by Nicola Marsh
The bitterness rose as always whenever she thought of Ron and Betty Lovell, and she swallowed it down with effort. ‘But, hey, let’s not talk about that. They provided for me, I made it, and here I am—a big girl capable of looking after herself. How about you? Tell me the Brody Elliott story.’
As expected, the shutters came down, making his dark eyes unreadable. ‘What do you want to know?’
Could she press him about Jackie? He’d just given her the perfect opportunity to ask about his wife and, in turn, bring up the topic of Molly. Taking a fortifying sip of wine, she said, ‘Tell me about your wife?’
‘That’s easy. I killed her.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
BRODY watched Carissa’s expressive eyes widen in shock. He’d known that having dinner with her might open a can of worms, but he’d gone ahead and done it anyway. And now he owed her some kind of explanation. Though for the life of him he’d rather talk about anything else but this.
‘You know she died four years ago, right?’
Carissa nodded and leaned forward, as if prompting him to continue.
‘Jackie was killed in a head-on collision by a speeding motorist.’
‘But that doesn’t make you responsible! Cops do their best with silly drivers who speed, and you can’t get them all.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong. I am responsible. I pulled over the guy who killed her only a few months earlier, and do you know what I did? I let the bastard go. No fine, no hauling his ass in for using his car as a lethal weapon. Uh-uh. I gave him a verbal warning, which amounted to a slap on the wrist to a young punk like that. And do you want to know why?’
She remained silent, staring at him with pity etched across her beautiful face. But he didn’t want her pity. He wanted to make her understand, to make her see why all he could ever be was her friend. He’d like to drop his guard altogether—to stop indulging in his private pity party, which had been going on for the last four years, and take a chance on love again. But he couldn’t. His guilt had become his safety net, his protection mechanism against the pain, and it was too soon to let go of it just yet.
Just being with her like this was a step in the right direction, and hopefully, if he took it slow, he could become a fully functioning guy again—one who could open his heart to a world of possibilities.
Starting with the special woman sitting opposite.
‘Tell me,’ she said softly, her fingers fidgeting with the napkin in front of her, twisting it over and over—similar to the way his gut felt right now.
‘I’m responsible because the jerk reminded me of myself at his age. I was that guy ten years ago: brash, cocky, king of the world. Totally invincible. Especially behind the wheel of my hotted-up Ford. And I could talk my way out of any situation—just like this guy. So I let him off instead of throwing the book at him.’ He shrugged and looked away, not wanting to see the pity in her eyes change to loathing. ‘Basically, I signed my wife’s death warrant that night. And I left Molly without a mother.’
‘It’s not your fault.’ She reached across the table and squeezed his hand, tugging on it. ‘Brody, look at me.’
He finally met her gaze, but rather than loathing he saw tears, and they affected him more than if she’d said she hated him. He’d made her cry? Great. So much for solidifying their friendship tonight.
‘Brody, you’ve got a wonderful daughter who loves you, who needs you, and that’s what counts. You can’t change the past, no matter how much you wish you could. You—’
‘But I could’ve done something—don’t you see?’ Pain ripped through him—the type of pain that no amount of placating words could ever erase. ‘I took it too easy on that guy just because I saw what I wanted to see. I let personal judgement affect my duty as a cop. Something I swore I’d never do. And it cost me, big-time.’
‘Is that why you quit your job?’
‘I didn’t quit till last year. I stayed on the force for three years after Jackie’s death, wanting to make the bad guys pay more than ever. And see that little punk get his just desserts.’
His fellow officers had understood his thirst for vengeance, though somehow convicting the man hadn’t helped. Nothing had.
‘He’s in jail?’
He nodded. ‘Not that it made me feel any better. The guy gets a few years for vehicular manslaughter; I get the life sentence.’
‘It doesn’t have to be that way,’ she murmured, reaching out to cup his cheek, running her thumb over his lips in an attempt to smooth out the tense lines he knew would be puckering his mouth. He’d seen those same lines in the mirror every day for four years now, and as much as he tried to smile, especially for Molly, some days it was just too hard.
He stilled beneath her touch, his guilt over Jackie’s death replaced by another form of guilt—at the illicit pleasure he derived from Carissa’s gentle touch.
She must have seen the change in his eyes, for her hand dropped and she resumed toying with the napkin. Crazily, he missed her touch.
‘It’s the only way I know,’ he said, and, sadly, it was true. His guilt over Jackie’s death tainted the way he looked at life—from the way he shunned other people to his over-protectiveness with Molly.
‘Well, it’s time for a change.’ She leaped to her feet and he stared at her, wondering if she would run out of the restaurant now that he’d told her what a sad case he was.
Instead, she grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. They stood there, holding hands, only one of them knowing what the hell was going on. And it sure wasn’t him.
‘From this moment on, Brody Elliott, you will look at life with a glass-half-full attitude. No more self-pity. No more blame. Fate is a fickle thing, and no one can control it. Not even a big, strong guy like you. And, in commemoration of this momentous change, I say we do something you probably haven’t done in a long time.’
‘What’s that?’ Standing this close to her, enveloped in her signature rose scent, which he loved, his imagination took flight. There were lots of things he hadn’t done in a long time—most of them things he shouldn’t be contemplating doing with his friend.
‘Let’s dance.’
‘Dance?’ His feet mechanically followed her to the outdoor terrace, where a groovy jazz trio were playing soulful ballads. Amazingly, he hadn’t even heard the music since they’d started talking, his attention totally focussed on Carissa.
‘Yes. Dance. Help you lighten up. Have fun again.’ She slid into his arms as if she’d been made for him, not giving him a chance to bolt into the nearby bushes before she found out he had two left feet.
Feeling self-conscious, he held her close and tried to relax, swaying in time with the music.
‘You’re doing good, Elliott. Real good,’ she murmured, resting her head against his chest and looping her arms around his neck.
She moulded perfectly to him, her breasts pressing against his chest, her hips cradled within his, and as the soft saxophone drifted on the humid evening air something unfurled within him.
And that something was hope.
Carissa hated seeing anyone hurt. She’d lived a lifetime of the wasted emotion herself, and she couldn’t sit back and let Brody stew any longer.
Little wonder the guy hid away, rarely smiled, drove like an old man and bit everyone’s head off. He’d been carrying this guilt around with him for years and it had eaten away at him, sapping him till he had nothing left to give. Blaming himself for his wife’s death must affect everything he did—or didn’t do. Like giving his full attention to a daughter who so obviously craved it.
Distracting him had been her number one priority minutes earlier, but now that she was folded in Brody’s strong arms, her soft bits pressed against his hard bits, and enjoying the contact way too much, she wondered at the wisdom of it all.
Being friends was good. Friends supported each other, opened up to one another, leaned on each other in their time of need.
However, with her body plastered against hi
s, and his woody aftershave infusing her senses, she was having some decidedly unfriendly thoughts.
‘Do you always see the good in people?’ he whispered against her ear, his breath blowing gently on her skin and scattering goosebumps over her body.
‘I try,’ she murmured, too scared to move her head in case her face came all too close to his. In the event that that happened, with the direction her thoughts were going, who knew what she might do? ‘This may sound corny, and you can blame it on my job, but the world can be a magic place if you look at it the right way.’
‘Magic, huh?’
He pulled away from her slightly, placed a finger under her chin and tilted her head up.
Oh-oh. By the gleam in his eyes, it looked as if his thoughts were heading down a similar path to hers.
‘Yes. Magic,’ she whispered as his head descended towards her, and the first tentative touch of his lips on hers reinforced her belief in all things enchanted.
For a man who appeared tough, his kiss was anything but, his mouth roving over hers with slow, gentle mastery.
Oh, wow!
Sure, she’d been kissed by her string of loser boyfriends before, but never like this. Brody deepened each kiss, challenging her to match him with every sweep of his tongue, with every nibble of his teeth along her bottom lip. And she did. Her lips clinging to his, begging for more, allowing the series of slow, shivery kisses to reach into her soul and soothe the need for him that burned there. The need she’d been so determined to ignore all in the name of friendship.
He tasted of blackcurrant and spice, a delicious fruity combination from the wine, and she couldn’t get enough.
However, like all things magical, reality had to intrude on fantasy at some point, and Brody broke the kiss, his lips lingering on hers for an extra second before pulling away.
‘You’re right. It’s time I entered the real world again, if that’s the type of welcome I get. Now, how about dessert?’
He took hold of her hand and she followed him inside. Dazed, elated, and thoroughly confused.
She was happy for Brody, she really was, if he’d finally decided to come out of his shell. But after that kiss, what did that mean for her? For them?
Magic, schmagic, she thought, making a mental note to stop believing in the rubbish she told the children at her fairy parties.
‘That was some evening.’ Carissa leaned against the car seat and patted her stomach, wondering if the grubs and quandongs were having a party of their own in there. She’d eaten so much she could burst, but the food had been delicious—as had the company. She cast Brody a quick glance from beneath lowered lashes.
‘So you had a good time?’
‘The best,’ she sighed, and closed her eyes, reliving the exact moment when his lips had touched hers—the same moment she’d stopped kidding herself that he was just a friend.
She liked Brody Elliott. A lot. Though she’d be a fool to dump her budding feelings on him now, when the guy was only just facing up to his past. She might live in fairyland during the day, but she wasn’t a complete moron.
‘I’m not sure if I said this earlier, or if I say it enough, but thanks, Carissa—especially for what you do with Molly.’
Molly! After all the baring-of-the-soul conversations, and that amazing kiss, she’d forgotten to talk to him about his daughter.
‘Speaking of Molly, I wanted to discuss something with you.’
‘Shoot.’
She quirked an eyebrow at him in the muted light cast by a street lamp and said, ‘Is that cop humour?’
He held up his hands placatingly and smiled. ‘Hey, at least it’s humour. Give me a break. I’m rusty on the funny stuff, okay?’
‘Yeah, okay.’ A wry grin spread across her face, and she hoped he’d keep humour in mind when she confronted him about Molly. ‘Listen, I know you’re a great dad, and you love Molly very much, but she’s kind of hung up over her mum’s death. Maybe she takes her cue from you?’
His smile vanished, and that telltale crinkle between his brows reappeared. ‘What are you trying to say?’
Taking a deep breath, she blundered on, knowing it was now or never. ‘By your own admission, you’ve been moping around over Jackie’s death for the last few years—beating yourself up over it. Molly has noticed all of that. She’s mentioned how sad you are to me. You need to talk to her about her mum, and how much she loves her, and what heaven’s like—that sort of thing. She’s a clever little girl who craves her daddy’s attention, and I think you should give her more of it.’
‘Are you saying I’m a bad father?’ If his frown deepened any more, it would split his face in two.
‘No, of course not. I’m just telling you what I see.’
‘And what you see is my daughter needing more attention, right?’
‘Right.’
‘Well, thanks for pointing that out, Miss Childcare Worker of the Year. I didn’t know you were such an expert, otherwise I’d have hired you to care for Molly full-time.’
‘Don’t be an ass, Brody.’
His words cut her to the core, but she wouldn’t let him see how much he’d hurt her. She was doing this for Molly, the little girl she loved, and if Brody wanted to slip back into bad-mood territory so quickly she’d deal with it.
‘Great. So, not only am I a bad parent, I’m an ass too. Thanks.’ He turned away from her and stared through the windscreen, arms folded, neck muscles rigid, his whole body language screaming how uptight he was.
So much for magic.
‘Brody, look. I think—’
‘I think you should not spend so much time with Molly. If you think I’m so lousy as a parent, let me spend some more time with her—without your constant interference.’
‘Is that what you really want?’ she asked, her heart breaking at the predicament she’d brought on herself. Perhaps honesty wasn’t the best policy in this case? And just when things had been going so great. Why couldn’t she keep her big mouth shut?
However, before Brody could respond, his mobile rang and he fished it out of his pocket. ‘Hello?’
‘When? What happened?’ His panic-stricken voice chilled her blood, and she turned to him, shocked by his appearance. His tanned face had paled, leached of every ounce of colour, and had sunk in on itself, ageing him ten years right in front of her eyes.
‘Are you sure she’s going to be all right?’ He gripped the steering wheel till his knuckles stood out white, and she had to refrain from leaning over and touching him, offering whatever comfort she could.
If something had happened to Molly…
No, she wouldn’t even go down that track.
‘I’ll be there in ten minutes,’ he said, snapping the phone shut and turning the key in the ignition.
‘What’s happened?’ She had to ask, even though deep down she already knew the answer.
‘It’s Molly.’ His voice shook and tears shimmered in his eyes, compelling her to breach the short distance between them and lay a comforting hand on his arm. ‘There’s been an accident. I have to go.’
Carissa didn’t push him for details, nor did she budge. He probably wanted her to get out of the car after their discussion, but there was no way that was going to happen. She loved Molly, and wanted to see for herself that the little darling would be all right.
‘Come on, then. Let’s go,’ she said, snapping her safety belt in place and silently praying that fate hadn’t been so cruel as to rob Brody of another female he loved.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘DADDY!’ Molly opened her arms as Brody ran into the ER cubicle, his heart in his mouth.
No matter how much Daisy had reassured him over the phone that his precious little girl was okay, he’d hardly been able to breathe on the way over, his mind conjuring up all sorts of nasty visions of Molly lying bruised and battered. Or worse. And he’d dredged up a host of memories that left him reeling to this day.
Memories of how he’d got the call-out four years ago�
�how he’d first come upon the mangled wreckage of the red Ford SUV on the highway, how he’d thought the car so similar to Jackie’s and how his heart had been ripped out when he’d caught sight of his wife’s lifeless head lolling on the headrest, her vacant eyes staring heavenward, to where he hoped she now rested peacefully.
Memories were the pits, and he’d sworn over his wife’s dead body that he would protect their daughter with every fibre of his being.
So much for promises.
He’d been out having the time of his life with another woman when he should have been keeping his promise to Jackie.
‘Are you okay, munchkin?’ He enveloped Molly in his arms and buried his face in her neck, inhaling the smell that was uniquely hers—a combination of raspberry bubble bath, strawberry shampoo and sweet little girl.
She squirmed in his arms and he released her, holding onto her hand with the intention of never letting go. ‘Uh-huh. But my head hurts. See? I’ve got sewing up there and everything.’
He winced at the sight of several stitches along her forehead, near the hairline, and the large, purplish lump that accompanied them.
‘Jessie and I were playing hide and seek and I hid under a table, but when she found me I ran out and hit my head. Jess is my bestest friend, and it’s not her fault, so can I still play with her when I’m all better? Please, Daddy? Can I?’
Molly stared up at him with saucer-like blue eyes so like her mother’s, and though he’d grown immune to Jackie’s similar ploys to wheedle something out of him early in their marriage, he was a push-over when it came to their daughter.
‘Sure, sweetheart. It was an accident, and when you’re feeling better you can play with Jessie again.’
‘Yippee!’ Molly clapped her hands together twice before tears filled her eyes and she held a hand up to her head. ‘Ouch. My head hurts, Daddy. Can you make the pain go away?’
Swallowing to dislodge the tennis-ball-sized lump of emotion lodged in his throat, he said, ‘You bumped your head, munchkin, that’s why it hurts. If you rest and have some medicine, the pain will go away.’
