment, he kissed the top her forehead. His lips were warm and familiar. “You know why this is so hard for me.”

  Margo knew. Though they never verbalized it, not once in the eleven years since he’d come to Glen Oaks, Margo was all too aware of his feelings. As he was of hers. Which was why she shared as much as she could about her dates, and prodded him to tell her about his. There was no chance for them together, and they struggled to keep finding ways to keep themselves apart. “I know.” She waited. “Don’t say any more.”

  “I won’t.” A long silence. “What’s the situation with Hathaway now?”

  “He apologized the next morning. And at work he’s been just like always. But it’s been hard for me to forget.”

  “Do you have feelings for him, Margo?”

  “Not like you mean. I care about him as a friend, that’s all. I just wish this hadn’t happened.” She smoothed down his shirt. “It’s over. I put it back in its compartment, but it still bugs me that he did it.”

  “Feelings aren’t easy to compartmentalize, babe.”

  Ah, but he was wrong, she thought as he slid to the edge of the couch and eased her to the inside. She stretched out next to him, and he lay down beside her, propped up by pillows. One arm still snug around her, he reached over and clicked off the lamp on the end table. The room was plunged into darkness, except for a sliver of moon peeking through Beth’s front windows. The only sound came from a ticking grandfather clock in the entryway.

  Margo sighed. How many times had they slept this way?—on a park bench, at a bus station; even when they got their own apartment in college, sometimes they fell asleep together on the couch.

  She hugged him tightly. The demons never came after her then, and he knew it. Linc Grayson could keep them away just by his even breathing and the feel of his arms around her. Closing her eyes, she treasured both sensations.

  And felt safe once again.

  Chapter 5

  *

  JOE KNOCKED TENTATIVELY on the church office door. Annie opened it. Dressed in a short black skirt with leotard and leggings underneath, her stance, despite her petite stature, would have done Attila the Hun proud. He scowled, though, at the smudges under her eyes that betrayed her sleeplessness. Once again, he was the cause of them.

  “Hi, Annie.”

  She glared at him. “Be careful, Joe. I mean it.”

  “I will,” he promised, more anxious than a convict facing the parole board. His heartbeat tripled as she drew open the door.

  They made a picture perfect tableau, standing before the window, with the last rays of the sun muted behind them. Could that tall adolescent really be the small boy he used to swing up and carry on his shoulders? Wearing a hooded sweatshirt, jeans and sneakers, Matt looked so much like a Murphy it startled Joe. The boy’s dark hair, square-cut jaw and broad shoulders came directly from him.

  Joe’s eyes dropped down to Matt’s arm, which encircled a tiny little girl. She had hair like Rapunzel’s. The braid draped over her shoulder caused his heart to constrict—it was as long and as thick as Annie’s used to be. And how she was dressed mirrored her mother—same color tights and leggings and a bulky sweater over a leotard. But her face differed from Matt’s and Annie’s dramatically. She was smiling. Oh, God, he had a little girl.

  Off to the side Linc stood guard.

  “Hello, Matt.” Joe’s voice was husky. “Hi, Faith.”

  As if she’d sensed his nervousness, Faith broke away from Matt and crossed daintily to him, already as graceful as a prima ballerina. Her expression angelic, she stared up at him. “Hi.”

  Squatting down, eye-level, he whispered, “How you doing, sweetheart?”

  Annie turned her back on them and faced out the window. Belatedly he remembered why. Don’t call me sweetheart after you’ve slapped me, Joe. It’s obscene.

  “I’m good,” Faith said. Reaching out, she placed a small, cool palm on his cheek, as if touching him made him real. “You’re my daddy.”

  Daddy . Briefly, he closed his eyes to savor the innocent gesture and precious words. “Yes, I am.”

  “Mommy said you came back to Glen Oaks last week but had to wait to see us. Till Uncle Linc said it was okay.” She cocked her head. “Jimmy Docker had the chicken pox and couldn’t see anybody ’cause he was ’tagious. Were you ’tagious?”

  Joe swallowed hard and glanced at Linc. God bless him, though the man was angry at Joe for past transgressions, he nodded his encouragement. They’d all agreed on a version of the truth. “I was sick, Faith, like Mommy told you. But it was here…” —he pointed to his head, then clapped a hand over his heart— “… and here. It took me six years to get better. But no, I’m not contagious.” He stole a glance at Matt. At least I hope not.

  When his son made no move toward Joe, Linc stepped forward. “Why don’t we all sit down.”

  Chairs had been arranged around a small table. Annie took one, and Matt dropped down next to her, their shoulders touching. Linc flanked Matt on the other side. Like the little doll she was, Faith grasped Joe’s hand and led him to a seat. The gesture meant more to him than that first college degree he’d earned.

  Start out with an innocuous subject, he told himself, after they were settled. “So, Matt, I hear you like baseball.”

  Sullenly his son met his eyes. “Yeah.”

  “Maybe we can toss a ball around sometime.”

  Matt’s look soured even more. “If Uncle Linc is free.”

  Joe knew the kid was asking in a round-about way why the restrictions had been placed on their time to together. “You probably want to know why Linc will be with us for a while.”

  Shrugging, Matt held his gaze.

  “Tell me, Matt, did you ever lose somebody’s trust? Do something so they didn’t believe in you again for a while?”

  Obstinately, Matt shook his head. A lock of dark hair fell onto his forehead, shading what, up close, Joe could see as the Murphy blue/gray eyes.

  Again Linc intervened. “How about the time you and your three buddies went to the gorge by yourselves and Johnny fell and got hurt? Remember how your mom let you see those guys only at your house under her supervision for a few weeks?”

  His face flushed, Matt nodded.

  “Well, that’s kind of what we’re doing with your father.”

  Mutiny surfaced, a tangible presence in the room. “What’d you do that you gotta be watched?”

  Joe forced himself to remain calm. Worry about what the kid had witnessed and absorbed had plagued him for years.

  Annie stepped in. “I told you, honey, it’s personal between me and your father. There are some things that you don’t need to know. At least not yet.”

  “I’m not a baby, Mom.”

  “I know. Still, this is what we think is the best.”

  Joe said, “Matt, maybe after we get to know each other again, everybody will feel more comfortable with what’s happening here. Then we can talk about what I’ve done, if it seems appropriate.”

  The rest of the allotted hour was a dream come true for Joe, and he reveled in hearing about his children’s lives. Faith’s words bubbled out of her like a storybook happy child, while Matt’s came in halting preteen sentences tinged with wariness. The time flew by and Joe was sorry to see it end.

  *

  THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Joe locked the door to his new apartment and shuffled down the steep flight of stairs. After looking around town the weekend before, he’d picked this place for the quiet—it was over a small mom-and-pop bakery, open only from six to ten A.M. Though the rooms were a far cry from the apartment he’d sublet to Taylor in the city, they were surprisingly spacious and airy. He’d purchased just a bed and dresser, but the place suited his needs—to be in town, near the house that Annie had bought, and close to his job. It was also in good proximity to Linc’s church and Beth’s diner, where he was headed now, at three P.M. on Wednesday, to meet with Ron Donovan. He’d given himself an hour to walk around town—t
o face the ghosts of his past and to let out some of his present pent-up energy with a little exercise. He made a mental note to find a gym in Glen Oaks, and he had to start running again in the mornings.

  He had a lot to smile about as he breathed in the warm March day—nothing in the world smelled quite like spring in New York State. At the top of his list of blessings was Annie’s decision to allow him to see his kids. Joe had felt as if he’d won the lottery on Monday night when he’d gone to the church where he was to meet them.

  Picking up his pace, Joe realized he was in the center of town; he passed Kilmer’s Drugs where he’d bought his first condom, the small shoe repair shop where his father took his old boots, and Zip’s Bar and Grill, where he’d taken his first drink. Some of the places elicited good memories—sharing a soda with Annie at the diner, picking out a tux for his wedding at Hall’s Clothing, and the quick kisses he stole from Annie in the balcony of the Fox Theater. Carefully avoiding DanceWorks straight ahead on Oak Street, he took a turn down Market Street and bumped into his sister coming around the corner.

  “Hi, Suz.” Grasping her shoulders to steady her, he tried to keep his voice neutral. The meeting with her had not gone as well as with his kids.

  She shrugged out of his grasp. “Hello, Joe.”

  He scanned her outfit. “Are you working at the dance studio?”

  “I own half of it. Annie let me buy in last year.”

  “Really? I didn’t know that.”

  “You miss a lot in six years, bro.”

  Taking a deep breath, Joe stuck his hands in the pockets of his raincoat. “I told you last week I was sorry about that.”

  “You have a lot to be sorry about.”

  “I know. And you’re not going to let me off the hook, like Ma did, are you?”

  Oh, thank the Lord, my prayers are answered. Joey’s back.

  Suzie hiked her DanceWorks tote back to her left shoulder. “She can pretend you’re the prodigal son incarnate if she wants. I know a lot more than she does.”

  A fist formed in Joe’s throat. “I figured as much when you wouldn’t see me after Thursday when I came by.” It had been one of the hardest things to do—to let Suzie distance him—but he’d learned the black side of control and had vowed to allow people to handle his return in their own way.

  She glanced at a Chevy coming down the street. “Annie didn’t tell me. I was dating an orderly and found out from him.” She raised wounded eyes to him. “He said Annie claimed she fell down the steps. But the hospital was suspicious. Since you left town, nobody pursued it. There were a few rumors, but everybody lost interest quickly.”

  “I’d like to talk to you about it.”

  “Annie already has.” At his surprised look, Suzie added, “I told her I knew what happened as soon as she recuperated from her last run-in with your fists. And feet.”

  Joe cringed.

  “Look, I believe in second chances. So I’ll give you a shot. Just don’t expect me to welcome you with open arms.” Her eyes got bleak and she pushed the curls, which she’d always hated but he liked, off her forehead. “I’ve seen what you can do.” Then she gulped hard. “Just like Pa.”

  “I’m going to talk to Ma about all this. Just as soon as the dust settles from my return.”

  “She won’t discuss it. I’ve tried.”

  “I’ll try again.”

  “She blamed Annie for your leaving, and never let her forget it.”

  “Just like she blamed herself for Pa.”

  Suzie’s face was grim. “I’ve got to go.”

  Reaching out, he squeezed her arm. He thought it a good sign that she didn’t flinch. “I’m not giving up on you, Suz. That’s a promise.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Your promises don’t hold much water in Glen Oaks anymore, Joe.”

  I’ll never leave you, Suz, I promise. I’ll always protect you from him.

  “I’m going to change that. I’m going to regain your trust and everybody else’s.”

  “We’ll see.” Without a goodbye, she circled around him and headed down the street.

  Watching her go, he was struck again by all he’d lost. He’d been ready for obstacles, had vowed to overcome them. Hell, he’d scale Mount Everest if he had to. Just because he hadn’t expected Suzie to be one of them didn’t mean he couldn’t deal with her animosity. Just because he’d protected her from their father’s wrath didn’t mean she’d remember, or give him points for it.

  With one last glance at his sister, he headed for the diner, but Suzie’s contempt brought the demons back and they fell into step with him. What he had done to Annie wouldn’t stay in hell, and surfaced in the brittle light of day…

  “Where’s my breakfast?” he’d asked Annie after a particularly gruesome night of drinking. He felt like a prickly bear and was ready to growl at anybody.

  Dressed in a nightgown, her long hair had been hastily tied back in a braid. “I…I overslept. Have some coffee first…” She’d been so nervous at his mood that when she brought it to the table, she’d spilled it on his hand.

  “Stupid bitch,” he’d said, throwing the chair back and raising his hand.

  The bruise on her cheek had shown up immediately.

  She’d retreated to the corner and begun to cry. Her tears had sobered him, as they often did. After a few minutes, he crossed to her and reached out. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

  She’d yelled at him then not to call her sweetheart. It was one of the few times she’d defied him. Unfortunately, she’d paid for her defiance in a way that made him sick to remember now….

  Forcefully, he shrugged off the nausea, as the counselors had taught him to do, and struggled to keep the depression that hovered constantly on the outskirts of his mind at bay.

  He’d changed, and he knew it. Now he had to convince everybody else.

  *

  THE DOWNTOWN DINER had changed, too, in six years; like many establishments in Glen Oaks, the place had gotten a face-lift in hopes of attracting a bigger racing crowd like it had in its heyday. The restaurant was still the same size, about twenty by thirty, but the row of windows that had replaced the two that used to be there brightened up the interior. Cedar walls had covered the outdated race car wallpaper, and newly upholstered booths in deep burgundy matched the fifteen or so stools at the counter. The burgundy and, gray vinyl on the floor pulled the decor together. At the far end, a set of about ten tables and chairs created a new eating area. Beyond them on the wall were the racing pictures of Danny that Beth had put up after he’d died. Joe could hardly believe that when he was eighteen, he’d taken part in a robbery on this place.

  It was about five minutes before four. Joe knew that until racing season started, the dinner crowd was thin here, and the diner closed several nights a week and Sunday afternoons. A lone man sat in a corner drinking a cup of coffee, and a waitress wiped up the counter. Dressed in a long flowing tie-dyed dress and several strands of beads around her neck, the woman’s hair was long and frizzy and steel gray. She looked like a sixties hippie reincarnated. He sat down on a stool and she approached him. “Hi, what can I get you?” Her name tag told him she was Gerty.

  “A cup of coffee. Cream and sugar.”

  Gerty’s eyes focused in on him. “You’re Grace Murphy’s boy, aren’t you?”

  He gave her his best smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She laughed at the ma’am. “I used to live four doors down from you. You still got that motorcycle? The one that was as noisy as all get-out?”

  “No, I left that behind in Glen Oaks.” With a lot of other things.

  The woman turned, retrieved the coffeepot and poured him a cup without missing a beat. “Good. Now all we gotta deal with is Reverend Linc’s Harley. Young Ronny’s got his father’s bike, but he lost his license and can’t drive it.”

  Joe didn’t know that. So Ron had Danny’s motorcycle. God, he remembered the three of them, burning rubber all around town, angering the homeowners and often pla
ying cat and mouse with the cops.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “You back to stay?”

  Carefully he stirred in the cream and watched the black liquid turn to pale brown. “I hope so.”

  “Not nice to abandon those two little babies of yours.”

  He felt his face flush. “I wasn’t a nice man then, Mrs…. ?”

  “Gerty.” Sharp brown eyes focused on him through her granny glasses. “You a nice guy now?”

  “Yes, I am.” He sipped the coffee, its strong rich taste giving him the caffeine jolt he needed.

  Gerty shrugged and said, “Hrrmph,” just as Beth came out from the back.

  Her face was drawn and she looked exhausted; she spotted him and glanced anxiously at the clock. Biting her lip, she came toward him. “Hi, Joe. He’s not here, yet. I’m sorry. I know—”

  Joe touched her arm. “It’s all right, Beth. I’ll talk to him about the importance of punctuality and responsibility. I made this first session informal to set ground rules and consequences, and get to know each other a little.”

  Her eyes glistened. “He’s a nice boy, Joe.”

  “I’m sure he is. And I believe in second chances.” His words were rife with meaning, and though she’d never gone to college, Beth was smart.

  She gave him a half smile. “So do I. I had mine with this place and Tony Scarpino.” She scanned the diner. “And you’re getting yours. So Ronny will, right?”

  “Why don’t you sit and have—“ His words were cut off as the door flew open.

  Ron Donovan burst through it shouldering a backpack and wearing an anxious expression on his face. He checked the clock. “Oh, Christ, sorry I’m late.” His eyes sought out his mother’s and his expression softened. “Really, Mom, I had a reason. Mr. Johnson let me work after school with the CAD program.”

  She looked at him tenderly. “Mr. Murphy will talk to you about that.”

  “Joe,” he said, standing. At least he was on firm ground here. He knew how to counsel teenagers. “I like to be on a first-name basis with my kids.”

  Ron’s expression was wary. “Your kids?”