True. Tyler had been out that way before when April’s brother, Andrew, had been promoted. The five of them had stuffed into Sean’s Tahoe and managed to leave real life behind for a weekend of celebration. It was the last time they were all together. Sean left a month later. “Okay, well, why don’t I come down next week, and you can show me your world for a change?”
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
“Apartment number?”
“214,” Dustin mumbled, more engaged with his current text message than answering. He mashed a few more keys and stuffed his phone back into his pocket. “I really have to go. But next weekend sounds great.”
“Yeah, see ya.”
Jewelry box in hand, Dustin rushed to his truck and honked twice as he passed.
Tyler spun around, took in the enormous task in front of him and went back to work. Today wasn’t quite the bonding experience he’d hoped for, but it did seem to be a step closer. He had Dustin’s phone number, now his address, maybe next time, he’d actually learn something about who he was meant to be.
Chapter 22
Journey: I can’t sleep
The phone screen remained dormant just long enough for Journey’s heart to race. It was the first time she’d texted him in months. But his demeanor at Morton’s and then again at the nursing home had given her hope that maybe he was beginning to forgive her.
Tyler: I’ve heard counting sheep works
Relief worked through every limb and she tucked herself comfortably on the couch. She loved it when he tried to be witty.
Journey: Tried that. It didn’t work
Tyler: What about a sleep aid
Journey: Makes me groggy
Tyler: Hold your breath until you pass out
Journey: I would, but then I’d hit my head, and the pain would wake me back up
Tyler: Maybe you’re having Mimosa withdraws. After all this time, is it possible Anne Marie has programmed you to miss Sunday brunch?
She laughed out loud at that suggestion, but quickly covered her mouth to mute the sound. April had gone to sleep two hours ago, exhausted from spending the entire weekend at her office. If she kept up this pace, she’d give Beck a run for the biggest workaholic award.
Journey: I need some advice, I think
Tyler: On how to make Midnight mimosas?
Journey: No. I’m struggling with a decision. Not sure if I should keep something to myself or not
Tyler: You know how I feel about secrets
She hesitated, then gritted her teeth and typed.
Journey: Can I come over?
Tyler: It’s late
Her heart pounded faster. He didn’t say no.
Journey: I know
Tyler: Beck’s already asleep
Journey: I figured
Tyler: You have class in the morning
Journey: Not till nine. Please? It’s important
She was already off the couch and slipping on her flip-flops when he texted back.
Tyler: Okay. But be careful driving down Lakefront. We had some tree limbs fall in the storm last night.
Warmth spread through her. Tyler had always been her protector.
Journey: I will. See you in a min.
Tyler tossed his phone aside, internally scolding himself for being so weak. He should have said no, but then again, he’d never been especially smart when it came to Journey. Feet bare, he padded across his bedroom and quietly shut the door.
The dark hall and living room was only maneuverable thanks to the small patch of light coming from the kitchen pantry and remarkably, he made it to the foyer without stubbing his toe. With a flick, Tyler lit up Beck’s porch and quietly slipped out onto the decking. In a t-shirt and gym shorts, Tyler half expected to be chilled, but the wind had shifted from the south and the night air hovered near seventy.
Lowering himself into one of the three Adirondack chairs nearby, he recalled the words she’d written. I’m struggling with a decision. She wouldn’t have asked to come over if it didn’t involve him, and despite his best efforts, he couldn’t dismiss the gnawing fear that maybe it didn’t. That maybe she was beginning to forge a future for herself that didn’t include him.
He watched as her car pulled into the drive, watched her step out onto the pavement. She’d come in pajamas, the ones he’d bought her two years ago as a prank. Bright yellow cotton with emojis scattered across her legs and arms. To his surprise, she’d loved them and had worn them so much he now spotted a hole forming by her knee.
“Hey,” she said, shutting the car door behind her. Her voice sounded tired, sensual. It was the same beautiful tone she’d use when they’d stay up talking late into the night.
Neither of them moved. Him mostly because the urge to wrap her up in his arms and pick up right where they’d left off was strong enough to keep him grounded.
Journey took the first stride forward and climbed the two steps between them. Wordlessly, she found an adjacent chair and lowered herself into it.
“How’s your grandma doing?” Tyler asked, struggling to remember why he’d ever needed space.
“Okay. She was good for a few days but not anymore.” Journey paused like she wanted to say more but then seemed to think better of it. “Have you, um, seen Dustin at all?”
“Yeah. We went through some boxes yesterday.”
“Did he mention his job?”
“No, why?”
“Just wondering.”
“You never just wonder out loud. Why are you asking me about Dustin?” Tyler could sense the tension in his voice. He’d respected her for trying where Dustin was concerned. Now, her voice mimicked the same disapproval as Beck’s.
“I’m just curious how much you’ve learned about…Ouch.” She slapped her arm. “Geez. I’m getting eaten alive out here.”
Tyler wasn’t ready to change the subject, but mosquitos were the plague of the south and he knew she’d welt up everywhere they bit.
“We can go inside if you want.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
He rose and she followed him into the house. Once inside, he hit the light switch, illuminating the blueprint he’d left spread across the dining room table.
Journey noticed it immediately. She walked over, turned the paper around, and studied the two story home he’d designed. “You’re really doing it?” Both admiration and sadness teetered in her voice. “Where?”
“About a half-mile down the road.” He suddenly felt sick to his stomach. “It’s the plot I showed you last year. I bought it when I was in Dallas.”
She ran a finger along the floor plan drawing. “I’m really happy for you.” Journey’s stillness made his head hurt almost as much as the sadness in her eyes. She moved away from the table like it might lash out at her. “Have you approached Harold about your grandfather?”
Ty felt his defenses shoot up. Though her question seemed to come out of the blue, the way she asked it felt premeditated. “No. He’s still on vacation.”
“How much longer?”
“Two more weeks.”
She fiddled with the edge of her pajama shirt. “Ty, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“The last time you said those words, you upturned my life.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a pit forming in his stomach. “Please tell me you’re not planning to Shanghai me with another secret.”
Her mouth formed a tight line. “Not a secret. A feeling, though I don’t think you’re going to want to hear it.”
She paused and the silence wore at his patience. “Go on.”
“I’m worried, Ty. I’m worried about you and Dustin, and I’m sorry but I don’t trust him.”
“Unbelievable.” She was right. He didn’t want to hear it. “I thought you out of everyone supported me on this.”
“I tried. I did. But there is something about Dustin that isn’t right.”
Blood swooshed through his veins and each throb in his temple ticked him off more. “Journey, you do realize you ta
lked to the guy for less than thirty minutes.”
“No. He came by Yellowtree and asked to meet my grandma. Claimed he had a client there, and worse.” She swallowed. “He hit on me, Ty. Knowing you and I are… well whatever we are, he shouldn’t have been hitting on me.”
“I’m sure you misread him.”
“I didn’t.”
Tyler ran a hand over his face. Only she could do this to him. Make him feel so completely off balance. “I can’t handle what you’re telling me. Don’t you understand? He’s the only family I have.”
“No, he’s not. You have me and Beck and April.” Her voice rose. “We’re all worried, Ty. Worried you’re going to cut out the people who love you and invite in someone who’s only trying to manipulate you. Or worse.”
“Dustin is the only one who’s been completely honest with me.”
“Really? And how much do you know about him besides the fact that he just happened to pull up to a house with a very vulnerable man still grieving his—”
“Stop it!” He slammed his hand on the dining table so hard the crystals in the center piece rattled. “Do not disrespect him. He’s my brother.”
“And what about disrespecting me? What about how he makes me feel?”
Pounding footsteps had them both halting as Beck appeared before them, his eyes half closed and still adjusting to the light. “I have to be up at five am for a conference call with Tampa.” He pointed to the front door, his bare chest flexing with the motion while his curls stuck up in every direction. The man did not do broken sleep very well. “If you two want to argue, go do it somewhere else. Geez, you’d think owning my own house would guarantee me a decent night of sleep!” With that last hiss, he stormed away. A second later his bedroom door slammed shut with extra aggression.
Tyler’s head fell back and he focused on the dark beams that ran along the ceiling. He sucked a rush of air into his lungs and then let it out again. “I think I finally understand why you lied to me for so long. Why you did everything you could to keep me from finding my family.” He was calm now. The epiphany had finally given him the answer he’d been searching for. “You can’t stomach the idea of that side being a part of me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You said so yourself. That I was hard and cruel and you couldn’t stand to be around me when I first moved here. Back when I was poor and untrained.” There was a bitterness in his mouth now. A metallic taste he hated. “All this time, the only reason we worked is because I became Beckham Kinder 2.0.”
Blood flushed her collarbone and her hands flew to her neck. Her mouth opened but her face was etched in such stunned agony that no words came out.
Guilt singed his throat. He wasn’t trying to be cruel. He was trying to make sense of all voices and emotions battling in his mind. “You should go.” Before he said something else that would permanently fracture them.
Angry tears spilled over her eyes. “Twice now, I have been honest with you. Even when I knew you would be angry. But I came. I took that risk. Because I loved you, Ty. You.” She shook her head. “All that nonsense you just spouted, it isn’t about me. This void, this abyss you seem intent on living in, it is and will always be about you. I can’t fix it, and I’m done feeling responsible.”
Keys fisted in her hand, Journey hurtled toward the door, but stopped with her hand on the knob. She glanced behind her, but he couldn’t meet her eyes. “I never cared about your last name, Ty. Only the character of the man who wore it.”
Chapter 23
She’d lost all sense of time. The brush strokes kept coming. A curve of yellow, a brush of blue. Heat licked up her arm, tingled across her skin, but she couldn’t stop the motion. A smudge, another stroke, blending both and then scraping the edge. Her eyes flicked over the colors, one more, two more. She furiously mixed, not enough, then more, a blend of green, and finally the perfect highlight for the shattered fragments.
A freedom she hadn’t felt in years pulled the image from her mind. Not just the loss of herself, but of them, the unit, the forever that would likely never be. Time continued to disappear. Finally, the last piece…a spark, barely visible to the eye. Despite all this picture was, there was no way she could paint anything of her and Ty without a glimmer of hope inside the sadness.
Journey pulled out her ear buds, silencing the classical piano pounding into her eardrums, and stared at the beauty in front of her. A silhouette, their silhouette, embracing, clinging, begging while unseen forces pulled them apart. Shattered colors drifted off the canvas as if their bodies were being scattered by the wind.
Within the painting, there was darkness, but also light. It wasn’t what she used to create before her dad left, or even the ugliness that remained after his abandonment. It was a blend of both. An acceptance that sometimes things didn’t work the way she thought they would.
A knock came from the doorway, pulling her attention away from her work.
“I wanted to let you know I’m leaving. It’s probably not a good idea to stay here alone so late.” The school’s new athletic director, Houston Kent, leaned his broad shoulder against the doorway and crossed his arms. He was tall, easy on the eyes, and definitely the kind of guy Journey would have rushed toward only a few months ago. She felt no such draw now. Though her healing was only just beginning, she no longer wanted to use random companionship and flattery to ease the pain.
“Thanks. I’ll pack up.”
Houston moved forward, casually, much like he always did. The man oozed cowboy even without a Stetson on top of his head. “Whatcha working on?”
She quickly blocked the painting, hiding its image from him. “Just a little personal project. I really don’t like people to see.” He’d stopped, but her nerves were still on alert. It always happened when she thought someone might judge her paintings. Her breath would catch, her heart fluttered, and a sick lightheadedness would set in. Her college therapist called it “fear of rejection” and blamed her workaholic father and her self-absorbed mother. Ty always said she didn’t need their overpriced advice, and that she should stop making excuses and just put her paintings out there. And now she was going to…next weekend.
“Actually,” She took a deep breath, forced her heart to stop its plunge to her stomach. “An unbiased opinion would be good. Especially since it’s going to be on display for the whole city to see.”
Houston flashed that big Texas grin and finished crossing the room as Journey stepped aside.
He stared for a really long time. Or at least it felt long because she was holding her breath and gnawing a hole into her already blunt fingernail.
“Wow. That’s…”
“It’s amateur, I know. I don’t even know why I decided to submit it. I mean, it was late, I was upset, I couldn’t sleep, and then I hit enter—”
His hand on her shoulder stilled her verbal faucet.
“Journey, it’s breathtaking. I had no idea you were so talented.”
She bit her lip, the responding smile impossible to hide. “Really? So I’m not going to make a fool out of myself at the art show?”
“Not a chance.” His head tilted, his genuine likeability far too tempting.
She glanced away and walked with her tools over to the big white farmhouse sink at the back of the room where she kept a tub of paint thinner. Houston followed and offered to dry her brushes after she’d cleaned them. Knowing she was holding him up from leaving, she agreed.
“You’re here kinda late tonight, too. Watching game film again?” She handed him her largest brush and picked up the scraper, using newspaper to pull off the excess paint.
“I wish. No, all administrative stuff. We’ve had a huge turn over in coaches.” He tilted his head, his voice full of sarcasm. “I don’t suppose you know anyone who not only loves to coach, but who could also withstand the politics that unfortunately dominates a private school.”
It was as if Houston had handed her a golden ticket. “I do, actually. But I’m not
sure he’ll want to come back to Bentwood.”
His eyes brightened. “What’s he coach?”
“Junior High football right now.” It was Sean’s first coaching job. He’d gotten his teaching certification right after he and April split up. “His team went 7-1 this year,” she continued. When they’d met for dinner, Sean’s stories about his boys were the only time life returned to his eyes. “He also played for UT, wide receiver, and he’s all about character and team building.” And honesty and goodness and everything that made April the person Journey knew she could be again.
Houston’s drying became more eager. “I just lost my offensive coordinator. Sounds like he’d be perfect. Do you know what he teaches? Or if high school interests him at all?”
“Math, I think. He has a degree in finance. And yeah, high school football was why he went into coaching. He loved his old coach and still keeps in touch.”
“If you’re serious, I might just get on my knees and beg right now.”
“Don’t you dare.” She handed him the last brush and closed the lid on the solvent. “I’ll write down his number for you.” Picking up a clean towel and drying her wet hands, Journey ignored the icy reminder that April would probably murder her if she knew what she was about to do. But she was done trying to please everyone else, especially when no one seemed to care one way or the other about her wants or feelings.
Houston lined up the last of her brushes, and waited while she grabbed her purse, wrote down Sean’s number, and moved toward the light switch.
“Thanks again for waiting on me,” she said.
He crossed in front of her to the hall while she flipped the lights and shut the door. “Any time. In fact, I’d love to get a drink if you’re up for it.”
Adrenaline rolled through her. This was where she always fell, right into this place of need and regret. If she went with Houston right now, it would undoubtedly end badly, for both of them. She twisted so he could see the sincerity in her answer. “It’s very nice of you to ask, but right now I’m taking some time for myself.”
Until I Knew Myself (Bentwood Book 1) Page 16
