by Krista Lakes
"I'm sitting here listening to the rain," he said. I frowned.
"That's not what I meant and you know it. You're better than this," I said, gesturing to the jail cell.
"It doesn't matter. I'm always going to be the fuck-up. That's my lot in life." His back bristled under my fingers, but I kept my hand on him.
"It's only your lot in life if you make it that. I've seen you sail, Robbie. I've seen drive and determination in you that would make Jack look like an indecisive toddler. You're better than this," I told him. I meant every word. If he could only see how he shone when he was sailing; if the world were a boat, he would be president, prime minister, and king. I wished he could see what I saw in him.
"Unfortunately, you're the only one who thinks that." Robbie looked up at me, his eyes angry and hurt. "My dying father thinks I'll never amount to anything, my brother's a billionaire CEO, and my mother's a harpy. What the hell am I supposed to do?"
I sighed. My heart was breaking for him. All I could see as I kept my hand on his back was the scared little boy I took home from his first sailing lesson. Maybe it was because I had just seen Samantha, or maybe it was the smell of the water in the air, but to my eyes, he was just a little boy. I rubbed his back, trying to think of how to convince him that he was better than he thought. I had tried to keep my eye on him when he was a boy, but Jack had been my real responsibility. I tried my best, but there wasn't a way for me to be in two places at once.
Dean rapped gently on the bars, catching both our attention. "The sheriff has agreed to drop all charges."
The sheriff's keys jangled as he opened the door, releasing the two of us into the office. As I walked by Dean, I whispered, "That must be some favor he owed you."
"Nothing much," Dean said with a shrug. He put a strong hand on Robbie's shoulder, guiding him toward the exit. "All right, Robbie, let's get you home before anyone notices we were gone."
Robbie stopped cold. "Dad doesn't know I'm here?"
"No. No one but Dean and I know you're here. Well, and Emma, but that's just because she's covering for us. And you know she'd never tell."
Robbie blushed. The anger seemed to wash out of him, his back going straighter and with more power and confidence in his stride. He wasn't going home to meet the firing squad anymore.
"Robert Saunders. I just need you to sign here and you'll be free to go," the sheriff said, catching Robbie's attention. Robbie quickly picked up a pen and started signing the papers laid out on the desk as Dean pointed to the various places that needed a signature.
I looked over at the sheriff, seeing his name tape again. The hair was the right shade of blonde, and the eyes seemed familiar. It was when he smiled at me that I knew it was Matt. The smile was exactly the same.
"Yes, Rachel, I'm that Matt Grinswald," he said with a laugh. I felt my cheeks redden at being caught.
"I didn't think you recognized me. It's been a long time." I leaned up against the desk, feeling very young with Dean and Matt both standing there.
"I wouldn't have if Dean hadn't said your name. You look the same—I just never thought I'd see any of you girls again. How is Jenny?" he asked. His pitch raised on Jenny's name and I wondered if he missed her as much as Dean and I had missed one another.
"She's doing well. She ended up marrying her high school sweetheart, but it didn't work out. They got divorced about two years ago, but she's got three amazing kids that I get to play "aunt" too. I'll tell her you said hi next time I see her," I said with a smile. Matt beamed.
"Please do. I'd love to buy her a drink sometime." The big sheriff picked up Robbie's finished paperwork and flipped through it. "Everything looks in order. Out you go, Robbie. I don't want to see you in here again, understand?"
"Yes, sir. I'll only be in here to be the bail-er, not the bail-ee," Robbie said with a small grin. The sheriff cracked a smile and nodded.
"Thanks, Grinswald. Beers on Thursday?" Dean asked as Robbie opened the main door.
A loud, "Of course!" followed us out of the station as Grinswald clapped Dean on the back. Robbie and I settled into the car, Robbie taking the backseat, and it was only a moment before Dean joined us.
"I didn't know Matt was so close nearby," I said as I started the car. The engine purred as we headed back down the highway.
"Yeah, he was transferred up here last fall. It's nice to have one of the guys close by." Dean looked out the window and I knew he was thinking about Frontera. I wished he could have made it too. "What ever happened to Jenny and Kimberly? You said Jenny got a divorce?"
I nodded, smiling at him. This wasn't something we had ever talked about since we started working together, and it felt nice. "Jenny lives in Jersey with her kids now. Kimberly is in LA. She works in the movies and does some of her own painting on the side."
"Are they happy?" Dean asked quietly. I could feel his eyes on me, their blue drawing me to them.
"Relatively." It was a complicated answer. They all were happy for the most part, though.
Dean nodded and crossed his legs again, staring out the window at the oncoming evening. The sun was just beginning to creep into the horizon, hints of starlight starting to peek through the silver clouds. I watched the road, the black asphalt flying beneath our wheels as we sped back to our real lives, but all I wanted was to find that rainstorm world so I could be alone with Dean again.
Chapter 24
Present Day
Robbie passed me as I walked down the hallway toward Daniel's room. His eyes were still rimmed with red, and his lips were pursed together as he walked the ornate carpet, his mind lost in thought. I don't think he even saw me as he paced back and forth down the long hallway. I wasn't sure he had even been in to see his father since we had brought him home, but at least he was in the house.
I knocked softly before entering the large room that had become Daniel's infirmary. A large hospital bed took up the center of the room, an oxygen tank and an IV pole tucked carefully beside them. Bianca sat in a large easy chair in the corner, her feet tucked up under her as she typed on her laptop. I could hear soft classical music, playing softly in the background. Know Daniel, it was probably Mozart.
Daniel sat propped up in the bed, pillows and blankets tucked tightly around him. His pale face was so gaunt that his eyes seemed to sink into his paper thin skin. I remembered the healthy father whom had welcomed me into the Saunders' household. Where thick brown hair had once fallen into his eyes with a roguish flare, white wisps hung flat against his head. He smiled as I entered, his lips thin and pale.
"How you doing, old man?" I asked, sitting next to the large bed. Daniel looked perturbed, but his eyes were twinkling.
"I was going to go dancing, but Bianca says her feet hurt," he answered. Bianca snorted from her chair, a smile crossing her face. They had loved to dance.
"Well, I guess I'll just have to get her new shoes for tomorrow night." I reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. I could feel the bones through his parchment-like skin.
"Robert came to see me today. I mean, Robbie. He hates it when I call him Robert," Daniel said, a smile forming on his lips. He had a fascination with the Kennedys, and had always thought his children would grow up to do great things like their namesakes. "I had him tell me all about his last race. I'm sad I didn't get to see it. It sounded like a marvelous race. He said won, but it was close the whole time. He says he has another one coming up in two weeks."
But Daniel won't get to see it. The words hung unspoken in the air like acrid smoke. It was an offhand comment, but we all knew he would never see his son race again. The silence was thick and uncomfortable. Daniel cleared his throat and adjusted the oxygen tube to his nose, trying to break the sudden tension.
"So, Rachel, what are you doing this evening? Going dancing, I hope?" Daniel changed the topic. I knew he wanted everyone to be happy. He had accepted his death, and was going gracefully. It was the rest of us that were having a hard time.
"Jack's given me the night off,
but I thought I would just hang around here. I have work to catch up on," I said. Daniel frowned.
"Young lady, I will not have you hanging around here waiting for me to die. I promise I won't go tonight. Go out. Go dancing. I want to know you are having a fun evening, not moping around here. I'm tired of everyone putting their lives on hold waiting for me. So get out of here, and go have some fun." It would have been a marvelous speech, except his voice gave out and he began coughing at the end. I held onto his hand, watching his thin body shake.
Bianca stood, walking quickly to the oxygen tank and upping the flow. It hissed like an angry snake, but Daniel managed to take deeper breaths, his body settling back to normal. I looked away from him, noticing the pictures on the nightstand next to the oxygen tank. There was the picture of Jack and Daniel playing football in the handcrafted frame from that Father's Day long ago. The colors were worn and faded, the frame obviously having been displayed for many years. Next to it was a picture of a smiling Robbie and Daniel on a small sailing vessel. A picture of the two boys sitting on my lap reading a Dr. Seuss book occupied another frame. The last one was an old black and white picture of Bianca blowing him a kiss. A lump grew in my throat. I didn't know how Bianca managed to do this without bursting into tears at every moment. She was a strong woman.
Bianca smiled at her husband as the coughing stopped, running her fingers along his cheek. He looked up at her with adoration in his eyes, catching her hand and kissing it gently. She bent and kissed him back on his forehead before going back and sitting in her chair, watching him with loving eyes.
"If it will make you feel better, I'll go out." I would do anything to make him happy. "There's a restaurant I've been wanting to try," I lied. There was no restaurant. I wasn't even hungry, but I knew he wanted to see me go out and enjoy myself.
"Good. And don't think you can just hide downstairs. I'll send Dean after you and have him drag you to that restaurant kicking and screaming." He gave me one of his no-nonsense looks and I couldn't help but smile.
"That will be hard because it's Dean's night off too," I said. I stuck my tongue out at him.
"Oh, it is?" Daniel gave me a questioning look, but before I could read into it he shrugged and added, "Then I'll just have to send Bianca and Emma. They may not be able to lift you as easily, but between the two of them, I think they could at least get you tied up and in the car."
Bianca gave a girlish giggle. "Please, we'd even get her tied to the chair at the restaurant." I smiled at the image of the older woman wrapping me with rope like an old vaudeville villain while Emma carried me into the car, the two of them cackling and twirling at their mustaches.
"Go out. Have a good time tonight. Please, it will make me feel better knowing that one of us is having a fun evening." He looked up at me, his eyes still bright despite the paleness of his face. I couldn't say no to him.
"All right. I'll go. I'm bringing you back some dessert, though." I gave him a firm look, and he laughed.
I stood up and headed toward the door. As I stepped outside, Bianca called out after me, "Make sure it's something chocolate!" I could hear Daniel laughing as I closed the door.
Chapter 25
Present Day
I had intended to go to a rustic Italian restaurant just a few miles from the Saunders' mansion. I had intended to walk in, sit down, eat lasagna and tiramisu, have a glass of wine, and then head back and take a long hot shower. That was what I had intended. Instead, I was standing in front of Dean's apartment building.
I could see a light coming from his corner unit, the yellow window shining cheerfully into the dark night. The wind blew across the yard, rattling the remaining leaves on the trees and making the fallen ones skitter across the sidewalk. The moon hung low, orange and full against the night sky. I was about to go back to my car, to drive to that little restaurant and actually do what I was supposed to do, but the memory of that kiss pulled at me. Now that we had kissed, even just once, I wanted more.
Before I even knew what I was doing, my hand was knocking at his door. I looked down at the brave appendage in shock, wondering what the hell I was thinking. I needed to go home. I needed to leave this where it was. The wind blew my hair out of its bun, but I couldn't find the rubber-band, so I just smoothed it down. No good was going to come of this, only heartache. I should turn around and run back to my car and just leave him thinking it was some doorbell ditch, I thought.
The door opened, allowing the warm light to spill out into the dark. He stood there, wearing only pajama pants. My mouth went wet, then immediately dry at the sight of his bare chest, the muscles taut and hard. The eagle tattoo looked exactly the same, but now there was a scar from the bullet wound above the eagle's head. His nipples hardened as the night air hit them, and I had to force my eyes away from their perfection.
"Rachel? What are you doing here?" he asked softly. His brows came together and he stepped out to put his hands on my shoulders. "Is everything all right?"
A red-hot blush seared up my neck. He was worried something had happened to Daniel. I was here because I couldn't stop thinking about his kiss, not because anything was wrong. I suddenly didn't know what to say.
"Here, come inside. It's cold out there." He ushered me into his home, carefully shutting out the night behind me. "Let me throw on a shirt. I'll be right back. Make yourself comfortable."
He disappeared into a small room off to the left that I assumed was his bedroom. The apartment was comfortably furnished. A brown leather sofa and recliner faced a huge TV, a gas fireplace's flame dancing merrily underneath it. A small, heavy wooden table with two chairs sat in the kitchen, but it was covered in mail and random odds and ends. Canvas paintings hung on every wall. The one on the mantle I even suspected might be a Renoir. The man loved his art.
"Is everything okay?" Dean now wore a light gray T-shirt with the DS Oil and Gas logo emblazoned on the the front. It was easier to think without his muscles tempting me to touch them. The kitchen smelled delicious, and I could see something boiling on the stove. I felt guilty for disrupting his night off. "Please, take off your jacket and stay awhile. You hungry? I made my favorite beef stew and I always make too much."
I carefully took off my shoes, placing them neatly by the door and setting my jacket on top of them. "I don't mean to intrude. I'm not really even sure why I'm even here. I meant to go to this Italian restaurant, but I missed the exit, and I don't even remember turning off the highway. Suddenly, I was in your parking lot." A fresh blush crept up the back of my neck and into my scalp. Somehow, I was as nervous as a girl on a first date.
Dean laughed, a hearty and wonderful sound. "I'm actually glad you came by. It means I can stop picking up the phone every five minutes to try and get the courage to call you. Soup?"
"Yes, please. It smells wonderful," I said, stepping into his bright kitchen. Everything was organized and meticulous, except for the couple of spots where the soup had splattered onto the stove. He lifted the lid and ladled out a delicious looking stew into a large green bowl, handing the full bowl into my waiting hands.
"Here you go. Careful, it's hot. It's a recipe I learned from one of the Army cooks and then made into my own. It isn't fancy, but it sure tastes good." He gave me one of his perfect lopsided grins as he handed me a spoon. His smile made the butterflies begin to dance in my stomach again. "We can sit on the couch."
While he poured himself a bowl, I headed over to the brown leather sofa. It was worn and soft, giving the entire room a comfortable feeling. I balanced the bowl on my lap and raised a spoonful to my mouth. Flavor rushed across my tongue, the beef and vegetables combining with just enough spice to make my mouth water for more.
"This is delicious!" I took another bite, savoring the meaty broth and the bits of potatoes and carrots. "I didn't know you could cook."
Dean sat down on the couch next to me, close enough to make my heart speed up, but far enough away to be considered proper. "I can't really cook. This is probably the only t
hing I know how to make, but I just really know how to make it."
I took another bite of the hearty stew, enjoying just sitting next to Dean. I felt like I was floating on air, my nerves frazzled and excited. It's just Dean, I told myself, but that was the problem. I had tried to ignore it, but today's kiss had hammered it home. I still loved him. He made me feel safe and warm, yet adventurous and exciting all at the same time. I peeked a glance over at him as he blew on his soup, his mouth making a perfect, kissable circle. I wondered if I made him feel the same way.
Before I knew it, I was scraping the bottom of the bowl. I looked down at it, surprised. I hadn't even realized I was hungry. It was the first time I had finished a meal all week. Dean looked over and grinned at my empty bowl.
"Looks like you liked it." Pride at his cooking rippled through his voice. I smiled. It had been fantastic. "Do you want some more? I have plenty."
"Maybe in a little bit. I can't believe I ate all of it. It was wonderful." I handed him my bowl and he grinned at my praise. He sauntered into the kitchen and I had to focus to keep from watching his perfect ass. The pajama pants did nothing to hide that it was as muscular as the rest of his body.
"Can I get you a drink?" he called from the kitchen.
"Um, sure. What do you have?" I asked, stretching my arms out above my head. The soft leather creaked as I stood up and followed him to the kitchen.
He was standing in his pantry, frowning at a bottle in his hands. He turned and held it up for me to see. "It looks like all I have is this champagne," he apologized. "I haven't been home for a while, and this is all I have." I noticed the repetition. He sounded a little nervous.
I took the bottle and looked at the label. It was definitely something left over from a wedding or even a New Year's Eve party, but it still sounded good. I handed it back and smiled. "Works for me."
