Father Figure

by Rebecca Daniels

  She smiled and pulled him close for another kiss. “I appreciate the sacrifice.”

  “Don’t worry,” he murmured against her lips. “I’ll figure out some way you can make it up to me.” He squeezed her hand tight. “How are you feeling?”

  “My throat’s sore,” she said, swallowing hard. “And my chest hurts, but other than that…” She shrugged, wincing just a little and glancing down at the bandage on her upper arm. “Oh, yeah, and this cut on my arm.”

  “Doctor said there were some tools on the floor,” Dylan said, hating the thought of her beautiful skin marred. “That you must have fallen on them during the blast.”

  Marissa looked up into his handsome face, forgetting about the sore throat and singed lungs. “I guess I got lucky.”

  “We both did,” he murmured, bending low and giving her another kiss. He slowly stood up. He felt better, knowing she would be okay, but he was still worried about Josh. “They told me I could only stay a minute, so I’m going to go so you can get some rest. There are some things I want to check on, but I’ll be back later this evening, okay?”

  “Okay.” Marissa watched as he headed toward the curtain, cringing at the sight of the burned vest and saying a silent prayer of thanks that he wasn’t hurt. “Oh, and Dylan?”

  Dylan stopped and turned around. “Yeah?”

  “Would you send Josh in for a moment?”

  The request caught him off guard, and sent him scrambling for how to answer. “Uh, I…I don’t think…uh, actually they won’t allow any more visitors.”

  “But I’m fine,” she insisted. But there was something about the way he looked at her, something in his expression that had her heartbeat increasing. She rose up on one elbow. “Dylan, what is it?”

  “Nothing,” he contended, but he could feel the lie contorting his facial features. “Just get some rest. I’ll bring Josh in with me this evening.”

  “But I want to see Josh.”

  “Marissa, please, just—”

  “You told me he was okay,” she said, her words sounding more like an accusation.

  “He is,” he said again. “He’s-”

  “He’s not here, is he,” she said, her voice rising with emotion.

  “He’s fine, he’s-”

  “Tell me,” she demanded, struggling to sit up. “Tell me. Where is he?”

  Dylan rushed to the gurney, putting a hand on her shoulders in an effort to calm her down. “Marissa, it’s okay. Josh is going to be okay.”

  “Oh, my God,” she gasped, her eyes wide with terror. “Something’s happened, hasn’t it. Tell me Dylan. Tell me.”

  “It’s just that he’s not here—”

  Marissa stopped her struggling and stared up at him. “He’s gone after him, hasn’t he. He’s gone after Skip.” She clutched at him, wild and desperate. “No, no. You have to stop him. You have to bring him back.”

  “It’s okay, Marissa, he’ll be fine.” Trying to convince her to lie back down was impossible, and he gave up trying. “Trust me, he’ll be fine.”

  “Fine,” she shrieked, clutching at his vest. “Dylan, you have to go after him. You have to stop him before something terrible happens.”

  “Josh is a good kid, he’s smart. He won’t do anything foolish.”

  “But he’s angry. He’s just like you when he gets angry. He doesn’t always think straight when he’s angry. You have to listen, you have to believe me. He’ll get into trouble again. He’ll do something to get himself into trouble again. I can’t let that happen. If you don’t go after him, I will.”

  Dylan felt helpless. He’d never seen her like this before. Marissa was always so practical, so cool and calm. But she was nearly hysterical now—completely overwrought, and he was at a loss as to how to console her, how to calm her down. “Marissa, please—”

  “I won’t give him up again, Dylan,” she insisted, tossing the sheet aside. “I won’t. I won’t lose him again.”

  “Marissa, you have to stop, you have to calm down.”

  But she didn’t calm down. She pulled at the IV lines at her arm, yanking them free. “I won’t give him up,” she said again, swinging her legs off the gurney.

  But the movement was too much for her; she was too weak, too worked up, and she collapsed to one side. Reaching out, Dylan grabbed her before she could fall, forcing her back down on the gurney.

  “You have to stop this,” he said in a stern voice. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

  But Marissa fought against him. “No, I’ve got to find him. I won’t lose him.”

  “That’s silly,” Dylan insisted, holding her down. “You won’t lose him. He’s going to be fine.”

  “You don’t understand,” she ranted, her eyes glazed with tears, and terror. “He’s mine, Dylan, he’s mine. I won’t lose him—not again, not again. I won’t lose my son again.”

  Dylan felt the world stop on its axis. Her son? For a moment, he couldn’t move—he could barely think. He sagged back a step, his hold on her shoulders dropping, and the small room seemed to spin around him. The words hung in the air between them like a dark, ominous cloud—dangerous and threatening. Pictures began to flash through his mind—random, scattered images that began to come together, to make sense.

  He stared into Marissa’s startled gaze, telling himself he must have misunderstood, that he hadn’t heard what he had. She was hysterical, emotional, and not making sense. It had to be just a slip of the tongue, a blunder, a stupid mistake.

  But there was something in her eyes, something in her expression, in the entire way she held herself that had him believing. He’d heard her correctly. There had been no mistake, no misunderstanding.

  “Your son?” he asked in a coarse, raw voice.

  Marissa saw the expression on his face, heard the shock and disappointment in his voice, and the pain was worse than waking up with lungs full of smoke. How could she have just blurted that out? How could she have gotten so carried away, so out of control? The thought of Josh in danger terrified her, but that was no excuse for being careless. There was too much at stake, she had too much to lose—and from the look on his face, she’d lost a lot already.

  How did she tell him the rest? Josh wasn’t just her sonhe was their son. How could she tell him that? She needed time to think and to try to find a way to explain, to make him understand.

  “Dylan,” she whispered, her voice sounding strained and tight with emotion. “I’m…I’m sorry, I didn’t want it to be this way, I didn’t want to tell you like this.”

  “How did you want to tell me, Marissa?” Dylan demanded. “Or did you plan on telling me at all?”

  “Of course I planned to tell you,” she said defensively, struggling up. “Just not here, not like this.”

  Dylan shook his head. “What about Caleb, what about Penny?”

  “They couldn’t have any children,” she said in a low, flat voice. “I was young. I didn’t have anything, didn’t know what to do, where to go. They were older, settled, they could give him a home and security.” She wiped at the tears falling down her cheek, and shook her head. “I…I let them take him.”

  Dylan felt oddly breathless and weak, almost like he’d taken a fist in the stomach—only it hurt much more. It was so clear to him now—her willingness to take responsibility for the kid, her fervent concern. He remembered thinking how much their eyes were alike, those little bits of resemblance he’d ignored, he’d overlooked. It all made sense, but he couldn’t help thinking of how he’d felt all those years ago when she’d kept another secret from him—that feeling of hurt and betrayal. It haunted him now.

  “What about his father? Where was he?”

  Marissa groaned, an agonizing moan that seemed to come from the very essence of her soul. Her entire world was coming apart. This was a nightmare—a true ordeal she wished desperately she could awaken from. She’d known the truth would have to come out—but not now, not like this. Her strained body and overwrought emotions could take no m
ore, and she sank back on the gurney.

  Dylan struggled with his feelings. She’d been through so much—the fire and that awful smoke. She should be resting, recuperating, not arguing with him. He should be holding her, caring for her—not pushing for answers. But something drove him on, something had him pressing for more.

  “Where is he, Marissa?” he asked, an odd chill spreading through his veins. Maybe he already knew the answer, maybe he already knew. “Where’s Josh’s father?”

  She turned her head and looked at him, tears streaming down her face. She didn’t have to answer, didn’t have to say a word. The answer was there in her eyes, written all over her face, and it hit him right between the eyes.

  “No,” he said in a hoarse groan, staggering back a step. “No, no.”

  A million random, disjointed, disconnected pieces fell into place, creating a picture of the truth Dylan knew he couldn’t turn away from. He thought of Josh—of his young face laughing and joking, or distorted with anger and full of rage. Dylan remembered that curious feeling he’d experienced, that hint of familiarity, that strange sense of awareness. Josh was familiar, he was familiar. Because Josh was his son.

  “You never told me?” he asked, his question sounding more like an accusation. “Didn’t you think I had a right to know?

  “Dylan, please,” Marissa pleaded, struggling desperately for control. “Things were so different back then. They were so bad between us.”

  “Bad,” Dylan repeated angrily. “Bad? Was it so bad that you had to give away my baby?” Fury had him restless, and he paced back and forth. “Was it so bad you had to lie, to keep me in the dark for fifteen years?” He stopped, and gave her a killing look. “My God, Marissa, you let me arrest my own son?”

  “Dylan, it wasn’t like that,” Marissa said, her voice sounding harsh and desperate even to her own ears. “You have to let me explain. You have to give me a chance—”

  “A chance? Like the chance you gave our son?” he asked, cutting her off. He turned and started out, ripping the curtain aside. “What a fool I was to believe you again. Tell me something, Marissa. Was your sister in on it this time, or did you do it all by yourself?”

  “Dylan, wait, please, don’t go,” she pleaded.

  “Oh, I’m going, Marissa,” he said. “I’m going to find my son. I’m going to tell him the truth.”

  “No, Dylan, please. Please, don’t,” she said, jumping off the gurney. “He won’t understand. Dylan, please, don’t do this. Let me explain.”

  “What the hell is going on in here?” the harried nurse demanded as she came around the corner. She pushed past Dylan, glaring up at him as she grabbed for Marissa. “All right, Sheriff, that’s enough. Get out. Now.”

  Marissa’s strength gave out, and she could only watchweak and helpless—as Dylan stepped through the doors and disappeared around a corner. Nothing mattered any longer. She lost Dylan, and she was about to lose her son.

  “Thanks for the ride.”

  “No problem,” Dylan said with a careless shrug.

  “Sure you don’t want to come in?”

  Dylan shook his head. “No. You go ahead. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Dylan sat back in his seat, watching Josh’s tall, solid frame silhouetted against the light of the hospital’s main entrance. He’d only been a father for a couple of hours— or he’d only been aware of it for the last two hours—yet his heart filled with pride as he watched the handsome young man push one of the hospital doors open and step into the lobby. Josh Wakefield was his son.

  His son. It seemed impossible. It seemed unreal. He was still having trouble believing, and yet everything in him— every emotion, every sense, every instinct—told him it was true.

  Emotion felt thick in his throat. Could he love this kid— the erratic, troubled teen he’d arrested time and time again?

  Only the Joshua Wakefield he’d come to know seemed a million light years away from that angry, troubled kid— they were like two different people. He’d come to care about this other Josh. They had shared long talks and good-natured joking—and they’d shared a love of fly-fishing. But were those feelings real? Were they what a father felt for his son? Were they enough?

  He’d thought it was because of his feelings for Marissa, had thought it was because Josh mattered to her, that those were the reasons the kid had come to matter to him, too. But now he wasn’t so sure. Josh was his son—had something in him sensed that? Had something in him recognized his own and reached out?

  Dylan thought back over the last two hours. He’d left the hospital in a state of shock, determined to find Josh and tell him the truth about everything.

  Surprisingly, he had managed to find Josh very easily— or rather Josh had managed to find him—at the sheriff’s office, of all places.

  Dylan had been almost as surprised as he’d been relieved to discover that Josh had brought a surly, but repentant, Skip in on his own. Even though the nasty black eye Skip sported was evidence Josh had exacted a modicum of revenge, it was far less than he feared considering how angry Josh had been earlier.

  But as far as telling Josh the truth…he still hadn’t decided if he’d had second thoughts, or if he’d just chickened out.

  Dylan rubbed at the tension at the base of his neck, hearing Marissa’s desperate pleas to him as he’d stormed from the small cubicle in the emergency room. At the time he’d been too angry, too hurt and upset to care how distraught she’d been. He’d just wanted to strike out, to get back at her for having betrayed him, for having played him for a fool again.

  But coming face-to-face with Josh, looking at him and recognizing a world of familiarity in those dark eyes, his anger and his courage had deserted him. Somehow he hadn’t been so sure he wanted to be the one to tell him, to be the one responsible for taking his world and turning it upside down. Maybe Marissa had been right. Maybe there was a better way to tell him the truth, and maybe—just maybe—he didn’t want to be the one telling him.

  So Dylan had held his tongue. He and Josh had talked about a lot of things—Skip, the fire and Marissa’s condition—but he’d stayed away from the truth. He would give Marissa a chance to do it her way, to go to their son and tell him everything—but it was the last thing he would give to her again.

  Marissa. He closed his eyes, seeing her frightened and tear-stained face. His heart twisted painfully in his chest, and he felt his breath falter in his lungs. He’d believed her when she’d said she loved him—just like he’d believed her sixteen years ago. And yet she’d lied to him then, and she’d been lying to him again. How could he have let it happen again?

  He opened his eyes, reaching for the keys in the ignition. The quiet rumble of the Jeep’s engine sounded dismal and forlorn in the quiet hospital lot, adding to his sense of desolation and despair. Marissa Wakefield held a strange and commanding power over him. He loved her. It was that simple, and it was also that complicated. But it wasn’t his feelings that he doubted. How could she love him? She’d kept secrets, she’d lied, and she’d manipulated both him and Josh.

  How could she love him, and have denied him his son?

  Dylan shifted the Jeep into reverse, backing out of the parking stall and heading through the lot toward the street. He thought of them together in the hospital—mother and son—and the pain that twisted in his heart was almost more than he could bear. It wouldn’t take Marissa long to discover that he’d changed his mind, that he’d backed out and elected not to tell Josh the truth. So did that mean that she would do it? Would she tell him the truth, would she ever?

  Was it only this morning he thought he had everything he’d ever wanted out of life? How could his heart have been so full then, and be so empty now?

  Chapter 16

  Marissa leaned back in the patio chair, watching as Josh gathered up the lunch dishes and placed them on a tray.

  “I wish you’d let me help with that.”

  Josh gave her a stern look. “The doctor said you were s
upposed to rest, so rest.” He picked up the loaded tray, carefully balancing it. “Otherwise, I’m going to think you have some complaints about my housekeeping.”

  “No, no.” Marissa smiled, shaking her head. “No, complaints here.”

  She watched as he cautiously made his way across the patio and through the open sliding door. In the five days since she’d been out of the hospital, Josh had been an absolute angel—waiting on her hand and foot, nursing her, nagging her about her rest and her medication. In other words, he’d been perfect.

  Of course, that only made her feel that much worse. She didn’t deserve such kindness, not after what she had done.

  It had been a week since the fire, a week during which she’d been resting and recuperating, and a week since she’d last seen Dylan. She had replayed that awful moment in the emergency room over and over again in her mind. The look on his face when he’d realized Josh was his son would haunt her to her grave. The hurt, the anger, the betrayal in his eyes, had been awful. She would never forget it.

  Marissa squeezed her eyes tight. Dylan would never forgive her—never—and she couldn’t blame him. She would never forgive herself. She should have told him the truth long ago; she should have been honest. But instead she’d held off, telling herself she’d been waiting for the right moment, the right time. But the right time had come and gone. When was she going to learn? She’d made the same mistake she’d made sixteen years ago—risking her happiness on a secret that she knew would have to come out. And just like before, she’d lost again.

  Yet he hadn’t told Josh the truth. Why? To force her to, or to spare his son the pain?

  Marissa opened her eyes, sitting up straight. Whatever his reasons were, it didn’t matter any longer. She’d held off these last few days so Josh could get through his finals. But classes were over now, final grades had been mailed, and the time had come for her to be honest.

  “Want some more iced tea?” Josh called from inside.

  “No, thanks, I’m fine.” She hesitated for just a moment, feeling her heart begin to thud heavily in her chest. “But could you come out here, please? There’s something I want to talk to you about.”