Stealing Home

by Harlow Cole

  “Is that what you think?” I gripped her chin, fighting against the pins and needles beneath my skin, as I forced her to face me. “You can really look me in the eye and say you believe that’s all this is? I did this because I love you. I’ve always loved you. From the second we met. From before I even knew what that word meant. I’ve always taken care of you. And I will until the day I die.”

  Empty green eyes stared through me.

  I couldn’t tell if she’d even heard a word I said.

  “You’re going to be fine, Dallas. You’re always fine.” Her voice grew hauntingly calm. An eerie resolve spread across her face, wiping away her anger as it added to my fear.

  Chills shot up the base of my spine.

  In my mind, I saw my feet come out from under me, sliding for the plate as the catcher’s mitt thrust out toward me. The leather scraped across my skin while the umpire’s fist prepared to call the out, sending me back to the dugout, back to the purgatory of a man who had nothing to show for his effort.

  Stealing home is the biggest risk in baseball. Those who succeed are called winners; those who fail live in hell.

  The hell of getting close enough to taste it.

  I was so close. So close.

  “You’re going to be the shining star all those people out there love.” She pointed to the window. “You’ll be the prince of Gotham again, walking on air, living in a castle. You don’t need a backup plan. You don’t need me. I wish you believed that. I wish you could’ve found that out on your own without coming back. Without finding me and making me fall back in love with you again.”

  Shell-shocked, I shook myself to make sure I’d heard her words. I quietly uttered her name and stepped closer. She shook her head back and forth. Her hand held out, repelling me back. I tried to grab on to the sides of her arms, but without my full strength, she easily brushed her way past and walked out of the room.

  She reappeared with a suitcase beside her.

  “Ashley, stay, and let’s talk this out.”

  She didn’t respond.

  She opened the door and crushed my heart. She walked out on me without looking back. For the second time in my life, I had to let her go without putting up a fight.

  I half-crawled to make it there. As I pulled open the bottom drawer, a familiar burn built inside my skull. That deep yearning for numbness hadn’t crept up on me in a very long time. It had been lying there, dormant, waiting. An addict’s need for easy oblivion never totally subsides.

  I sucked two breaths from the inhaler and then gripped on to the side of the bathroom counter until the pressure began to ease.

  I pulled my phone from my back pocket.

  “She’s on her way down. Don’t let her get in a fucking cab. Take her to the airport. The jet is on standby. And, Gino, Vincent is in St. Michaels with the delivery. Make sure he’s there to greet her on the other end.”

  “I’m on it, boss. Anything else I can do for you?” he asked carefully.

  Gino had seen plenty in his days. He knew my girl leaving by herself spelled out a sad twist of fate.

  “Tell the flight crew to circle back for me. I’ll be waiting.”

  Waiting it out.

  I’d spent too many years doing that already.

  I took another puff from the inhaler and then sucked down a full, cleansing breath.

  The time for waiting was over.

  I had to lay down my hand. Had to spread out all my secrets and lies. Problem was, before that could happen, I had to get her father to come clean.

  In more ways than one.

  “Yours is the light

  by which my spirit’s born:

  you are my sun, my moon,

  and all my stars.”

  —E.E. Cummings

  27

  White Knights & Lies

  Brayden

  I drove straight to the marina, knowing I wouldn’t find her there. Vincent had dropped her off hours ago, and still sat parked at the end of her street, watching over the house.

  By the time I arrived, the pink fingers of evening were stroking down through the water. They laid to rest the bluster and noise of late day sunshine. Docklines clanged solemnly against moorings. Loose halyards slapped against their masts. The vacant maritime symphony kept time with each step I now took toward my fate.

  I found my delivery.

  Standing at the rail on the aft deck of Toward Happiness, staring out across the water.

  Robert Foster was the first man I’d ever admired. The first man I’d ever wanted to emulate. He laughed easily, spoke in a quiet voice, and always maintained a steady demeanor—even back in the days when he’d been coaching us on a ball field and we’d been majorly fucking up. When he would come to conference with me on the mound, he wouldn’t yell or fuss like every other coach I’d ever had—before or since. And he’d never taken the ball from my hand.

  I’d tried to give it to him once, in a district final game, after I’d walked two chumps and let a third get a cheap hit that two-hopped the fence. He’d immediately thrust it right back into my palm.

  “No, kid. I don’t want the ball. It’s right where it belongs. I believe in you, Brayden. Bases loaded doesn’t mean you give up. Means you make ’em look that much more foolish when you strike their next three out. Now, get out of your head and throw that sucker right through your catcher’s mitt.”

  He didn’t hear me as I first approached.

  That gave me time to stand back and study him.

  Mrs. F always used to joke that he looked like Robert Redford, with lighter hair and a better ass. I could still see the resemblance. He’d aged though. Not in the way years soften skin or whiten hair, in the way a man looks after he’s carried around too much pain.

  I never saw him after that night.

  That was the weirdest part. We’d never exchanged angry words or tearstained goodbyes. I saw him for the last time two weeks before the accident. I was picking Ashley up for school. Running late for work, he gave me a short wave as he jumped in his truck.

  Our relationship didn’t peter out or explode in a ball of fire. It just broke off, silently consumed by the void my mistakes created.

  I’d come here full of impatience and frustration.

  Ready to do battle.

  I’d planned to tell him how this had to play out and to insist he help me. But standing there now, feet from him, I realized just how fucking stupid that plan really was.

  This man was the father I’d always wanted to have. Regardless of my age or stature, I would always face him as that same little kid, still desperate for his acceptance.

  Too many feelings tangled up in my throat. Remorse. Pain. Gratitude. They heaved up to the forefront as I swallowed back childish tears and finally cleared my throat.

  He glanced briefly to the side without fully turning, exposing a beard I’d never seen him wear.

  “You didn’t have to send your goon down to get me. I was ready to come home,” he called out.

  “She needs you,” I responded defensively.

  He slowly turned to face me, leaning back against the rail. His eyes swept the length of me. I took a deep breath, waiting for the wrath I felt was sure to come—the hatred I’d feared during four long years of exile.

  “Jesus. Look at you.” A soft smirk combined with sad eyes. “My memory still stores the lanky kid, but there’s a man standing before me.”

  I ran a hand across the stubble on my chin, feeling the anxiety uncoil inside me as I soaked in the acceptance hidden beneath his words. Relief propelled me forward. I stepped toward the rail, positioning myself beside him so I could stare out at the water and try to catch my breath.

  “I know Ashley needs me,” he added quietly. “Part of me stayed away because I didn’t know how to face her. I left her with a huge mess. I just . . . I had to fix myself before I could fix anything else.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “I know something about that, too.”

  He turned beside me, gripping o
n to the rail and staring out in the same direction. “Nice little boat you’ve got yourself here. Takes up some prime real estate. Probably good you’ve got a connection with the new owner.”

  I licked my lips, trying to stop the words from spilling out of my mouth too fast. “I didn’t buy the marina ’cause I wanted to pull it out from under you. Your kids are probably both gonna tell you that. But that’s a lie. I bought it because it’s the only part we have left of her, and I couldn’t stand by and watch you all lose it. I already have lawyers working on transferring the deed back into your name. You’ll own it free and clear by the end of the week.”

  I had intended to have it all transferred before anyone found out. Instead, I’d put them back in a place where they had to trust me. Where they had to believe I was telling the truth. Trust and forgiveness. They grow up the vine together, dependent and intertwined. Now, instead of earning just one, I had to beg for them both at once.

  He stayed silent for so long; I grew uncomfortable. Pressure built behind my eyes. His open palm drummed against the rail as I waited, anxious for his reaction.

  He took a deep breath before he began, “The night before I cashed the first check, I tried to kill myself.”

  “What?” I turned to stare at him, wide-eyed.

  “I kept finding little notes she’d left. All over the damn place. As soon as she got sick, she must’ve started writing them. The first couple weeks, I pulled the house apart, searching for them all. Some were practical. Instructions on how to wash laundry. Recipes. Reminders about everyday life. Some of them were love notes. Deep thoughts she had about our life together. Things she wished we’d made time for. Things she was thankful we’d accomplished. As you can probably guess, reading them pretty much tore me up.” His voice clouded over.

  He wiped a hand across his mouth, collecting himself for a moment.

  “I was working late that night, trying to figure out how the hell to get out of the hole we’d put ourselves in. I found another one, stuck inside the top desk drawer. I thought I’d already found them all, but I pulled out a pen, and there it was. It only had two words on it.” He turned his head to look me in the eye. “Move on.”

  “Easier said than done,” I muttered.

  He nodded his head and snickered. “I sat at the desk with my grandfather’s shotgun between my knees. Just staring down the barrel. I couldn’t come up with a way to save this place on my own. And the only way I could imagine moving on was to join her.”

  “Shit.” I wiped both hands down my face, trying to mask the image his words left behind.

  “But I couldn’t go through with it. I kept looking up and seeing the faces on all those photos on the wall. The next day, I went to the bank and cashed the first check. Then, I went home and got stinking drunk for the first time. I knew I was opening Pandora’s box. Knew what it would do to them if they ever found out the extent of their father’s weakness. And I knew what it would do to you to suddenly have me make an about-face and take your money.”

  His hand gripped my shoulder. “Son, I didn’t send back all the other checks before it to throw charity back in your face. I didn’t cash them because I wanted more for you. I prayed you’d stop sending them. If they stopped coming, I’d know you’d moved on with your life.”

  “I couldn’t. I can’t.”

  “I know, kiddo. I know. Moving on, easier said than done.”

  A bond formed around our shared words. He paused as we both watched a sleek thirty-six-foot cutter cruise by, blowing pretty hard toward the mouth of the bay.

  “You still love her, don’t you?”

  His words surprised me. I hadn’t recovered yet from hearing them being passed back and forth that morning.

  “I love all of you.” My voice cracked.

  His hand squeezed my shoulder again.

  “I had to buy the marina. I promised your wife . . . I promised her I’d take care of it. Of you guys. I owed you all that much.” My words rushed out as fast as my thoughts.

  “Son, you don’t owe me a thing.”

  “I do. I owe you everything.” I dragged a hand through my hair as I prayed I could talk about this and hold it together. “I know what you did. I always thought it was her. But she told me. The last night, before she died, she told me it was you.”

  He pursed his lips and nodded, obviously surprised.

  “Why did you do it? If those lab tests hadn’t gotten screwed up, I could’ve been formally charged. I was high as a kite when I hit him. I took that crazy shit and destroyed your daughter and then half-killed your son. But you saved me. Why? Why did you do it?”

  He turned, facing me head on.

  “Because I could’ve saved you all. I should have. Brayden, long before you failed Ashley and Nathan, I failed you. My mistake enabled yours. I knew you were struggling. Nathan knew it, too. He thought he was covering for you, but I knew why you both were fighting so much. I tried talking to your father. But that wasn’t enough. I should’ve done more. I helped raise you. In so many ways, I thought of you as a son. I shouldn’t have turned a blind eye. The whole town had turned you into a goddamn shooting star, but I should’ve seen you were falling apart. I should’ve forced you to come stay with us.”

  “You couldn’t have stopped me.” I held my arms out. “All of this. This whole mess. It’s all my fault. And it kills me that you and your daughter spend one second blaming yourselves. Why does everyone take partial credit for something that should solely lay at my feet?”

  “Because blame seldom lands in one place, son. We all played a part. And, now, we all have to play a role in putting things back together.”

  “How do we do that? Your daughter feels betrayed again. Your son is never gonna forgive me. And we can’t get your wife back.” The last part spilled out before I could think of how harsh it would sound to suffering ears.

  “You’re right. We can’t get her back.” His voice faltered. He took a deep breath, finding fresh resolve. “I’ve spent thirteen months hiding at the bottom of a bottle, reminding myself of that. But we can save this place together. We can all be a part of it.”

  I hung my head. His words sounded like my plan.

  The one I’d built up under my life like a house of cards on stilts.

  I didn’t know anymore. My faith was gone. The certainty that Mrs. F gifted me before she died, was swept away by the tears on Ashley’s face that morning. I didn’t know how to find it again on my own.

  “I don’t want you to transfer that deed solely into my name. I want you to split it among the family. Even. Four ways.”

  I looked back up at him, surprised. “Four?”

  “Nathan. Ashley. Me. And you.”

  I stood there, shell-shocked. His hand gripped my shoulder again, steadying me with a father’s strength. I brushed the back of my hand across the corner of one eye, knowing I had no chance of holding that shit back now.

  I shook my head, wanting to respond, but knowing I couldn’t speak. None of this was how I’d imagined this conversation going down.

  “Guess we best be getting me over to the house. There’s a little girl over there who’s probably dreaming up ways to skin us both alive.”

  I swallowed.

  “You want to tell her the whole story together?” he asked.

  That had been my plan. To come clean. To make her see. Force her to understand. Now, I didn’t know right from wrong anymore.

  White lies, lying end to end, eventually form a string long enough to bind you.

  “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to go from here. I’d convinced myself for so fucking long that I knew what was best for her. That I was best for her. I thought I could ride in here and save everything and make her look at me again like she used to—before that night. I’ve spent all this time going to get the stars. That’s what I had to do. Go get them, shove them in my pocket, and bring them back to her. But what if she doesn’t want them? What if I’m not it for her? I just don’t know anymore.”


  He chuckled.

  I turned to look at him, confused.

  “Sir, with all due respect, I’m not even sure the way I feel about your daughter is normal. I’ve always thought this was love, but I don’t know if—”

  His chest rumbled with deeper laughter, cutting me off.

  “You feel like you can’t live without her? Like every other thought has her wrapped around it somehow? The big stuff, like what you want to do with the rest of your life, and the little stuff, like the way a fistful of strawberries smells like her hair?”

  I exhaled loudly. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

  He slapped me on the back. “That’s love, kid. And, trust me, I don’t know if you can find that twice in one life.”

  I muttered a curse.

  “Brayden, we can play this however you want. But I gotta tell you, there’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do to spend five more minutes with my wife. Nothing. I’d sell my soul to feel Lizzie in my arms one more time. After I went through about half a bottle of Patrón one night, I said that very thing to a bartender. Guy had a gold cross hanging from his left ear and a dream catcher hanging from his right. He reminded me that I’d get those five minutes again someday. When the time was right.” He pointed upward. “Told me the universe had its own plan for me. I just had to sit tight and wait it out.”

  He looked up, staring at the sky, before he added, “Hardest damn thing in the world is to look up and realize we aren’t always steering the ship.”

  He slapped me on the back again. “I’ve gotta wait for another lifetime to get my girl back. If I were you, I wouldn’t wait that long for yours.”

  * * *

  Ashley

  I turned on the porch light when I heard a car pulling up the driveway. I knew he would come. He could never leave well enough alone.

  I’d spent the whole night shouting at him in my head. Finally saying some of that shit out loud was gonna feel mighty good. I marched out to the top step, ready to let him have it.

  He opened the door and stood there, one hand pressed on top of the roof of his pretentious car. He didn’t move further. Didn’t pound his way up the steps and manhandle me, as I’d predicted. He just stood there, patiently staring at me with those stupid blue eyes.