“We’ll always be a family, Linc. That hasn’t changed.” Her words warmed my frozen heart.
Returning to my childhood home in eastern Tennessee was bittersweet. It reminded me of both the happiest and worst times in my life, but it was the house that built me and molded the man I became. Phee stayed at a bed and breakfast nearby while the kids and I stayed with my mom. She sounded better than she had on the phone, but she still looked lost and exhausted. My parents didn’t have a happy marriage, but it was the only life Lillian Huxley knew.
I sat across from her at the table in the tiny kitchen that hadn’t changed since I left home. The walls were the same medium blue with white cabinets, and the same old goose wallpaper border lined the circumference of the room. In fact, my parents’ entire house was like stepping back to a different decade through a time warp machine. My mom had been so excited to remodel the house back in the nineties, and it hadn’t changed since. The living room still had the same couch that combined stripes and flowers in the ghastliest way, but she had seen it in a magazine and fell in love with it.
For the first time that I could remember, my dad had actually put effort into making my mom happy. He teased her about the expense, but I could tell he didn’t mean it. The house was my mom’s dream, and it was a source of pride for my dad that he could provide it for her. My mom had worked too, but only part time as a cashier once I went to junior high school. Sometimes she worked evenings, which left my dad and me to fend for ourselves. Thomas Huxley liked his meat-and-potato dinners hot and on the table when he walked through the door. He didn’t like leftovers or frozen TV dinners.
I think the little bit of independence that my mom had found was the biggest source of their arguments, but for once, my mom was unwilling to give in to Dad’s demands. I think my dad releasing his iron-fisted grip on the checkbook to redecorate was his sneaky attempt at manipulating my mom into quitting her job. Kind of like, “Look at your pretty house. How can you leave it?”
Mom got her pretty house and kept her job. The fighting intensified to the point that I spent every free moment at Rush’s house. Of course, I wanted to be there for reasons besides the acrimony between my folks, but I could relive those memories when I had a few minutes to catch my breath. I was only in my old room long enough to drop my suitcase on my bed and return downstairs to comfort my mother.
“Why don’t you come back to California with me for a while after the funeral, Mom?” I asked gently. “I have an extra bedroom in my new condo.”
“I appreciate the offer, Linc. I might take you up on it after I sell the house and settle your dad’s estate.”
“Sell the house?” I was stunned.
“This house is just too much for me to take care of anymore. My knees hate that my bedroom is on the second floor and the laundry room is in the basement. This house needs laughter and little kids again. Your father and I talked about selling it this summer. We were going to hire someone to update it a little bit first. Then he…” Her voice broke off and she began to cry.
“I’m so sorry, Mom.” I held her against my chest and let her cry as long as she wanted.
I was sad that my father died, of course, but what I truly mourned was the lost potential of growing closer to him. I guess I had never given up the hope that someday my father and I would click, but his sudden death ensured that it would never happen.
After several minutes, my mom pulled back and wiped her face with a handkerchief. “Anyway, you’ll want to go through your room to see if there’s anything you want to keep. I’m going to hire a company to clean this place out, paint it, and sell it as is.”
“I doubt there’s anything up there I want to keep,” I said gently. Hell, I hadn’t spent the night in that room but a few times after high school graduation. I rarely even came home for summer once I left for college. Spending time in that town without Rush was too damn painful. There wasn’t a place I could go where memories of us didn’t taunt me. Even though I was back in town for my father’s funeral, my first thoughts were of Rush when we drove our rental into town.
Our innocent laughter echoed off the playground of our elementary school. I couldn’t look at the ice cream parlor, Scoops, without seeing Rush’s fevered delight over buying penny candy at the counter. God, he drove those ladies crazy by choosing five of one thing and ten of another then asking how much money he had left to spend. He’d repeat the process until he went home with a bag full of treasures he hid inside his treehouse so that his dad wouldn’t find it. The familiar sounds of Friday night lights played through my mind as we drove past the high school. The marching band and cheering crowds were amazing times, but my heart pinched painfully in my chest when I recalled my favorite way of celebrating a victory. It involved two wild hearts that beat as one in the darkness of my dad’s car, or anywhere we could be alone. It took everything I had to force those memories aside to focus on helping my mother the best I could.
“It’s just some posters and trophies,” I told her. The things I cherished most from my hometown were things that I couldn’t display on a wall or shelf for people to see.
As the day wore on, my mother’s exhaustion showed more and more. I convinced her to turn in early since my father’s memorial service, burial, and gathering of friends and family was happening the next day. I tucked her into bed and kissed her forehead. “I love you, Mom. Rest well.”
“I love you too, Lincoln.”
Holden and Kennedy stayed downstairs to watch television while I went to my old room. I was hoping to enjoy some solitude, but I should’ve known that the ghosts of my past would join me. Deciding it would be best to stay busy, I unpacked my suitcase and toiletries. When I opened my closet to hang up my garment bag, my eyes latched onto my grandad’s old metal WWII ammunition box my grandma gave me after he died. She’d told me that he kept his most precious treasures inside the box since it was responsible for getting him home from the war.
I just stood there staring at the green metal box because I knew what treasures I placed there for safekeeping. I was in no way ready to face them. Yet, I hung up the garment bag and pulled the box down from the shelf like I was under its spell.
I sat at the foot of my bed, trying so hard not to hear the remnants of laughter and love bouncing around in my head. It had captivated me so much that I almost expected the box to vibrate and pulse in my hand. It was my very own Jumanji, and I knew that only misery would follow if I opened that box and looked inside. I swiftly rose from my bed and set it on my dresser.
“Okay, maybe I’ll take one thing back home,” I whispered to myself, looking around the room. I had no desire to relive my gridiron glory days by taking home the trophies and awards. The movie and rock band posters made me smile though. Rush had the biggest crush on Jon Bon Jovi, and I used to get so fucking jealous.
A familiar ping of a rock bouncing off my window snapped me back to the present, or had it transported me back in time? Rush used to throw stones at my window to get my attention once my parents went to bed. Looking back now, it was amazing no one caught us sneaking around. My heart raced with the possibilities, even though I knew it was too ridiculous to believe. I pulled back the curtain and saw my ex-wife standing beneath my window in the early evening dusk instead of the boy who had looked at me with his heart in his eyes.
I raised the window and poked my head outside. “It’s a little late for you to be out prowling the streets, young lady.”
Phee steepled her hands in prayer beneath her chin. “Please don’t tell my parents.” Her shenanigans made me laugh and lessened the tension that had gripped my body.
“Why didn’t you just knock on the door?”
“I didn’t want to risk waking your mom,” Phee answered. “Let me in. I want to see you and make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.”
“I need to see it for myself, so either come downstairs and let me in like a gentleman or I’m climbing that tree.” She gestured to the big oak with branches
that nearly reached my window. “What’s it going to be?”
I placed my finger on my lip and tilted my head to the side as I pondered my choices. “Hmmmmm.”
“I was excellent at climbing trees once upon a time,” Phee said. To prove her determination, she kicked off one of her flats.
“Okay, you win,” I told her before she took off the second shoe.
“What’s going on?” Kennedy asked when I jogged down the steps.
“Your mom is silly,” I replied.
Phee made a beeline for our kids as soon as I unlocked and opened the door, which made me suspicious of her true intentions of showing up at my mom’s. Once she got her fix, she turned her attention back to me, and I saw that she really was worried about me.
“Let’s go upstairs to my room,” I told her, nodding my head toward the stairs.
“Uh oh,” Holden said. “Better not let your boyfriend find out, Mom.” He looked over the back of the couch at us. “Will it ever stop feeling weird when I talk about my mom having a boyfriend?”
“Yes,” I told him. “This is still pretty new for us, but it won’t be long before you can’t remember a time without Jackson in your lives as long as you two give the guy a fair chance. He’s a good man and really cares about your mom.” Phee squeezed my hand in appreciation.
“We know, Daddy,” Kennedy said. “We like him. It’s just…”
“We know,” Phee and I said at once.
“It’s different,” I added.
“Yes, but I was going to say that we want you to be happy too, Daddy.”
“I’ll get there, Kennedy. I just need to find the right person.” I thought it was a huge step in the right direction that I hadn’t said I needed to find the right woman. “Don’t stay up too late,” I told them. “It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”
“Okay,” they both said, even though they could’ve argued that I was treating them like little kids.
Phee followed me up to my room and sat on my bed. We chatted about my mom and the surprise she dropped about selling the house. “Mom asked me to go through my things to see if I wanted to take any of it home.”
“There’s so much to choose from,” Phee said. She stood up and walked over to the shelves lining the wall, looking at each trophy. She stopped when she reached the dresser and her eyes landed on the ammo box sitting on top of it. “What a cool box. What’s in here?”
“Phee, don’t,” I said, sounding like she was about to unleash cataclysmic chaos into the world. Well, it would be for me anyway.
“Ohhh, now you’ve got me curious.” Phee lifted the box and clutched it to her chest. “Are there mementos from the girls who came before me? Evidence of your glory days?” She wiggled her brows suggestively, unaware of the acid churning inside my stomach.
“Ophelia,” I said in a warning tone as I stood up. “Give me the box.”
“No way. There must be something truly juicy inside this box for you to act this way.”
She thought I was embarrassed, but what I felt was the terror of what would happen if she looked inside. It was truly Pandora’s box, and she could never unsee the contents or undo the damage she would cause.
“Please,” I begged, taking the few steps that separated us. I lunged for the box suddenly, but Phee turned at the last minute to avoid my hands. Instead of grabbing the box, I knocked it out of her hand. It felt like I was watching it fall in slow motion until it hit the hardwood floor with a loud clank. The noise was the least of my problems though, because the box had become unlatched as it fell, and my secrets spilled onto the floor.
“I’m sorry, Linc,” Phee said, dropping to her knees. “Let me…”
“No,” I said, falling to my knees beside her. I felt Phee stiffen beside me at my harsh tone, but worrying about her feelings was the last thing on my mind. Why couldn’t she have left that box alone? My tenuous grip on my emotions was starting to unravel as I tried to scoop up the contents and put them back inside without really seeing them.
I realized the moment that Phee saw a hint of the secret that I had kept from her. She gasped softly and reached for a Polaroid picture before I could pick it up. I tried to take it from her, but she blocked me with her free hand then slid it down to link her fingers with mine. Phee looked at the photo in her hand showing two teenage boys who were obviously in love and the dozens of similar photos scattered on the floor. “What’s his name?”
“Rush.” Just whispering his name broke a dam inside me.
Ophelia released my hand so that she could get up and lock the door. When she returned, she helped me to my feet and guided me to the bed. I sobbed on the bed as she reverently placed each of my treasures back into the box and carried it to me.
“I’m sorry, Linc. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry, Phee. I promised you a life that I couldn’t give you.” I took the box from her but couldn’t meet her eyes. I was terrified of what I’d see. I expected her to leave the house and never want to speak to me again, but instead, she sat on the bed beside me and ran her hand through my hair to comfort me. I rested my head against her chest, and she looped her arms around me to hold me while I cried. “Please don’t hate me, Phee. I tried so hard to be a good husband.”
“Shhh, Linc,” she said soothingly. “I’m going to need some time to process this because everything I knew about you—us—was wrong, but I could never hate you. Right now, I just want to take care of you. We can talk this out when we get back home. Okay?”
I nodded against her chest. Phee must’ve had a million thoughts and questions running through her mind, but she didn’t voice any of them. She just rocked me back and forth as I released my misery. Once my tears turned to sniffles, she cupped my chin and raised my head to look into my eyes.
“Tell me about Rush.”
And I did. I opened the box, and my heart, to relive those memories with my best friend by my side. I showed her the dried flower that Rush wore pinned to his tuxedo jacket. Fresh tears fell from my eyes when I told her about our private dance. Phee cried with me. We looked at the photos of Rush and me that told the story of our friendship to young love. I laughed when I told her about Rush getting the camera as a gift from his mom.
“I think Rush invented the selfie,” I told Phee, pointing to a photo of us grinning at the camera that Rush had held above our heads. I thought he was crazy when he turned the camera around and aimed it at us, but the picture had turned out well.
“He was a brave boy who loved with all his heart and confronted his fears instead of cowering behind them. I wasn’t as brave as him.”
Phee listened to me talk about my first love until the early light of dawn crept through the windows. “This is a new day, Lincoln,” she said from the pillow beside mine. “It’s not too late for you to be brave too. This weekend might not be the right time to tell your mom but please tell her soon. Give her the chance to know the real you. She might get angry or feel hurt, but that’s on her, not you.”
“What about Kennedy and Holden?”
“Kennedy just told you that they wanted to see you happy. If she was telling the truth, she will love whoever you love.” Phee ran the back of her hand over my jawbone. “Right now, you need to get a few hours of sleep. We’ll form a plan later. Okay?”
I knew that long talks and revelations lay ahead of me, but I drifted to sleep with a glimmer of hope in my heart.
It seemed like everyone I knew tried to fix me up with a guy who was “perfect for me.” I understood that they wanted to see me happy, but it only added to my loneliness when it failed to work out. Sure, I had some great meals with some wonderful men, but the evenings lacked the spark of awareness that said something truly special lay ahead for us. I wouldn’t exactly say I lived like a monk over the next few months because some of the dates did carry over into the bedroom. While the sex was physically satisfying in the moment, the missing emotional connection left me feeling empty and cold when I was by myself af
terward.
I started to believe that I was the problem. The common denominator in every failed relationship, or potential one, was me. What was it about me that drove men away? I didn’t learn my lesson after my Lincoln heartache and proceeded to get my heart smashed by several closet cases until I reached my mid-twenties. By then, I had found guys who were open with their sexuality but didn’t want the same things I did. I thought that had changed with Travis, but I was so fucking wrong. Hell, I sent him running from the altar on the day of our wedding. Was I doomed to spend the rest of my life alone?
Brutus nudged my knee beneath my desk as if he sensed my loneliness and wanted to remind me that he was there. I reached down and stroked his silky ears, marveling at how quickly my mood improved.
“You’re such a handsome boy,” I said to my faithful companion just as Nigel walked into my office.
He gasped and turned around to face the door he’d just walked through. “Please tell me that you’re petting and talking to your dog, not stroking your cock and ego.”
“Hang on, Ni. I’m almost there,” I grunted out like I was about to come. I removed my hand from Brutus’s ear, and he stealthily crawled out from under my desk and crept over to Nigel.
“Gross,” he said. “I need a raise. You don’t pay me enough to—” His words cut off when Brutus shoved his nose against his right butt cheek. “Well, Mr. Holden, that wasn’t the kind of raise I had in mind, but…”
Brutus nudged Nigel again and let out a woof.
My assistant turned and squatted until he was eye level with my dog. “I knew it was you all along. I’m just glad your master hasn’t become so desperate that he’d literally take matters into his own hand during business hours. Who knows who could walk through the door.”
Second Wind Page 9
