He’d probably wanted to ask for Tyler’s help less than Tyler wanted to go over there. Because he’d been the last choice. And God knows Tyler, left to his own devices, would probably be sitting in the dark, chugging a beer and listening to the most morose, mind-numbing music he could dredge from his playlist.
Real mature, he knew. But you know what? Tough. Because—not that Laurel had actually said this, but he wasn’t a total idiot, he could read between the lines—maybe he never would grow up, maybe this was as up as he was ever gonna get, dating bubbleheaded blondes and running in the damn rain with his damn dog, until their bodies gave out and they were reduced to lumps on his sofa, watching crapola TV until their heads exploded. Well, Tyler’s, anyway.
Except that’d already happened, hadn’t it?
A cat scurried across the street; the dog jerked on his leash, practically wrenching Tyler’s arm out of the socket.
“Forget it,” Tyler huffed out, yanking the dog back. “No sense going after things you can’t get.”
Yeah. That.
Seriously—what’d he been thinking, blindsiding Laurel like that? Not to mention himself? When was he gonna learn to think things through instead of just going with the moment?
Maybe he didn’t want to know the answer to that.
Panting as bad as the dog, Tyler pounded up the porch steps to the elegant Queen Anne, slicking rain off his hair before digging his old house keys from his sweatpants pocket, letting himself in. Boomer dashed to the kitchen and the automatic water dish always available for visiting granddogs.
“Pop?”
Funny how even after all this time, the name still didn’t sit right in Tyler’s mouth. Never mind that the Colonel had more than plugged up that hole in Tyler’s life for nearly twenty years. Tried to, anyway.
“Family room!”
Tyler followed the old man’s voice to the paneled room off the kitchen, where, as a kid, Tyler’d spent many an afternoon watching Power Rangers cartoons. Then, later, Saturday mornings watching This Old House and HGTV remodeling shows, earning him many a “Seriously? Again?” from his older siblings. This room, however, was about as far from HGTV-worthy as it got, the paneling dull, the leather furniture saggy and scuffed, the carpeting worn—the hallmarks of a space where, for a decade or so, a bunch of kids had found “family” right when the concept had seemed most out of reach. Now, stacked with military precision in front of the bare, built-in bookcases smothering one side of the room, were dozens of cardboard boxes. Presumably filled with the hundreds of books that used to live on those bookcases.
Children’s books. The classics. Jeanne’s vast collection of paperbacks, spanning every genre imaginable. A shrine, Tyler now realized, to a woman’s intense love of reading, of learning. Of sharing.
His gaze swung to his father, taping up one of the boxes, and something inside him twinged.
“What’s going on?”
“Library said they’ll take the whole lot if we can get ’em there. Can’t lug ’em all out to the truck by myself, though. Back’s not what it used to be. This getting old business is for the birds—”
“And why are you getting rid of the books?”
“Nobody’s touched them in years, Ethan’s kids all use those tablets or e-readers or whatever they are.” He straightened, pressing his knuckles into his lower spine. “And the Realtor said the place was way too cluttered, anyway—”
“Wait. Realtor? You’re selling the house?”
“Hand me that roll of tape, would you? Over there on the wet bar. Yeah, I’m finally ready to let go of it. To blast myself out of the past. Thanks,” he said, taking the roll from Tyler, then wedging it into the dispenser before turning to the next box.
“I don’t...” His forehead cramped. “Why now?”
The old man frowned toward the backyard, then bent to tape the next box. “Because the other day I was out looking at Jeannie’s rosebushes, thinking about how I’ll have to prune them come spring, and it’s like something clobbered me on the back of my head, that I was only hanging on to the place because as long as I did Jeannie was still with me.” The tape wrrratched across the box. “And I realized that rosebushes, books, the house...those aren’t Jeannie.” He slicked the heel of his hand across the tape, moved to the next box. “Never were...never will be. So I’m selling. Clearing it all out, unless you kids want any of it.”
Whoa. This was...epic. “And...then what?”
“That Marian, who was here with Laurel for the wedding? She was talking about how much she loves where she is, so I checked it out. And I think that’ll suit me fine. Especially since Abby’s taking over Matt’s basement apartment.”
“But...” Tyler dropped onto the edge of his father’s wobbly recliner, not sure which was messing with his head more—the subject of the conversation or that they were actually having one. Shooting the breeze had never been their thing. “You love this house.”
“Loved. Past tense. And what it represented a lot more than the place itself. Hell, it was our first real home, after all those years of base housing, of moving every five minutes. Watching Jeannie finally getting a place to decorate any way she wanted... It was great, no doubt about it. But that period of my life...it’s over. Jeanne’s gone...you guys are all grown...”
He stopped, blinking for a second before meeting Tyler’s gaze again. “We’d planned on growing old here. But that didn’t happen. And wishing things were different, ruminating about the past like that’s going to somehow change things? Huge waste of time.”
“Still. It seems so...out of the blue.”
“Truthfully, I think it’s been in the back of my mind for years. Even if it took a while to work to the surface.” Behind his glasses, his eyebrows bunched. “And what’s it to you, anyway? You couldn’t wait to get away from here.”
Speaking of slaps to the back of his head. “What I felt...” Tyler looked up at the Colonel. “It wasn’t the house I had problems with.”
The other man’s silence went on a beat too long. “I know.”
God knows they’d locked horns every five minutes during Tyler’s teenage years. But the actual why behind the horn-locking never actually came up. Until, it would appear, now.
Boomer wandered into the room, flopping down with a groan at Tyler’s feet. “It wasn’t you I was mad at. It was the situation.”
“Knew that, too.”
Air rushed from Tyler’s lungs as he collapsed against the chair’s squishy, welcoming back. “I was a total dirtbag, wasn’t I?”
A half smile creasing weathered cheeks, the Colonel sat on one of the boxes, patting his knee for the dog to come get a scratch. “You were scared, Ty. And, yeah, angry. Can’t blame you for that. And who else were you going to take it out on besides me and Jeannie? Me, especially. Since I wasn’t about to let you play the victim card.”
“But you just said—
“There can only be one good cop,” he said, his lips curving again. “And that was Jeannie. That doesn’t mean I didn’t sympathize with you. You got dealt a crap deal, Ty. No doubt about it. And I know...” He paused, scrubbing the heel of his hand over his jaw before linking his hands between his spread knees. “I should’ve said this a long time ago...but I’m proud of you. Of all you guys, but especially you.”
Ty flinched. “Holy hell. Are you dying or something?”
The old man chuckled. “Not today. That I know of, anyway. It’s just... I don’t know. Maybe it’s the last chick leaving the nest. Turning seventy. Realizing how much my life’s about to change. Again. Makes a person get all reflective. Crazy, huh?”
“Very.”
“Not that I planned on saying all of this when I called you—I really do need you to help me load these boxes. But since you’re here...”
The Colonel’s knees creaked when he got up and
went to the kitchen, returning with a couple of beers. Tyler pushed out a short laugh. “So we’re drinking buddies now?”
“Whatever,” Pop said, lowering himself to the box again, popping the tab to his can and taking a swallow as Tyler frowned at his own bottle.
“So...what on earth have I done to...” He looked up. “Earn your approval?”
“You sound skeptical.”
“Not that there’s a reason for that or anything,” Tyler said, and the Colonel chuckled. Then he released a breath.
“Jeannie was always on my case about giving you guys space, trusting you’d make the right decisions. Except then this kid comes along with a chip on his shoulder the size of a damned redwood.” He held up his hand. “And as we’ve already established, you had your reasons. Valid ones. But that didn’t make trusting you easy. Because you could’ve made some really bad choices. And don’t think Jeannie and I didn’t hold our breaths that you wouldn’t.”
The old man took another sip of his beer, nudging the sacked-out dog’s ribs with the tip of his loafer. Boomer sighed, and the Colonel smiled, looking back at Tyler. “But amazingly, you didn’t. No, you didn’t get the best grades. And God knows you did more than your share of stupid. But from your first job at sixteen, you worked your ass off, sucking every bit of knowledge you could out of whoever you worked for. And now you’ve got your own business at thirty. That’s pretty damned impressive. For anybody.”
Tyler felt his chest get tight. “I always thought you were pissed I didn’t go to college.”
“At first? Sure. Until I realized it would’ve never worked for you then. You weren’t motivated. And damned if we were going to throw good money after bad.”
Tyler had to laugh. “You’re right. I would’ve flunked out before Thanksgiving.”
“Thanksgiving, hell. You wouldn’t’ve made it to homecoming. That doesn’t mean you’re not made of good stuff. Yeah, you’re stubborn as hell, nobody can tell you what to do. But when you want to do something, nobody can stop you, either. Like all those jobs you got when you were still a kid. Figuring out how to write a business plan so the bank’d finance your buying the salvage company. Not to mention deciding to meet your birth mother. That took guts, son. Showed real maturity, too, moving past all that.”
The beer soured in Tyler’s gut as his adoptive father went on. “You’ve come a long way. A lot farther than I thought you might, frankly, when you stormed out of here when you were eighteen like you knew it all and I was the dumbest person on God’s green earth. So, yeah, you turned out pretty damned good. And you know who’d be about to bust right now? Jeanne. Not that I’m any too sure there’s a heaven, but if there is? She’s looking down with a great big smile.”
His face burning, Tyler hauled himself off the sofa, grabbing the tape dispenser from the coffee table. “So you want to load these tonight?”
Silence thrummed for several seconds until, grunting a little, the Colonel got to his feet. “Yeah, go ahead. I’ll take ’em to the library first thing in the morning. They said they’ve got people to help unload.”
The Colonel’s words tumbling around inside Tyler’s brain, they worked without talking for a while, Tyler piling the heavy boxes onto a handcart, then wheeling the loads out to the garage to heft them into the back of the Colonel’s Jeep Cherokee. When they were done, the old man walked Tyler and Boomer back out front, looking more at peace than Tyler could remember since Jeanne’s passing. Like something had released inside him.
“Thanks,” he said. “Appreciate you coming over.”
“Sure thing. Um...you need anything else, let me know, okay?”
“I’ll do that.”
To Tyler’s shock, the Colonel then yanked him into a bone-crushing hug, releasing him a moment later to regard him so intently Tyler’s face warmed all over again. And he heard himself say, “How the hell did you put up with me all those years?”
His reply was a deep chuckle. Then a shrug. “What was I supposed to do, send you back and ask for a better kid?”
“People do.”
“The thought never even crossed my mind,” he said softly. “Hanging you by your toes, once or twice, maybe. But not giving you up. Or giving up on you.” He angled slightly away, his pale hair glowing in the moonlight filtering through the straggly, leftover clouds. “I know you never accepted me as your father. For many reasons, not the least of which was...well, maybe I didn’t know how to be the father you needed.” His gaze met Tyler’s again. “But from the moment you walked into this house you were mine. And nothing can ever change that. Not even you.”
Tyler felt like his chest was going to cave in. Because he knew that. Always had. Okay, perhaps not so much during those early days, when he’d felt like an expendable piece of crap. Hell, maybe that’s why he’d challenged his foster dad’s authority so hard, and so often, as a way of testing the relationship. Because how else could he be really sure he was wanted?
Not that he’d known at the time that’s what he was doing, but now...
“I know, Pop,” he breathed out. And for once the word didn’t feel strange. Not as strange, anyway. “And I just want to say...” He took a deep breath. “Thanks for calling me your son.”
“Even when you didn’t want to hear it?”
“Especially then.”
The corners of the Colonel’s mouth curved, barely, before he squeezed Tyler’s shoulder then walked back into the garage, the door slowly groaning shut behind him.
Tyler and Boomer slowly jogged back home through mostly quiet, now-dark streets, the silence only occasionally broken by the hissing of tires over still-wet blacktop. And as they ran, stuff jogged loose inside his brain, too, old hurts and resentments and fears, breaking off in big chunks and then...dissolving. Like clumps of sand in the ocean, their solidity only an illusion.
That in turn got him to thinking about his first summer with the Nobles, when they’d all gone to the shore and Jeanne had tried to teach him how to swim in the ocean. Except first he needed to learn how to float, which, it turned out, wasn’t so easy. Because every time he’d start to sink he’d flail his skinny arms and legs, which of course only made him sink faster.
“Stop fighting, sweetie,” Jeanne had said beside him, laughing, her patience as limitless as the sun-speckled sea itself. “Soon as you relax, the water will hold you up, I promise. Let go of what you think you know and trust the water to hold you. Trust yourself....”
And eventually he did learn to float, to trust what he didn’t understand—
Breathing hard, Tyler stopped so suddenly Boomer spun around on his leash in front of them. Because that’s exactly what he’d been doing, wasn’t it? Flailing and thrashing to keep from sinking, even though the more he did the faster he sank, right back into that bottomless well of self-justification and defeat and hopelessness he’d barely kept his head above since he was a little kid.
Instead of trusting that letting himself float on this thing he didn’t understand—that letting himself love—would keep him from drowning.
And somewhere in heaven, angels applauded.
Tyler almost laughed, even as something like fear gripped his heart so tightly he could barely breathe.
Holy hell—he loved Laurel.
He loved her.
Heart thumping, Tyler’s gaze roamed the still, silent street as though he’d never seen it before. He loved her...as in, handing-over-his-heart-on-a-dented-platter love. Head-floating-off-his-body love. An I’m-gonna-freaking-die-without-this-woman love.
Not that—he frowned—he knew for certain that Laurel loved him. Again, not always easy to see something you’re not looking for. Or maybe are afraid to see. And even if she did, no way would she make the first move, given her history. But if there was a chance...
Tyler punched out a misty breath into the damp night air.
If there was a chance, he had to take it. Had to risk it. Because unless he did, unless he was willing to lay his heart bare for her, even if she stomped on it—or, probably more likely, laughed in his face—he didn’t deserve her.
However.
He’d also heard, very clearly, her conditions for the possibility of there being more between them. Not that she’d realized, probably, she’d been giving him an ultimatum. Since she’d also, probably—given the pitying look in her eyes—never thought the lightbulb would ever go off. But even if she did laugh, or shake her head and walk away, or slam the door in his face...she was still right about one thing: it was time—way past time—for some heavy-duty crap shoveling.
So he’d best grab his heaviest shovel and get on with it.
An hour later, showered and dressed in clean jeans and a hoodie that didn’t look like the dog’d been gnawing on it, he rang Starla’s doorbell. She answered a moment later, her hand landing on her chest.
“Tyler! What—?”
“All these years,” he said through a tight throat, “I’ve been mad at you for giving me up. Instead of appreciating what you gave me. And I am so, so sorry for being such a putz.”
Even as her eyes watered, his mother covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. Then she lowered it again, wrapping up in her long sweater. “So...you want a sandwich or something?”
“Yeah, that’d be great,” he said, stepping inside.
Chapter Twelve
“Good God,” Gran said as she hauled Jonny out of his crib. “At this rate the kid’s going to be playing for the Giants by the time he’s six. And this is just from booby milk?”
“Yep,” Laurel said, taking the baby from her grandmother before they both went down in a heap. “The plan is to breast-feed exclusively until he’s six months.”
“You gotta be kidding me? I had your mother on cereal at eight weeks.” Laurel gave her a look, and she sighed. “Fine, you don’t want an old lady’s advice,” she said, following Laurel down the hall to the living room, “I’m not gonna give it. They’re your boobies...do whatever you want with them. But all this do this, don’t do that malarkey—it changes every ten years. And somehow, the human race still keeps chugging along.”
More Than She Expected Page 18
