by Meg Maguire
“You got a dad out there someplace,” Rich said.
Mercer frowned. “Someplace.”
“I had one till the coward shot himself. Now, tell me either one of us would put our biological shithead fathers’ wishes before Monty’s.”
“That’s different. He loved her.”
“She never returned the favor.”
Mercer was tempted to defend her, tell Rich she’d been cheated out of a chance to reciprocate. But it wasn’t his secret to share.
“This is what Monty would’ve wanted.” Mercer yanked the pads off and tossed them against the ring’s chain-link wall.
“Four more rounds,” Rich said.
“Hit a bag. I’m done.”
The world had dealt him too low a blow already today. He wasn’t taking any more from Rich, not in this mood. “We keep this to ourselves until the tournament’s done. Last thing I need is Delante losing his focus.”
“Tell me this,” Rich said. “She upset about this development?”
Mercer looked him dead in the eyes. “She’s upstairs crying. So yeah, she’s upset. If that makes you feel better.”
Almost imperceptibly, Rich’s posture softened.
Mercer shed the rest of his gear, leaving Rich to clean up. On his way out he gave a heavy bag a whack, its chain jangling like sleigh bells.
“He’d never roll over and just let this place close. Not like this,” Rich called after him, though the hardness had left his tone.
Maybe it would seem that way to a guy who’d only known Monty the trainer and mentor. Mercer knew another man from that final year, up in that apartment and in those peroxide-stinking hospital rooms. He’d seen him weak and crying, and he’d heard his regrets, listened to them like a chaplain taking final confessions. He’d listened to all the do-overs Monty had never gotten the chance to make, the penances he’d wished he’d paid.
And he knew what he’d want. And where his true loyalties lay.
* * *
JENNA STARTED AT THE CLICK of the dead bolt. She’d carried the bin full of letters to the couch, hoping the words her father had written all those years ago would give her some solace. Let her know it was okay for things to happen this way. But all they’d done was make her feel more confused. She slid the latest letter back inside its envelope, checking the postmark date and finding its correct place in the stack she’d already gone through. Funny how this careful organizing did nothing to lessen how messy everything felt.
She mustered a smile as Mercer entered. He didn’t look to be in any shape to return it.
“Did you spar?”
“Kind of. I let Rich wail on me. You find any peace of mind?”
She shook her head. “Not really. It’s made me less sure about...about what to do.”
“What to do?”
“Like, do I just let the franchise people make this decision to shut down the place he put decades into? Is my business really more deserving than his—than yours—when it comes down to it?”
“Oh, Jenna.” He took a seat and pulled her close. “He’d never have wanted you to sink all your savings into something you cared about, move your whole life here, then just throw it all away so the gym can stagger on toward bankruptcy. I know he wouldn’t.”
“The more of those letters I read, the less I feel like I have the first clue what he’d want. I just wish it mattered, all those things he wrote. But the overseer isn’t going to change her mind just because my dad was some secret softie.”
Mercer rubbed her back. “If your dad was here, he’d put your plans first. He never got a fair chance to show you he cared, but if he had this one, he’d take it.”
“Maybe.” She turned to Mercer, tracing his ear and cupping his neck, her chest aching to know all this intimacy would be over as quickly as it had begun. The grief hit her hard, hot tears slipping down her cheeks.
He smoothed her hair, making a shushing noise. “At least the uncertainty’s over. Why are you crying?”
Because... Scary words came to mind, making her panic. She stroked his hair and neck. “I care about you. And I know you care about that place.”
“I care about the guys I train. But I can do that anywhere. Work for some other gym, where I won’t have to split my energy between being a trainer and a general manager and accountant and every other thing. And your dad would want this, for you.”
She blinked, sinuses stinging anew.
“I want this for you,” Mercer added. He laughed again, a soft, nervous sound. “You’ve gotten way under my skin since we met.”
A fat tear slipped down her cheek, and Mercer brushed it away with his thumb, then kissed the spot. He kept his face there, exhalations warming her jaw. She stroked his head. Will you move away? she wanted to ask, but how could he possibly know that yet? How could he possibly be thinking so rationally, when he’d just invited her to turn his entire life inside out?
They sat quietly for a few minutes, playing with one another’s fingers, lost in their own heads. Jenna’s heart ached from a dozen things. Gratitude and guilt and...love? She felt something like it for Mercer, its soft edges sharpened by his newness and their sexual connection, all that deep affection made electric by attraction. Only a fool would call that love, though, after a couple weeks’ acquaintance. She’d never advise a friend to take that first glow of infatuation too seriously, and she ought to listen to that advice herself. Give it a few months, she’d say. But as she toyed with his strong, rough fingers, she knew a few months was likely all the time they’d get. And whatever this was, she’d never felt it before.
Mercer excused himself to take a shower, and Jenna began tidying up her father’s letters. As she stacked a cardboard box inside the tub, her gaze caught on that paper bag full of letters that chronicled a very different, if equally complex, relationship.
“Why did you include these?” she murmured. Had he meant for her to find them?
She slid a random envelope from the bag.
Dear Monty,
Everything you said, and more. It’s been six days since we said goodbye in Hyannis, but it feels like ages...
Blushing, Jenna set that one aside after a quick skim. It must have been from early in their courtship.
Their affair. The date put it at twelve years earlier, before the criminal scandal had gone down. The next was much the same, and one thing became clear—her father and this woman had been madly in love. Secretly, it seemed, and not without a shadow of guilt lurking behind the effusive, romantic proclamations. The next letter caught her attention. It was short, and there was something cautious about the way it was written...suspiciously vague.
My dearest Monty,
If you love me, you’ll do what we talked about. My children need their father. I’m a proud woman, but I’ll get on my knees and beg for this. For my family. I risked everything for what we had, and now I’m asking you to do the same.
It was signed only as L, and Jenna noted the envelope was missing a return address. She had to squint to make out the date stamp. A few months before her father’s trial. She shivered.
She heard the bathroom door open and the fan switch off.
“Mercer. Come here a second.”
He joined her, towel wrapped around his waist. “What’s up?”
“Read this.”
She watched his hazel eyes zig and zag across the paper then turn glassy.
“Do you think...? What do you think?”
He set the letter down, blinking. “It sounds like she asked him to take a fall.”
“Do you think there’s a chance he never even knew? If maybe her husband was doing all that criminal stuff without my dad ever knowing?”
“It’s possible.”
Jenna slumped back against the cushions. “The more I find out about him,
the more confused I feel.”
Mercer, on the other hand, looked strangely placid. “Give me half the letters. We’ll read them together.”
She slid a slim stack of envelopes out of the paper bag and divided them. As the two of them read, they paused to share aloud any bits that seemed to pertain to the crimes. The story began to gel, leaving Jenna with conflicting emotions.
She felt sad. For her father. He’d clearly loved this woman, enough for their secret affair to have lasted nearly three years, to judge by the postmarks. They’d escaped on short getaways, away from the city, and Jenna inferred from a couple letters that Monty had occasionally lent her family money. Her husband didn’t seem to have been the most reliable provider. When Monty had eventually realized her husband had been using his role at the gym to distribute illicit drugs and launder the money through the books, things had gotten complicated. But eventually, his decision became clear.
Monty,
What you’re doing... I can’t begin to express my gratitude. Or Frank’s. He’d be the first to admit he’s earned his share of regrets, but because of you, being taken away from his children won’t be one of them. I always knew you had a good heart—it’s what made me fall in love with you. I never could have imagined you’d risk your reputation, your business, your very freedom... But don’t lose faith. If there’s any way to keep you out, we’ll find it.
And they had. The letters didn’t spell anything out explicitly, but Frank Temple must have had connections somewhere up high—or the funds to create some—as the evidence against Monty had ultimately been mishandled and thrown out, his name cleared on paper if not in people’s minds.
Jenna had to wonder why he’d taken the heat. Because Lorraine had asked him to, or because he had so much less to lose? Or because he’d loved her.
“This is the last one,” Mercer said, squinting at the envelope. “Jeez. It came way later—only last winter.” He read it silently, then passed it to Jenna.
Dear Monty,
You are persistent, aren’t you? Almost ten years since I’ve replied, and yet your letters just keep coming. But of course this time, I had to write. Your condolences and the flowers were much appreciated. I know if Frank hadn’t gone so suddenly, he’d have wanted to reconnect. And apologize. But he was always proud, I’m sure you know that.
I hope you’re doing well. I’m going to be moving in with my daughter and her new husband for a while, but I’m not going to share the address. I’ve put Frank to rest, and it’s time you did the same with your feelings. I loved you as best I could, for as long as I dared, but please. Don’t keep writing.
Best regards,
Lorraine
She set it aside. “Jesus.”
Mercer checked the date again. “Your father was already really sick then. He must not have bothered to tell her.”
“That’s so sad. All the letters he must have sent her...and me. Never getting anything back. That’s so...lonely.” A sob bucked her shoulders and Mercer hugged her as the tears flowed anew.
He stroked her hair. “He was surrounded by guys who idolized him. He just didn’t have such great luck with women, I guess.”
Jenna pulled back, rubbing her eyes. “He really was innocent. And nobody believes it.”
Mercer smiled weakly. “I did.”
She laughed, the sound swallowed by a hiccup. “Yeah, you did. And now I do....”
“It’s all in the past anyhow. But at least you got some closure.”
“What if...?” She pursed her lips, thinking. “What if this changed things? What if I went to the standards overseer and explained...?”
“None of this will change the legacy the press wrote about your dad.”
“No, but she’s a cofounder of Spark.” It was a long shot, and Jenna felt so manic just now, she knew she’d need to examine it again in the morning, but still. A long shot was still a shot. “She must believe in romance, and in the stuff people do when they love someone. She’s human. Maybe I can talk to her, appeal to her sympathetic side....” It meant too much not to count for something.
“You can try,” Mercer said.
“I will.” Jenna sat up straight. “I’ll call her first thing tomorrow.”
11
JENNA SWITCHED OFF her phone and laid her head on her desk, the ultimate death knell of Wilinski’s ringing low and mournful in her heart.
A knock brought her chin back up. Mercer poked his head around the office door so suddenly she wondered if he’d been spying. “Hey.”
“Hey, come in.”
“Your face tells me the verdict’s not the miracle you were hoping for.”
She shook her head. “‘It just doesn’t look good.’ That’s what she said after...” Jenna checked her phone’s call log. “After exactly twenty-two minutes and thirty-one seconds of my very best groveling.”
“Bummer.”
“For a self-proclaimed romantic, that woman has very hard heartstrings.”
Try as she might, Jenna hadn’t been able to leverage any sympathy out of Tina. Her livelihood was built on first impressions, and no matter how touched she might or might not have been by Jenna’s heartfelt revelations about her dad’s criminal involvement, the bottom line stayed the same. It just doesn’t look good.
He came over and sat on the edge of the desk, circling his palm over her back. “You tried. And that’s all you could’ve done.”
She nodded, wishing she felt half as resigned about the situation as Mercer. Her mind raced with ridiculous schemes, to take this story to the news and exonerate her dad publicly... But that was nuts. It was too personal a story, too long buried, affecting too many people.
It was time to give up.
She needed to get her shit together, quit moping and do what was within her power—make her business successful for herself and Lindsey and her other future employees and their clients.
“I’ve got sessions till one,” Mercer said, standing and kissing her temple. “But if you can stand a late lunch, maybe I’ll see you upstairs? One-fifteen?”
“Lindsey’s coming in at three to help me with some event-planning stuff, but sure. There’s still lasagna leftover.”
“Excellent.” He kissed her again, giving the back of her neck a gentle squeeze. “It’s a date.”
She watched him go, wishing she was half as strong. She hurt so much, she thought it must be ripping her in half, but it was Mercer whose hopes were officially dashed. How he could even stand to look at her, let alone kiss her...
There went one hell of a man.
* * *
MERCER GATHERED THE DISHES when they finished their lunch.
Delante had weaseled his way out of training that afternoon, busy helping his sister move into her new dorm and leaving Mercer at loose ends. He didn’t do well with loose ends, didn’t care for this dangling sensation. Normally he’d fill the void with admin chores, but it was hard to muster the energy for busywork with the gym’s demise so official.
He glanced at Jenna. Her blue eyes were aimed out the living room window, chin propped on her hand. Jesus, he’d miss her when he moved on. He’d miss her as badly as he missed her dad, which was insane, given he’d only known her, what? Three weeks? Crazy.
He could stay in Boston. Stay close and keep seeing her for as long as she was into him.
But how long would that last? He was a novelty—a sweaty, bruised novelty, appealing to the bad-idea center of her libido—and that appeal would fade sooner or later. She’d be spending the foreseeable future with successful, clean-cut men marching through her office door like a bachelor buffet. She’d eventually spot someone who was a better fit for her. A guy whose ambitions lined up with hers, whose interests matched, whose career didn’t make her wince and whom she didn’t feel indebted to out of guilt.
If she did break things off with him, it was a blow Mercer would see coming a mile off. It wouldn’t surprise him, wouldn’t knock him down. Might leave him reeling for a time, but he’d get over it. He’d get over her. Sure, the idea of another man kissing her made him want to burn the whole damn city down, but hey, what could you do?
But he was wasting the time they did have.
He loaded the dishwasher and dried his hands, then rounded the counter to stand beside her at the table.
“You okay?” he asked, rubbing a fingertip along the crease between her brows.
She smiled sadly. “Just feeling melancholy.”
“You have an appointment to get to downstairs?”
“Not until three.”
He wound a lock of her hair around his fingers then tucked it behind her ear. “You wanna have a coffee, maybe just sit on the couch and watch TV for a little while? I could stand to clear my head, if you can spare the time.” And he wasn’t exactly eager to go back to his gloomy subterranean office right away, not when finding a resale company for the gym’s equipment was first on his to-do list.
“That’d be nice. Can we watch a trashy talk show, and feel better about our own lives?”
He laughed. “Sure. If you let me get to first base during the ads.”
She bit back a smirk, filling Mercer’s chest with sweet relief.
“We’ll see.”
He made a quick trip to his room, then took the reins on coffee duty. He’d finally gotten the hang of her delicate-looking French press, and once the brew was steeping, he carried it and two mugs to the coffee table and plopped down beside her. Already his body was formulating ingenious ways to snap his brain out of its funk. And remind him that what he and Jenna had was great, even if it wouldn’t last. Simple. Instinctual. Jesus, she smelled good. What was that?
