by Donna Fasano
Brad got up from the bed and came around to stand behind her. She could sense the solid bulk of him even though their bodies weren’t touching.
“How the hell did that happen to you?” he finally asked, soulful sorrow painting his words in heavy, dark hues.
She gave her shoulders a momentary lift. “My therapist thinks my childhood contributed to what she called my abuse mentality. The way I was raised the first seven or so years of my life. Living with a mother who was addicted to drugs, who was willing to do anything, suffer anything for her next fix. She was willing to put me in danger to get what she needed. I grew up feeling helpless. Unable to have any say in my circumstances or voice an opinion. Fending for myself. I often went to bed hungry. Often roamed the streets alone because I didn’t know where my mom was. And then going from that to my Grandmother’s house where the rules were so strict, and again, I had no say.” She turned and faced him. “Who knew that would create such a perfect psychological storm for me to become an abused wife?”
Brad placed gentle hands on her shoulders.
“It took so long for me to feel any semblance of normal,” she told him. “Todd utterly crushed me. I didn’t think I’d survive it. I had skills in the kitchen, but I was sure no one would hire me. Don’t ask me why. I don’t have an answer for that. Todd left me with nothing. He’d borrowed against our house. He’d cleaned out the savings. He’d started several businesses that had failed. I learned he’d opened several lines of credit. Thank goodness, only one credit card was in both our names.” She swiveled her head slowly back and forth, her mind entrenched in the awful past. “He even threatened to take half of my Grandmom’s house.” She looked up into Brad’s blue eyes. “She was still alive at the time. She was so mad; she vowed to live until the divorce was final.”
Brad smiled. “I always liked that feisty old woman.”
“She almost made it, too,” she said softly. “Heather and Sara were my lifeline. I don’t know what I’d have done without them. They helped me take care of Grandmom. They found a good divorce lawyer for me. He couldn’t get anything out of Todd because you can’t get water out of a rock, but he did keep Todd’s grubby hands off Grandmom’s house and the small bit of savings she left me.” She reached up and hooked her fingers over Brad’s forearm. “I used that money to start The Café. And making it a success became my passion. That first year, I barely broke even. But I never looked back.” She let her fingers slip from his arm. “It’s been the hardest thing… and the most satisfying thing I’ve ever done.”
He took a step away from her and crossed his arms over his chest. “Like I said, I suspected you took a significant financial hit when you filed for divorce, but I never realized how hard a hit you took. Now I understand why you’ve been so concerned about me going into debt.”
She cocked a curious brow but said nothing.
“You ragged out on me about it the first time you came to the arcade.” He nodded slowly. “And then you accused me of asking you to marry me because I wanted you to pay off the mortgage on the place.”
Cathy tilted her head a fraction. “I think what I said was you wanted me to help you pay off the mortgage.”
He grinned. “Mere semantics.”
“I remember you said you didn’t owe a mortgage. How can that be? What are you? A magician?”
Taking in the twinkle in his eyes, she realized that the atmosphere between them had lost all semblance of the tension she’d felt upon entering the hospital room.
“I’ll tell you all about that,” he told her. “Later. Right now, there are more important things you need to hear.”
She turned slightly, leaned her bottom against the low window sill, and waited.
“I have to take some responsibility for what happened out there on the bay,” he told her. “I’ve wanted to talk to you about… us, about our relationship, for such a long time. But I hadn’t because… well, because I was—” he gave a shrug “—scared of what you might say. Of what you would do. So when I did… broach the subject, I was frustrated. And annoyed. With you. With myself. With our situation. Which seemed, to me, to be going nowhere. And I obviously went about everything all wrong.
“Cathy,” he continued, “I should have started out by telling you how I feel about you. I should have explained to you what you mean to me. I should have shared my vision for our future. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time.”
He paused, licked his dusky lips, tilted his head, softened his tone. “I love you, Cathy. I do.”
She felt her insides squirm and her gaze automatically drifted away from his face. But he reached out and captured her chin, gently guiding her gaze back to his.
“Don’t do that. Don’t put up those barriers. Don’t shut me out. We know each other too well not to be completely honest here.”
Her gaze roved over his handsome face. She couldn’t deny that what he said was true.
“It’s just that,” she began, and then she stopped. After taking a deep breath, she tried again. “That word. It has…” She gently pushed his hand away from her face. “It has a lot of dark and murky emotions glommed onto it, in my experience.”
Brad reached up and brushed her hair off her shoulder without actually touching her body. “Sweetheart, what your ex showed you, how he treated you, that wasn’t love.”
She met his gaze, full on. “He thought it was.”
“Well, he was wrong,” Brad told her. “Dead wrong. And you know it’s true.”
After a moment, she admitted, “It’s not just Todd. I loved my mother. I would have done anything for her. And when I think about all the precarious situations she put me in…” She let the rest of the thought fade as she shook her head. “It’s frightening, Brad. And then there was Grandmom. I was so grateful to her for all she did for me. But her love had so many stipulations attached to it. I had to do what I was told, no questions asked. I ran from that as fast as I could.” She muttered, “I jumped right out of that frying pan into the fire.”
Inhaling deeply, she firmed her jaw. “My ideas of love are… twisted.”
“I don’t believe that,” he said. “If you were truly ignorant of what love is, you wouldn’t be able to so easily explain what it isn’t.”
She saw his hand lift, knew he wanted to touch her, but then he evidently changed his mind.
“You love Sara and Heather.” Matter-of-factness shored up his tone. “You have loved them for as long as I’ve known you. You’ve helped them through all manner of bad times. When Sara lost Greg, you were there for her. When Heather was diagnosed with breast cancer, you practically moved in with her.”
“And I paid a terrible price for it when I went home to Todd,” she murmured. “But they needed me.”
He nodded. “There’s your proof. Simple and undeniable. You know what love is. And you know what it isn’t.”
She slipped her fingers into her pockets and lifted her shoulders. “It’s more complicated than that, Brad.”
“No,” he disagreed. “It isn’t.”
He inched a little closer, but he was careful not to touch her. “You’re driving me crazy. You smell like lemon and flowers, and I want to wrap my arms around you and kiss you until you can’t breathe.”
She smiled despite the discomfort she felt.
“But I can’t. I won’t.” He sighed. “Not until you tell me how you feel. About me. About us.”
In her mind, love was a difficult, bumpy subject that never failed to trip up the emotions like an unexpected rise in the pavement that caused an ugly pratfall. She wasn’t interested in taking that kind of nosedive ever again, but it seemed Brad didn’t intend to let this go.
“You smiled,” he said. “That has to be a good sign.”
“I smiled because I like it when you say I drive you crazy. It makes me feel good.”
“And…” He waved his hand in a circling motion, urging her to go on.
“Brad.” Reluctance drew out his name and conveyed her aversion
, and his reaction was immediate. His mouth flattened and his shoulders squared as if he were preparing himself for bad news.
“Okay,” she began, “you want honesty, I’ll give you honesty. No one makes me feel like you do. No one. You make me happy. I smile more when I’m with you than I have in a very long time. I love being with you. I care so much about you.” She clasped her hands together, closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she scrutinized his handsome face in silence as she battled the fear in her heart. Then she quietly admitted, “I love you. I do love you.”
“There.” He stepped toward her, slid his arms around her. “Was that so hard?”
“Wait.”
Her flattened palm pressing against his chest took him aback.
“I’m not finished.” She lifted her chin. “I am not going to marry you, Brad. Ever.”
Movement at the door had both of them swiveling their heads.
Brad’s parents stood inside the room, and Cathy felt her face grow hot as fire as she wondered how much they had overheard. Dismay pulled at Mrs. Henderson’s lovely face.
“We only brought three cups of coffee,” Mr. Henderson blustered to cover the awkwardness. “Maybe we should go buy another cup.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Cathy assured him. “I have to get back to the café. I just popped in to check on Brad.”
The next few minutes were spent exchanging clumsy niceties. Finally, Cathy said her good-byes, and glanced at Brad. “I’ll talk to you later?”
But the disappointment reflecting in his gaze had two words ringing through her head.
Or not.
Chapter Thirteen
Cathy traced the pads of her fingers over the little cherub’s bald head, smiling at the warm silkiness beneath her touch. Yes, his name was Aaron, but he’d always be the little cherub in Cathy’s mind. She imagined him through the years—on his first day of elementary school, in his cap and gown at his high school graduation, in some impressive military uniform, in a tux at his wedding—and she would be there teasing him with the angelic nickname. It would drive him nuts with embarrassment. She chuckled.
“What are you laughing at over there?” Heather asked her.
Since Sara came home from the hospital, the three friends had made an effort to gather together late each afternoon at Sara’s house. Snuggling with the baby filled Cathy’s heart near to bursting with adoration. He was such a comfort to her.
“Just thinking of ways I’m going to tease this little one,” Cathy said.
Delivered at just under thirty-seven weeks, Aaron remained in the hospital for a few extra days so the medical staff could keep a close watch on him. But, tiny miracle that he was, he amazed everyone with his strength and vitality. His heart rate and breathing patterns were in the normal range. His oxygen saturation remained high. He breastfed like a pro, and he maintained a stable body temperature, so the doctors were very pleased to release him. Sara and Landon watched him like sharp-eyed hawks, logging his feedings, his sleep, even his diaper changes.
Eventually, the new parents would relax, but Cathy understood their vigilance. The little cherub was downright teeny, and when he worked himself up, he became a miniature prize fighter, complete with a fierce and wrinkled face and itty-bitty fists.
Right now, though, he snoozed contentedly, nestled in the crook of Cathy’s neck.
“Have you heard from him?” Sara asked Cathy.
It was a question either Sara or Heather asked her every day.
“No,” she said. “It’s been almost two weeks. He hasn’t called. He hasn’t stopped into the café for coffee. I think we all have to come to the conclusion that he’s made his intentions clear.”
“You don’t know that,” Heather chimed in. “Could it be that you haven’t seen him in the café because he hasn’t been cleared to go back to work on the beach patrol?”
Cathy nodded, her jaw sliding against the baby’s warm, fuzzy head. “Sure, that could very well be true. But he could call,” she pointed out. “He banged his head when he fell off the jet ski. As far as I know, his fingers are working just fine.”
The quip fell flat and guilt welled in her chest; she wondered if she’d ever be able to think about or mention the accident without being walloped by remorse.
Sara came over and fiddled with the little cotton cloth beanie that Aaron wore. “Don’t be such a fatalist. Landon’s been working some long hours with Brad at the arcade. According to Landon, Brad’s been pushing the crew he hired really hard, and Brad’s dad was there helping, too. So maybe he hasn’t called you because he’s busy.”
Cathy didn’t argue, she sat there basking in the unexpected gratitude that suddenly permeated her being. She looked from Sara to Heather and back again.
“You know,” she told them, “I have never been happier to be ganged up on by you two.”
The now-repaired rift between Heather and Cathy had shifted their relationship a bit. They were a little more cautious with their words, a little more appreciative of their friendship. Cathy knew this walking-on-eggshells phase wouldn’t last long, and soon they’d be back to razzing the dickens out of each other. But for now she intended to respect the peaceful period for the simple fact that she wanted Heather to understand just how delighted she was that things between them were once again amiable.
She had missed being with Sara and Heather as a threesome. Terribly.
Her phone trilled with a text, and although the little cherub started, he didn’t wake.
“Well, speak of the devil,” Cathy murmured, juggling her phone with one hand.
Brad: Can you come to the arcade at 7 PM?
She thought a moment before responding. Heather read the text over her shoulder.
“I hope you don’t mind my nosiness,” Heather murmured.
“Not a bit.” Cathy grinned as she began tapping in a response with one thumb.
Cathy: Well, my legs are working so I guess I can.
Heather gasped. “Cathy, do you really think being a smartass is the way to go? I mean, we’ve been waiting to hear from Brad—”
Cathy chuckled, feeling suddenly light-headed as she pressed the send button. Then she looked up at Heather. “We’ve been waiting?”
“Okay, okay.” Heather lifted her hand like a traffic cop. “You’ve been waiting.”
“The hell with that,” Sara said, scooping up Aaron and cradling him in her arms. “Heather is right. We’ve been waiting for almost two weeks for this. You be nice, darn it.”
“I’m being me,” Cathy stated with a shrug. “I can’t be anybody else.”
Both Heather and Sara shared a look, both exhaling audibly.
Brad: WOULD you come to the arcade?
Cathy: Sure. See you at 7.
“Well—” she stood and tugged at the hem of her t-shirt, nerves twitching in her extremities “—the moment of truth is upon us. Things between us are either going to remain the same…” She pressed her palm to her stomach. “Or they’re not.”
“Let’s talk about what you’re going to wear,” Heather said.
And Cathy grinned.
The three women stood so close they could almost reach out and touch each other. In that moment, Cathy felt enormously blessed. True friendship could withstand the fiercest storms. They were her sisters; with them, she laughed a little louder, cried a little less, and smiled a whole lot more. Sara and Heather were the kind of friends who could hear her… even when she was silent. They lectured her when she needed it, and even when she didn’t. And she was always quick to return that favor. But she didn’t dare voice any of these thoughts because they were also the kind of friends who would tease her into next week for that kind of sap.
* * *
The mini golf course had been completely transformed. The dinosaurs sported a fresh coat of paint and the landscaping looked neat and tidy. The green fabric inside the putting areas had been replaced. Even the fencing surrounding the course had been repaired and painted. All the signage lo
oked brand new, as well.
Brad came out of the front door of the arcade just as she reached it.
“The place looks great,” she told him, turning to look out over the course. “You’ll be opening soon, it looks like.”
He nodded, and she noticed that he was carrying two golf clubs.
“I’ve booked some Grand Opening advertising for next week.” He balanced the head of the clubs on the ground and cupped his palm over the top of the handles. “I still have a few things to do inside, but it’s coming together much faster than I expected. I’m going to put off the food counter for a while. Just see how it goes.”
“Well, I’m happy to help with that if…”
“I appreciate that,” he said. “I do. But I got to talking to my dad about it, and I realized that my plans were a little…” He chuckled. “Overblown, I guess you could say. I need to take it nice and slow if I want to succeed. And I do.”
The light at the corner changed, and cars and SUVs out on Coastal Highway slowed to a stop. Cathy hadn’t realized how loud the sounds of traffic had been until they had quieted.
Finally, she said, “So you never did tell me.”
His tawny brows arched.
“How you got the place,” she finished.
His sexy mouth split into a wide grin. “I inherited it.”
The next few minutes were spent talking about billionaire Howard Hopewell, how he’d seen Brad as a teen in the documentary that was filmed about the Ocean City Beach Patrol.
“The one that gave birth to Putt-putt?”
“The very one.”
The story of Hopewell amazed Cathy. “So this guy left you a business, but you didn’t save his life?”
“I didn’t save his life,” Brad told her. “But I’ve saved a lot of lives. According to the letter his lawyer sent me, Mr. Hopewell felt my enthusiasm for the job deserved to be recognized.”
“And it does.” She slipped her car key into her back pocket. “And I want to apologize if I ever made you feel—”
