by A. J. Pine
Her father ran a hand through his thick gray hair and slumped farther down in his chair. “I’m—I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re a mother now. You understand what a parent would do to protect his child…” He trailed off, his eyes darting toward her mother, no longer able to hold his daughter’s gaze.
“I get it, Dad. God, you know I do. But I also get that we can be so blinded by this need to protect the people we love that we end up hurting them anyway.”
He stood, a once-towering presence now humbled by his own daughter’s words. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
She pressed her lips into a smile she knew didn’t reach her eyes. “I know. And I never wanted to hurt Owen. Or Jack. But guess what?” She shrugged. “I did. I hurt the two people I love most, and I can’t undo that. We can’t undo any of the damage that’s been done.”
“Then what can I do to make things right?”
She’d give anything to have the right answer, if there even was one.
“I’m going to go and get Owen. You and Mom can take him to the cafeteria, the gift shop, whatever. Get him anything he wants. And when I get the thumbs-up from the doctor to do so, bring him upstairs to see his father.”
“Okay,” both her parents said in unison.
She hadn’t lost her son. Now she had to make sure that no matter where Jack Everett went from here, she wouldn’t lose him completely.
The future she wanted included art school, independence, and finally wanting something for herself. That hadn’t changed. But it wasn’t enough anymore. Jack had shown her that. And even if it was too late for the two of them, she wouldn’t pretend anymore.
If he left, at least he’d know the truth. He was more than the father of her child. He was the boy she fell for when she was only eighteen—and the man she’d loved for ten years.
And that would never change.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jack opened his eyes, yet he was sure he was still sleeping, stuck in one hell of a nightmare. Either that or his life had just rewound ten years to the night Jack Senior had pushed him down that flight of stairs.
He glanced around the familiar-looking hospital room and then down to where his leg extended in front of him, wrapped in plaster from the knee down. His bed was only partially reclined, so he was practically sitting up and able to take in his surroundings without struggle. Even Jenna was there, head slumped and eyes closed as she dozed in the chair beside him. Everything was the same.
The only thing off was the livid bruise on Jenna’s cheek.
The accident.
Owen.
The asshole who’d been hitting Jenna.
He struggled to sit up but then hissed through clenched teeth.
“Shit!” His arm flew to his side as he tried to catch his breath.
“Hey,” Jenna said soothingly as she straightened in her chair. “Careful there, tough guy. You’ve got a few bruised ribs, but luckily none are broken.”
He swallowed with difficulty, his throat raw, and the sense of déjà vu continued as he remembered the same sensation following the surgery to repair his broken tibia more than a decade ago.
“But I rebroke the leg,” he said, and Jenna nodded. “Owen,” he added, growing anxious. “What about Owen?”
All the pieces were falling into place. Why hadn’t she mentioned Owen yet?
“Oh, you know,” Jenna said, a soft smile spreading across her face. “You were just the heroic dad who put his life ahead of his son’s. He got a nasty gash on his chin, but he’s all stitched up and hanging with his grandparents in the cafeteria.”
Jack exhaled a shuddering breath and let his head fall back against his pillow.
“I knew something wasn’t right with you,” he said, staring straight ahead. “I knew, and yet I let you go back to him to get hurt again.”
“Don’t,” Jenna said, moving forward in her chair, and he finally met her gaze. “You had enough on your plate, and I thought I had it under control. The only reason I met with him this morning was to end it for good. The other two times—the lip and the bruise on my wrist? He was drunk. I thought if I ended things when he was sober that he would react differently.”
Her eyes shone with the threat of tears, and Jack grabbed her hand that rested on the side of his bed.
“Instead he fucking hit you.”
She squeezed his hand. “I filed a police report, something I should have done after the first incident. But I was embarrassed.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I seem to have this radar that homes in on guys with serious issues. I thought for once I’d found a good one, you know? He was so sweet, and the first time it happened I made myself believe it was an accident, that he’d had a little too much to drink. I swear, the night of the rodeo, I had ended it. But then he called, told me he was getting sober, and Jesus, Jack. After what happened to y’all with your daddy, I should have known better.”
He tugged on her arm, and she slid close enough so he could pull her into a hug and kiss the top of her head.
“I spent five years hiding what Jack Senior was doing to us, trying to see the good in a man who’d lost his way until I forgot there ever was good in him. Let yourself off the hook. But promise me something.”
She straightened to look at him. “What?”
“You, me, Luke, and Walker—we’re the only family we’ve got. You took care of us when you should have been living your life. Now it’s time you let us take care of you.”
She nodded. “You’re wrong about one thing, though,” she said, standing.
“What’s that?”
“We’re not the only family you’ve got.” She pulled open the door and popped her head outside, but Jack could still hear her. “He’s awake now.”
The door swung wider as Jenna waved and headed into the hall. Before it shut, Ava slipped quietly into the room, barely past the door, leaning against it as it closed behind her.
“Hey,” she said tentatively.
“Hey,” he answered. “Jenna said Owen’s okay.”
“Five stitches in his chin, which he sat through like a champ.” Ava smiled. “He really wants to see you—when you’re up for it.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “He’s not pissed at me for not telling him the truth?”
She laughed softly, but it wasn’t a true Ava Ellis smile. He knew those well enough, and it hurt more than his broken body to see what the past two weeks—hell, the past ten years—had done to make that smile harder to find.
“He was upset but more because he thought you left because you didn’t want him. So I told him everything I could. No details about your dad, but he knows things were bad for you, and he knows you never knew about him. And—and all those awful things my father said, he knows they aren’t true. We all do. Because you could have chosen to walk down that path today. You could have hit that guy and made yourself believe that you were exactly like Jack Senior, even though we all know you’d have just been protecting your own. But you didn’t do it.”
One small tear escaped down her cheek, and it killed him that he couldn’t go to her. Then the floodgates were open. She stood there against the door, the tears falling faster than she could brush them away.
“And I promise, my father knows he was wrong, that he went over the line. After what you did today?” She shook her head, her hand flying to her mouth.
Jack wanted to pull her to him, to end this damned cycle of grief and guilt that had kept them apart for so long.
“Come here,” he said.
She nodded and took slow, hesitant steps to the side of his bed.
“Sit.” He patted the spot next to his uninjured leg, and she lowered herself gingerly beside him.
“You chose Owen,” she said. “You chose to save your son rather than hit that man, and I know in my heart that you would always choose to protect him rather than hurt him.”
Jack threaded his fingers through hers,
and she squeezed his hand.
“It wasn’t always the alcohol,” he said softly, and Ava’s brows drew together. “That night he knocked me down the stairs, yeah. He was drunk. I was trying to get him to bed, and he was trying to push me away, claiming he didn’t need help. It was an accident.”
He blew out a breath as his heart hammered in his chest. It was easier to blame his father’s behavior on a combination of grief and booze. But the truth was, drunk or sober, the man who’d existed before his mother’s death was never the same man after.
“There were those few times when he was sober and I could tell Luke or Walker was riling him up before he even got to his first drink, and I’d push him to the brink. I’d say whatever I could so he’d lash out at me instead. And then I’d lie to protect him.”
He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Because he was your dad.”
He nodded. “I could have killed that guy today,” he said, remembering the rage he’d felt at realizing what that man had done to Jenna.
“But you didn’t. You could have ignored everything else around you and let loose on him, but you stayed in control. You stayed in control and you saved your son.”
She didn’t bring up Derek Wilkes, but she didn’t have to. He’d let loose on that guy ten years ago, and it scared the shit out of him to think of what would have happened if Derek’s buddies hadn’t pulled Jack away. But maybe he wasn’t that messed-up kid anymore. He still had a lot of issues to deal with, but he was at the wheel now—driving the demons out instead of driving himself to the brink.
She reached her free hand for his cheek, and he felt her thumb swipe at something wet at the corner of his eye. “I love you, Jack Everett. I loved the boy I met when I was only eighteen, and I love the man you are today.” She leaned forward and kissed him, and he tasted the salt of her tears. “You’ve had my heart for ten years.”
He pulled her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her palm. “I love you so damn much,” he said. “Both of you, and I think that scared the shit out of me even more than stepping foot back in that house. Losing you once almost broke me, and the thought of losing you again—and Owen? How the hell does a man live with that kind of fear?”
His voice shook with the words, but he let go of that measured control. For Ava and Owen he could finally do that.
She kissed him again. “You won’t lose us. Even when you go to New York. We’ll figure it out. I don’t know how, but we will.”
He cupped her face in his hands, which was no easy feat with one tethered to an IV, and tilted her head so her mouth was a breath from his. “Ask me to stay,” he said softly, and her breathing hitched.
“But you said—”
“Ask me to stay, Red.”
“Stay,” she whispered.
“Okay,” he whispered back. “But only because I’m in love with you and our son, because I can be a lawyer anywhere—and because the Crossroads Vineyard doesn’t stand a chance without your expertise.”
She laughed through her tears. “Our son. You said our.”
He grinned and brushed his lips against hers. “Yeah. I guess I did.” And then he claimed her mouth with his, sealing the deal and letting go of their past.
The door flew open as Luke and Walker barreled their way through.
“Don’t mind us,” Luke said. “Ain’t nothing we haven’t seen before.”
“Speak for yourself,” Walker said. “Just because they’re all happy and shit doesn’t mean I have to watch.”
“Nurse said you were awake,” Luke added. “So here we are with all our brotherly support.” He held out his hands as if to say Ta da!
Jack cleared his throat, and Ava laughed.
“Hey, assholes,” he said, his voice hoarse and throat still raw. “This is actually a private room. You ever heard of knocking?”
But both brothers were already lost in exploring a box of baked goods on a table across from Jack’s bed.
“Help yourself, by the way,” he added.
Luke read a small card that was tucked under the twine that had tied the box together. “Lily Green sent these over?” he asked.
Jack struggled to sit up straighter, then winced, forgetting the whole bruised rib situation.
“Sorry,” Ava said. She kissed him and crawled out of the bed. “I’m probably not helping.” She handed Jack the small remote that controlled the bed.
“Actually,” he said, narrowing his eyes at his brothers, “you’re the only one who was.”
Walker plucked a black and white cookie from the box. “And here I thought your buddy’s wife only did barbeque,” he said to Luke. “You really missed the boat with that one.”
Luke shoulder-checked his younger brother a little more forcefully than usual, but Jack decided not to push that envelope any further. Because for a man who’d thought for so many years that he was better off on his own—that his absence was protecting those he loved—he was damned happy to have all this commotion for once. Not that he’d admit it.
That was when he glanced to the left and realized the door hadn’t ever shut. Lingering in the doorway was a hesitant Owen, chewing nervously on his top lip like his mother so often did, and staring up at the ceiling in quiet contemplation—just like his dad.
Walker took a healthy bite of his cookie and then turned to where Jack was staring at his son. “Oh yeah,” he said. “Shortstop here has been sitting on the floor outside your door ever since his grandparents brought him up.”
Ava backed away from the bed, motioning for her son to come closer. He approached slowly, stopping short of leaning against the mattress.
“Hey there,” Jack said.
“Hey,” Owen said. “Are you—okay?” he asked, his voice soft and unsure.
“I will be,” Jack said. “Heard you got some stitches.”
Owen lifted his head so Jack could see the underside of his chin.
“That’s a badass gash,” Luke said.
Walker smacked his brother on the back of his head, and Ava groaned. All of it—the sheer normalcy of it—made Jack grin.
“Your uncle’s right, you know. Your friends are gonna think you’re pretty tough.”
“I didn’t even cry when the doctor stitched me up.”
Jack laughed softly. “But you know, it would be okay if you did.”
He thought of all he’d kept hidden, years of pain he’d bottled up, thinking he was safe if he just got far enough away. But safe was being who you were in front of the people you loved—and having them love you anyway.
“I know,” Owen said.
“Hey,” Jack added. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something. You name that dog of yours for Vin Scully, the former announcer for the Dodgers?”
Owen nodded.
“Did you know that he was with the Dodgers longer than any other announcer was with a single team?”
The corner of Owen’s mouth turned up. “Sixty-seven seasons,” he said.
Jack grinned. “You ever been to a game?”
“Just once. Mom, Grandma, and Grandpa took me after my eighth birthday. New season hasn’t started yet this year.”
Jack scrubbed a hand across his jaw, thinking of all the birthdays he’d missed. He couldn’t dwell on that, though. He couldn’t change the past, and he got that now. But he could change how things went from here on out.
“You had a birthday before I got here. Didn’t you?”
Owen’s eyes brightened. “End of February.”
Jack grinned. “You think I could maybe take you to your second game? I hear they got this great new pitcher.”
Owen nodded, but then he swiped at an almost imperceptible tear under his eye. “Thank you, by the way, for saving my life. I’m sorry you got hurt.”
Jack swallowed back the knot in his throat. “Do you know why I did it?”
Owen shrugged. “Because you love my mom.”
Jack glanced up at Ava. “I do. I love your mom. But that’s not wh
y I ran in front of that car.”
His chest tightened. This was the moment of truth, and as much as it was in his nature to do so, for once Jack wasn’t holding back.
Owen looked at him expectantly, and Jack told him the only thing he could—the truth.
“I ran in front of that car because you’re my son, and I love you. And I would do anything, Owen, anything to protect you.”
Owen’s eyes widened, and Jack watched as the boy’s shoulders relaxed and he let the first tear fall. He threw himself at Jack, wrapping his arms around his neck and burying his face into his shoulder.
“I love you, Ja—I mean—Dad.” Owen’s voice broke on the last word, and the weight that had pressed itself into Jack’s chest for half his life finally lifted.
He squeezed his son close and let out a shaky breath. “I love you, too, Shortstop.”
They stayed like that for several long moments before Owen finally straightened. Jack’s eyes met Luke’s and then Walker’s.
“We’re not selling the vineyard,” he said. “And I’m not taking the job in New York.”
Walker laughed, then said quietly, “Fucking grapes.”
“Yeah,” Jack said with a grin. “Fucking grapes.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Thanks to the titanium rod in his leg, Jack didn’t need to use his crutches. Despite the doctor’s orders to only walk in the cast when absolutely necessary, though, he paced the office floor, the sealed white envelope in his hand.
“There is no way you’re going to put your shit behind you if you don’t read it,” he said aloud. Then he laughed because he was alone. Talking to himself. Afraid of a stupid piece of paper.
He paused mid-pace when he heard a dog’s bark. Then he lifted the shade to see Owen and Scully running past the side of the house toward the back. That meant Ava wasn’t far behind.
They were early, and there was no way he would be able to do what he planned to do without reading the goddamn letter first.
