by Liz Johnson
But the pockets were still absent from her tailored jeans. She settled her hands on her hips as her dad grabbed the back of his neck and stared at the ground. Good. He shouldn’t be able to make eye contact with her. Not after everything he’d done. Or worse, what he hadn’t done.
“That’s why I need to talk to you. You should know—before you get married—that you deserve the very best, and I should have done better by you. You deserved better than a lousy father who liked to drink a little too much.”
“A little too much?” The words tasted like lemons, and she spat them out.
Why did he do that? Why did he downplay his sins? He made it seem like his affinity for alcohol was merely a preference for a cool beverage and not the thing that had landed him in jail on more than a few nights. Like it wasn’t the reason his family had combusted.
Well, that and his other preferences, which she had no desire to unearth on a public street. Or any street, for that matter.
It was better to walk away, forget that she’d ever seen him again, and avoid whatever scene was sure to follow. She turned, but her dad caught her arm again, holding her in place despite the glare she shot over her shoulder.
“I made a lot of mistakes.”
She snorted. Understatement of the century.
“I deserve that. Worse, really.” His gaze traveled up to meet hers, and in it was a lifetime of heartache. Enough to chip at something frozen in her chest. It was relentless and infinitely uncomfortable. She needed to end this charade. Now.
“Just say whatever you need to and go.”
He flinched, but he didn’t back away. Instead he stepped closer and dropped his voice. “I regret so many things. The way I hurt your mother. The way I dragged our family’s name through the mud. The way I ruined other marriages.”
She let out a slow breath through her nose and jerked her arm free. But she stayed put.
“I was a fool. I was lost. And I treated you terribly. But the thing I regret the most is not protecting you.”
Her head snapped up, her gaze a laser. “What’s that supposed to mean? You saw me every day. You saw her. You knew. Everything she did. And you did nothing.”
“I know. And there’s more. It’s worse than you think.”
Worse? How could it possibly be worse?
“When I had a chance to protect you, I was too selfish to let you go.”
She could only blink. There were no words. Only the echo of his regret and the questions that ripped through her. They were too jumbled to speak, too vast to fully understand. So she stood like a statue, like a stupid statue, as he confessed his greatest sin.
“There was a time—you were barely five—when Justin’s parents and Aretha came to me. They knew what was happening. They saw that you weren’t growing like you should have been. Your skin was so pale, and you were always hungry.”
“Because I was starving.”
He flinched, the truth a sledgehammer.
Well, good. He deserved it.
She cocked her head, daring him to continue. But the disconnected gaze he’d always worn in her youth had disappeared. His blue eyes were bright and intense. And he didn’t back down.
“They knew she was beating you.”
Because her childhood had been an open book. One she’d feared no one had wanted to read.
“They wanted—” He stopped to clear his throat as the lines on his face pulled even tighter. “They offered to let you stay with them. Aretha wanted you to move into her place. You would be safe. You would be cared for. Three meals every day. Clean clothes. New clothes.”
Something inside her twisted tight, but his words didn’t quite make sense in her mind.
“But I said no.”
It all clicked into place, and she wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to punch her father in his lying, cheating, stealing mouth.
“How could you? How—how d-d-dare you? You!” Her hand flew from her hip, her finger waving in his face. She didn’t even have time to curse her stupid stutter, so insistent was her reaction.
Forget the patrons inside the restaurant. Forget the wagging tongues of the ladies’ auxiliary. Forget the scene she’d been so desperate not to make.
She’d been loved. They’d cared about her. They hadn’t turned a blind eye. They’d offered refuge and hope.
And her dad had refused.
“I thought I was showing you how much I loved you by keeping you close. I thought I could make up for her shortcomings.”
“Shortcomings? Shortcomings!” The word burst out, and she only wished she could scream it louder. “You call what she did a shortcoming?”
“I think she was trying. But I had hurt her—a lot. I thought I could show you enough love to make up for it. At least I wanted to.”
“You thought letting her starve me was showing me love?” She burned from somewhere deep within, a fire stoked by a pain she couldn’t even call by name. Pain she’d sworn she’d dealt with that bubbled back to the surface. “You thought letting her beat me was showing me love?” Hot tears gushed forth, rolling down her cheeks. “You thought ignoring me for fifteen years was showing me love?”
He shook his head, every line on his face spelling shame. “I was selfish. I didn’t know what love was. And I sure didn’t know how to show it. To you or Connie.”
“Don’t say her name.”
He flinched again.
Good.
“We were both lost. We married so young, and I hadn’t been in a church since the wedding.”
“And what? You want me to believe that you found God and now everything’s going to be all right and we can be a family? News flash. We were never a family.”
“I know it’s hard to believe, but I’ve changed. I did find God, and I just need you to know how very, very sorry I am that I hurt you so much. You deserved better. You deserved the best. And I failed you.”
Her tongue was in a knot, and her hands shook as she crossed her arms over her chest. But the tears were the worst. Unbidden and relentless. They rolled down her face and off her chin. But her hands weren’t steady enough to catch them in their path.
“I know this is hard. Probably a surprise.”
Probably? “I could have had a family. I could have had a mother who loved me. And … and you stole that from me.”
His shoulders drooped and his chin dipped. “I know.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I’m not asking for anything. I’m just hoping for forgiveness.”
“Well, you can stop hoping. It’s never going to happen.” Jerking away from him, she collected herself enough to run, and then she took off.
She didn’t really have any idea where she was heading as she raced away from the diner in the opposite direction of the inn, her feet carrying her faster than she’d ever run before. And then suddenly it was there, the Kanes’ big white house, looming large in the wide yard. She needed to see Mama Kane, to know if it was true.
But how could it be? She’d have known, right? Someone would have told her long before now.
And they hadn’t. Because it was some elaborate lie her father had concocted. Right?
She didn’t knock. She never had.
Barging in through the mudroom door, she called out, gasping and stuttering and a mess of tears and hiccups. “Ma-ma Kane! Mama K-Kane! Are you here?”
Heavy footsteps flew down the central staircase, but it wasn’t Mama Kane who appeared.
Justin stopped on the last step, his hand still on the ornate wooden rail.
She slammed to a halt too, unable to look away from him.
“You talked to your dad, didn’t you?”
“You knew?” Her vision flashed crimson, and she charged at him, her fists at the ready. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do when she got to him, but she wanted him to hurt like she hurt. She wanted him to feel the same betrayal she did. If he could feel just a fraction of the pain that seared through her, maybe he’d understand.
But when she reached him, he reached for her. And suddenly she was sobbing in his arms. He held her so close she couldn’t find a full breath or wiggle her arms, which were smashed between them. But he didn’t seem to mind that her tears were feeding an ever-growing lake on the front of his plaid shirt. Or when she pressed her nose into him and left behind only God knows what.
He just held her. Every now and then a low word rumbled in his chest and made it through to her consciousness. “Okay. It’s all right. Let it out.”
But she was afraid if she didn’t stem the flow, it would never stop. “I could have lived with Aretha. She w-wanted me.” She hiccuped loudly and felt him smile where he rested his cheek on top of her head. His hand made a slow trek up her back. Then down. Then up again. Over and over it flowed, the rhythm as familiar as the waves.
“Natalie, we all wanted you.”
Her breath caught. She couldn’t possibly have heard him correctly. But then he said something even sweeter.
“You were practically a part of our family. When my sister comes up from Charlottetown to visit, she still says how much she misses you at family dinners.”
“But I thought I was all alone. All those years. No one said anything.”
One of his hands left her back, leaving a coolness in its place, and she arched against the loss and straight into him. But his hand immediately appeared on her cheek, his big thumb brushing across her chin and his fingers sifting into her curls. He held her away from him just far enough to look into her face, but she couldn’t manage to get her gaze past his lips, which were dark and firm.
“Can you blame them? How could they have told you what your father had done?”
Another hiccup escaped, and his lips curved, pulling at the five o’clock shadow across his jaw. Suddenly she pulled her arm free because she had to touch that rugged line. Just once. The whiskers there were as abrasive as she’d imagined they might be. But the skin below was soft and tan.
As she reached the corner beneath his ear, she realized something had changed. “You cut your hair.” It wasn’t quite a question, but she wasn’t sure she could believe it.
He shrugged. “Some bossy lady told me I should.”
She tried for a smile, but it quaked and couldn’t find its footing.
His thumb took another sweep over the apple of her cheek, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe or think or do anything. A swarm of monarchs had taken up residence inside her, swooping and gliding along.
But she still couldn’t tear her gaze away from his lips.
Suddenly she realized just how much she wanted him to kiss her. Or to kiss him.
She couldn’t care less who instigated it. She just needed to feel his lips on hers. At least once in her life. That would be enough. Surely.
Just the one kiss.
Her entire body trembled at the very idea.
This was Justin, who she’d known forever. Justin, who had held and comforted her. Justin, who had stood up to the bullies in school and the bully in the florist shop. Justin, who suddenly wasn’t just Justin anymore.
He must have felt her knees begin to give, and he tightened his hold on her. “You were never alone, you know. From that day in the lighthouse, the first time we really met. You were never alone.”
Did he mean his parents had nearly adopted her? Or did he mean him? Did he mean he’d been hers forever?
She closed her eyes, and the question came out differently than she’d planned, but exactly what she so desperately needed. “Someone cared?”
“Didn’t you know? Didn’t you know that my mom thinks cheese sandwiches are the lowest form of sustenance, but she made them every day for you because you said they were your favorite?” His mouth twitched as though the memory was taking control.
Laughing through tears was easier than she thought, and she couldn’t hold back now. “They weren’t my favorite. It was just the first food I hadn’t had to make for myself since I could remember.”
His whole face twitched to the side, his lips pursed but grinning. “Please don’t ever tell my mother that. She’ll be heartbroken.”
“Promise.”
His hand sank into her hair, cupping the back of her head, and she couldn’t find the strength anymore to hold it up. Leaning into his embrace, she nearly collapsed against his shoulder. With the tears her strength had leaked away.
“You were always welcome in this house every day and every night. I hope you knew that.”
She nodded into his chest, the words coming out mumbled against his shirt. “I did. But being welcomed and being loved are very different things. I guess I thought … maybe I wasn’t worth it to anyone.”
His entire body stiffened, and she could feel his breathing deep and measured, like he was holding back, counting to ten before he exploded. But when he spoke, his words were softer than Canada goose down. “Maybe your mom and dad were incapable of loving you, but that doesn’t mean you’re unlovable.”
Her throat clogged with something unnamed. Fear and joy. Shame and apprehension. But there was something she had to confess. “I was afraid if I stayed on the island, I’d end up married to a man just like my dad and that I’d become just like my mom. Because no one else would ever love me.”
She wanted so badly to look into his eyes, to see whatever was crossing his face as his fingers tightened in her hair and his body turned not just tense but unyielding. His heart raced below her ear, and hers flew to keep up with it. But it was too fast, an unsustainable speed.
When he finally leaned back to look at her, there were tears in his eyes too. His voice had been raked over gravel and shredded through a hay baler. “Is that the man you think I am?”
He pressed his forehead to hers, and it was warm, borderline feverish. Their breath mingling and their noses nearly touching, he stood like a statue. But he was hardly unaffected if the trembling in his hands was any indication.
Please. If he could just kiss her, it would be okay. He could make it all better.
Except a little voice in her head reminded her she wasn’t free to kiss him. She wasn’t free to hold him and beg him to hold her back.
She’d made a promise. And she didn’t intend to end up like either of her parents.
But it was safe and warm in his embrace. Russell never had to know.
Except she’d know. And she couldn’t live with herself. She still had to look in the mirror to put mascara on every day.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and forced her heart to remain intact. And then she stepped out of the protection of his arms.
Just as someone behind her cleared her throat.
Heart in her stomach, she spun to face Mama Cheese Sandwich. Then the words were gushing out without thought. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you tried to save me. I didn’t know, but I shouldn’t have left without thanking you.”
A smile broke across Mama Kane’s face and she held out her arms, so much like her son had. And Natalie tumbled into them.
18
Is that the man you think I am?
What did that even mean? Who said things like that? Of course she hadn’t meant that Justin was like her father. He’d always been a good man. A kind, loyal, loving man.
So why would he think she was comparing him to her dad?
Natalie had been rolling the question over in her mind night after nearly sleepless night, and she was no closer to figuring out what Justin had meant. Which basically meant she’d spent five days walking around like a zombie, only to scare small children at the breakfast table next to hers.
The little boy who sat at the table beside hers stared at her muffin a little too long, his eyes devouring what his mouth couldn’t. Even though he’d already had one of his own.
Then again, he hadn’t eaten more than a bite of his breakfast sandwich on pretzel bread.
She frowned at him, and he jumped, leaning against his mother, who was consumed with caring for the littler one.
Eyeing the sweet dri
zzle over the tart blackberry deliciousness, she weighed her options. Caden’s sweets never disappointed. But she knew what it was to be hungry. What it was to want. Something inside her melted, and she picked up the silver platter with her untouched muffin. When his mom’s back was turned, she slipped the tray off her table and held it out to him.
He blinked at her with big, round eyes filled with one question. Really?
With a nod she gave him permission, and he snatched it up, his palm crushing the rounded dome and certainly turning his hands into a sticky mess. Not that any little boy worried about such trivialities when sweets were at stake.
After two enormous bites, he flashed a blackberry smile at her, and she matched her grin to his.
Suddenly her phone rang, and she picked it up, both praying it would be Russell and hoping it wouldn’t be.
“Hi, babe.” His voice was muffled, and background noise fought for dominance on the call.
“Hey.” She sighed. She wanted to talk with him, to hear how the album was coming along. But neither could she deny the guilt that his voice conjured.
She hadn’t done anything wrong. Not really.
But kind of.
She’d made the right decision after all. She’d stopped it—whatever it might have been—from happening. And she hadn’t seen Justin since.
So why did it feel like shame had taken to gnawing on her stomach like a hungry dog on a steak?
Maybe if she told Russell what had happened …
Then what? Then he’d be hurt, and she’d feel terrible. Worse yet, it might open a Pandora’s box of questions about her relationship with Justin. And why she’d left the island in the first place. And why she hadn’t wanted to come back at all.
Those weren’t a part of her Nashville life. They couldn’t be.
She just had to get married and get back to the life that was hers for the taking. The one she’d always dreamed of.
“Natalie? Did you hear me?”
“Umm … I’m sorry. It’s kind of noisy on your end. I missed that.”
