Because he doesn't want you any more than he wants me. But Jayne would bite her tongue in half before saying the words out loud. The next few weeks or months were going to be hard for Lucy, much harder than when Greg had left. Tyler had been more a father to her than Greg ever had. Though they shared one important thing in common—in the end, neither of them had wanted to be a permanent part of her life.
How could she have been so wrong? Had she been so needy after Greg that she'd let emotion blind her to reality? Had she been out of the dating world for so long that she no longer knew the game?
She'd been too easy, too gullible, and now she and Lucy were paying for it. She was so sorry, but she'd honestly thought Tyler cared for them. And she wasn't the only one he'd fooled. Rebecca had believed it, too, and Carrie, and they knew him better than anyone.
Her mother had tried to warn her. It's too soon, she'd said right after meeting Tyler.
Yeah, and a few days later she'd been hugging him, saying, Take care of my girls. He'd fooled her, too.
The tap of a horn behind them drew Jayne's gaze to the rearview mirror, then to the lane ahead of her. The car that had been there was gone, so she pulled forward, passed a check to the teller inside and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. She had so many decisions to make, when all she really wanted to do was crawl into bed, pull the covers over her head and cry. Where would they go? What would she do with the house? How could she make this awful ache go away? When would she stop loving Tyler?
Never, a malicious little voice whispered. He was the happily-ever-after one, the forever-and-ever one.
Just as Angela was his happily-ever-after, forever-and-ever one.
"Ma'am?"
She blinked back the moisture in her eyes and saw that the teller had opened the drawer so she could take her cash. She scooped it up and slid it into her purse without counting it, smiled tautly at the young man and started to pull away from the window. Before she'd gone more than a few feet, a pickup squealed to a stop in front of her, forcing her to stomp on the brakes to avoid hitting it. "Damn it—"
It was Tyler.
"Mom!" Lucy admonished her for swearing, then she exclaimed, "Hey, there's Tyler. You said he was working."
Ignoring Lucy's suspicious tone, Jayne checked the rearview mirror, but the car behind her was just inches off her bumper. She was trapped, and panic turned the fresh ache growing inside her to welcome anger.
She slid to the ground as he jumped out of his truck. There wasn't enough room to move between the vehicles so she faced him over the hood. "Get out of my way."
"Going somewhere?" He gestured to the rear of the Tahoe, where their suitcases were clearly visible.
"That's none of your business."
"The hell it isn't. You're running away, aren't you?"
She glared at him. "As of this morning, nothing I do is any of your business. Now move your damn truck before I move it for you."
Taking the few steps to the passenger door, he leaned inside, snagged the keys from the ignition and dangled them from his index finger. "We need to talk."
Her stomach knotted at his nerve. A few hours ago he'd broken her heart, and now he wanted to talk? Had he thought of more reasons why he didn't want her? More ways she didn't measure up to his precious Angela? "You couldn't possibly say anything that I want to hear."
"How about 'I'm sorry'?"
"The two most meaningless words in the English language. You think you can do anything, say anything, then say I'm sorry, and I'll forget about it?" She snorted. "You're more like Greg than I thought."
Tyler rested his hands on the SUV's hood and stared at her across the narrow space. "How about 'I love you'?"
Her breath caught in her chest, increasing the ache there. How could he … why would he… "You bastard," she whispered.
His eyes closed briefly, then he opened them again. In them she recognized regret. Guilt. Pain. So much pain. "I don't blame you for being mad at me. I screwed up. I hurt you and I'm damned sorry. But I love you, Jayne, and if you'll give me a chance…"
She stared at him until she couldn't bear his pain a second longer. Gazing away, she saw they had an audience—the bank teller, who'd no doubt turned the speaker to its loudest volume; a man and a woman, both watching from the cars behind her; a few customers who'd come out of the bank lobby; a few more people who'd stopped on the sidewalk; and Rebecca and Carla, who'd come outside from the diner across the street.
More importantly Tyler knew they had an audience and he didn't care. He'd apologized in front of them all.
The private man who'd isolated himself for so many years, who'd hated the attention just being seen with her and Lucy had brought, had just said I love you in front of all these people.
It made her believe him in a way nothing else could have.
"Go on, honey," called the elderly man in the car behind her. "Talk to him and get out of my way."
She gazed back at Tyler, his cheeks flushed, his dark eyes shadowed. He looked as if he hadn't even gotten to the hard part, and that was probably true. Now he had to tell her why he'd said such hurtful things that morning. But there was a hint of hope in his eyes, and she felt a corresponding flare inside her. She was a hopeless romantic—or, as some old movie had better put it, a hopeful romantic.
He glanced around, his gaze skimming over all the curious faces, then looked at her again. "Please, Jayne…"
She wanted to say no. Wanted to run away and hide. Wanted to close her eyes and plug her ears with her fingers. Wanted to never hurt so badly again as long as she lived.
But this was her life, her heart, her future on the line. How could she run away? How could she refuse to hear what he needed to say? How could she pass up a chance to make things right? To stop this ache?
She raised her gaze to the sky, then looked around again. Another teller had joined the man at the drive-up window. More customers had come out of the bank. Rebecca, standing some twenty feet behind Tyler, wore a fearful expression. She knew what the public declaration had cost her brother and didn't want him hurt. When her gaze met Jayne's, though, she offered a tiny smile and an encouraging nod. Only Lucy, still strapped in her seat, appeared disinterested. She'd turned on her portable DVD player, and the sounds of Angelina Ballerina drifted through the open window.
"All right," Jayne agreed grimly. "Give me my keys."
She stuck out her hand, and for a moment Tyler hesitated. Afraid he couldn't trust her? That she would get in the Tahoe and drive off without hearing his apology? Tempting as it was, she wouldn't. She deserved an explanation, and after the past few minutes, he deserved to give it.
Reluctantly he leaned across and dropped the keys into her palm. She wrapped her fingers tightly around them. "Rebecca, would you mind if Lucy stayed with you at the diner for a bit?"
Rebecca didn't even try to hide her relief as she came forward. "Of course not. I'd love the help. Come on, kiddo. We've got work to do." She helped Lucy out of the seat belt, then lifted her to the ground.
Immediately the little traitor ran to Tyler and extended her arms for him to pick her up. When he did so, she cupped his face in her palms. "We're not divorcin' you," she said firmly. "We was just goin' on a little trip, then coming back. You and me have got painting to finish."
He murmured something in her ear, and with a grin, she whispered back to him. After pressing a loud, smacking kiss to his forehead, she wriggled down, took Rebecca's hand and skipped off.
Jayne swallowed the lump in her throat. Her five-year-old daughter shouldn't even know the word divorce, much less the pain it meant. She shouldn't face saying goodbye to the most important man in her life.
Maybe she wouldn't have to.
"Where do you want to have this talk?"
Tyler swallowed hard, too. It didn't clear the hoarseness from his voice. "Follow me." He didn't say anything else, but his gaze did. Please…
She climbed into her truck. As their audience began turning away, the tension
in her eased a bit. Much of it remained, though. Obviously his reason for dumping her had been important enough to him that he'd deliberately hurt her. What if it was too important to overcome? Saying I'm sorry and I love you didn't guarantee they could work things out.
But it was a good start.
He led her to a park on the edge of town, an odd-shaped space with no parking besides the gravel strip that edged the street. There wasn't much in the way of playground equipment—a swing set, a merry-go-round, a jungle gym—but plenty of open space allowed room for soccer, football or baseball games, and there were picnic tables under the trees.
She parked next to his truck, stepped over the low pipe railing that kept cars off the grass and walked with him to the nearest table. It was made of concrete, pitted and rough, and already held warmth from the morning sun. He sat on one bench. She sat on the other and waited.
He laced his fingers together, working them back and forth before looking at her. "You were leaving, weren't you?"
She started to shake her head, then to nod, then settled for a shrug. "Probably."
"I would have found you."
"After the things you said this morning, I thought you'd be glad to see us gone."
Heat flushed his face. "I'm an idiot."
"At least we agree on something." She smiled and so did he, but both were pathetic gestures. "You want to explain to me how three hours ago you just wanted a little fun but nothing permanent because I couldn't measure up to Angela and now you're saying you love me?"
His face reddened again, and he rubbed one hand over his unshaven jaw. "I've never had a lot of experience with women—with relationships. For a long time, I was too angry. For the past five years I was too … afraid."
"Because of Angela. Because she hurt you."
"No." He drew a breath and looked as if he would rather die than say the words he was about to say. "Because I hurt her."
Jayne was puzzled. He broke Angela's heart? That didn't make sense. Why did he exile himself to the mountain unless he was the one nursing a broken heart? Why did he cut himself off from women, from practically everybody? Why did he give up even meaningless sex with one-night strangers? Unless…
There were different ways to hurt someone. Emotionally. Verbally. Physically. His father had covered them all, destroying Carrie's self-esteem, confidence and self-worth, along with bruising and breaking her. He'd damaged his children, especially Tyler, with his words and his fists.
And sons raised by abusive fathers were more likely than the average boy to become abusive themselves.
Her stomach knotted, and she pressed one hand there to ease the nausea. She didn't want to say the words either, but she forced herself. "You … hit … her."
He nodded, his expression so bleak, so lost. He was sickened by what he'd done.
She felt sick, too. Because after seeing how his mother had suffered at his father's hands, he'd hit a woman himself? Or because after trying so hard to not be like his father, he'd failed?
"What happened?"
He drew a deep breath, then glanced around, as if making sure no one else was close enough to hear. With a look of utter misery, he finally looked back in her general direction but not directly at her. "We were fighting one day. By that time, it was all we did. She was saying stuff about my mother and my father and me, and I was pissed off. I just wanted her to shut up." He closed his eyes for a moment, then corrected himself. "I just wanted to shut her up. And I did. I backhanded her. I didn't think about it. I didn't know I was going to do it. I just did it. Instinctively. Naturally. The way my father hit my mother and me all those years."
The bands around her lungs eased. "Was that the only time?"
He nodded.
One backhanded slap. One moment of anger, one loss of control. "And you thought that single incident proved that you were just like your father."
He lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. "I looked like him, walked like him, talked like him. I had his temper. I was the one everyone worried about. I was the one they all expected to become him. And that day, I did."
What was that like? Jayne wondered. Knowing from the time he was an impressionable kid that everyone in his world expected him to turn out just like the violent father he hated? What kind of pressure had that put on a boy whose biggest concerns should have been school and girls? Unbearable. As if he hadn't lived through enough already, those worries and expectations had made a normal life impossible for him. No doubt, their intentions had been good—the court, the psychologist, his family and friends—but the result…
She tried to imagine him using his physical strength to hurt someone, but the image wouldn't form. With his mother killing his father and going to prison and the intense scrutiny he'd been under, he'd probably had more than his share of fights in school. But to strike a woman, when it went against everything he'd experienced and believed in, the provocation must have been significant.
She could easily imagine just how nasty Angela had been. She could see the angry, frightened boy inside Tyler who'd guarded his brothers and sister, who'd defended his mother, who'd taken beatings in silence to protect his family, coining to the fore and reacting instinctively.
And she could so easily imagine the resulting revulsion of the man he'd become.
"That's why you asked me that evening in the woods if I was afraid Lucy would turn out like her father—if she was genetically programmed to that."
He nodded once more.
She couldn't remember thinking anything of the question at the time—that it was odd or that he might be asking for a reason. It made perfect sense now. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
His hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists, his gaze directed away from her. "I never told anyone but Rebecca and Dr. Gennaro. Even Mom doesn't know. I couldn't bear people knowing they'd been right to worry about me, that I was just like Del. I thought if you knew the truth, you wouldn't want me around you or especially Lucy, and I really needed to be with you."
The truth. That he'd been human. That he'd done something he wasn't proud of. That he'd made a mistake and paid for it.
She gazed across the park to where the grass gave way to woods. A few miles through those woods was her little house, where she'd been happier than anywhere else, and his house, where he'd lived alone and lonely because that was all he thought he deserved. "What does this have to do with you breaking up with me?" she asked, though she already knew. He'd never told anyone. He'd been too ashamed, too disgusted, too convinced that he was a horrible person.
His doubts that he was a good man were more understandable in light of this. Wrong, but understandable.
"I thought I could spend time with you and Lucy and not be so alone for a while. I never intended to fall in love with you. I didn't deserve that, not without guarantees that I—that it wouldn't happen again. Then, after a while it was too late. You'd made clear what you thought of men like my father and me. One strike, and you're out. I didn't want you to hate me for that, so I thought…"
Better for her to think he just didn't want her than to know that he'd lived up to everyone's worst expectations. Better for him. Not so good for her.
Her smile was thin, unsteady. "You didn't trust me. You didn't give me a chance."
For a moment his fingers unclenched as if he might reach for her. But after that moment, they slowly knotted again. Was he afraid to touch her? Afraid she would reject him? "You said someone should have killed my father the first time he hit my mother, that the first time a man raised a hand to you, you would leave. I had my first time five years before I met you. I didn't think I had a chance."
Heat warmed her face. "I was talking about your father and men like him—not you. One incident doesn't make you an abuser, Tyler. I would never judge you by his example."
Finally he met her gaze. His eyes were dark, filled with pain and made her want to gather him close and just hold him. "You would be one of the first who didn't."
The truth
of that statement made her ache. Del Lewis had been dead fourteen years, but he was still influencing his son's life, affecting the way others viewed him, the way he saw himself. She hoped the bastard burned in hell for eternity.
But Tyler had suffered enough.
"I judged myself against my father," he went on. "I thought, with our background, with my history, that no woman would want me—that I didn't even deserve to be wanted. I thought I had to live alone so I wouldn't destroy people the way he did. But I was wrong. I'm not like him. Violence isn't a part of my life. It's not my nature, even though I've always been afraid it was." His voice hitched, and he dragged in a noisy breath to settle it. "I just want to be normal, Jayne. I want to have a home with you and Lucy. I want to be a family. I want to be the man you thought I was."
She'd told him he wasn't that man, but she'd lied. He had been through so much—abuse, horror, dangerous rages, torment, murder, great loss, suspicion, terrible expectations. And yet he'd grown into a kind, compassionate, decent man. It was a testament to how incredibly strong he was.
She drew a deep breath, and all the tension left her chest. Laying her hand over his, she gently worked his fisted fingers loose, then twined her fingers with his. "You're the best man I know, Tyler, and you'll always have a home with Lucy and me. There's just one condition. You have to marry me and you have to trust me and you have to accept that there's nothing you could tell me that would make me stop loving you. I'll always love you."
Still holding her hand, he moved around the table to sit beside her. He brought his free hand up to her face, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before grazing his fingers across her cheek. "That's three conditions," he said, his voice low, the stress gone from his face. "Will you marry me?"
Slowly she smiled. "I don't think I have any choice. In my books, my heroine always marries her hero. Since you're my hero…"
The intensity of his dark gaze was diminished by the blush that turned his cheeks bronze. "I've never been anyone's hero before."
"Of course you have. You're Rebecca's hero. And Carrie's. And Lucy's. Everyone thinks you're a hero, Tyler, except you."
SOMEBODY'S HERO Page 23
