On His Knees

by Cathryn Fox

  “It’s okay.”

  “Do you have any other family members?”

  “I have some aunts, uncles and cousins. But I’m really close to my granddad,” I say. “He’s a good man. The best. He was always there for me, for all his grandchildren, actually.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “He’s not well. I can’t even imagine the void I’m going to have in my life when he’s gone.”

  “I’m sorry.” A pause and then she asked, “How old were you when your mom left?”

  My breath hitches when my mind rewinds to the day she stood in the doorway with her suitcase. She smiled at me, told me to be a good boy, and just like that she left, never to be heard from again. “Six. Old enough to understand I didn’t matter to her.”

  “Damn.” She leans into me. “You matter, Tate. This is on her, not you, but believe me, I get how we blame ourselves.” I’m about to ask what she blames herself for when she says, “For as long as I can remember, I always wanted to make something of myself, get a good education, a high-paying job and become a responsible member of society.”

  “Yeah?”

  “My dream was to move Dad from our Brooklyn apartment to a luxurious home in Manhattan.” She gives me a wobbly smile. “I think he would have liked that. Would have been so proud to see me succeed in life.”

  “And?” I ask, encouraging her to elaborate. Her throat makes a choking little sound, and I look at her. My heart squeezes at the sadness on her face, the water pooling in her eyes. Goddammit, these memories are hard on her. I feel like a prick for prying, but what choice do I have? I’m so close to getting some real answers, and I still feel protective of Granddad. “He died of a heart attack before I could ever make that happen. I wasn’t even with him at the time, couldn’t do anything to help him.” She chokes on a sob, and I run my hand up and down her arm.

  “So you wanted a mansion for your dad,” I say, a statement, not a question, as I try to digest everything she’s telling me.

  “Not a mansion, not really.” She puts her fingers into the corners of her eyes, and squeezes her lids shut. “My whole life he worked hard to provide for me, to give me everything he could, but I didn’t need ‘everything,’ I only needed him. And believe me, he was there for me.” She rubs her nose. “Every Saturday he took me out for snow cones, spent quality time with me. I didn’t really need anything more than that from him, but he thought I needed things, you know. I guess it was his way of trying to be both the mom and the dad.”

  “That couldn’t have been easy.” At least I had nannies and servants. Not that I can tell her any of that, and I suddenly feel so shitty about keeping secrets from her. Because she’s wide-open.

  “And...” she begins, but her voice trails off.

  “What?”

  She averts her gaze, stretches her legs out. “Maybe I said too much already.”

  “Go ahead, Summer. Bend the local bartender’s ear.”

  A long pause and then, “Is it strange that I feel survivor’s guilt? That my mom died because of me? That Dad spent an existence alone, because of me?”

  Jesus Christ. “It’s not like that. You have to know that.”

  “I know.” She taps her head. “You can beat that into my brain all you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that in my heart I feel that way. Just like I can tell you it wasn’t your fault for your mother leaving, but you’re never going to believe that.”

  She’s right. I do blame myself. I wasn’t enough for her.

  Would I be enough for Summer?

  She touches my face, her hand lingers on my cheek, like she needs the contact. I get that, I totally do because I can’t stop touching her either. “I know it’s crazy, but...”

  “It’s not crazy,” I say, and close my hand over hers. I give it a kiss, and bring it to my lap.

  “I guess that’s why I wanted to do so much for my father. To make up for what I’d taken from him and his lonely existence.”

  So, she’s conning my grandfather to make up for some misguided belief that she owes her father? Doing all the wrong things for all the right reasons? Which I’m having a hard time even wrapping my brain around now.

  “You’re wrong, you know,” I say.

  “Wrong?”

  “Your father didn’t have a lonely existence. He had you, and from what you’re telling me, you were the world to him and he wouldn’t have changed a thing.”

  “My father never said it, but there were hints of it,” she says so quietly I have to strain my ears to hear her.

  “Hints of what?”

  “That during labor it came down to the baby or my mom. Mom chose me.”

  I hug her tighter, and her arms go around me. “And he died before you could become a millionaire and buy him a big home.”

  “I didn’t really need a million dollars,” she says, and then laughs, but it holds no humor. “I don’t even like rich people.”

  What? Seriously? “That’s kind of a blanket statement, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, I suppose,” she says, and then drifts off like her mind is elsewhere. What is going through that pretty head of hers?

  “You must like the guy who sent you here.”

  “He’s different.”

  “Different how?”

  “He’s...nice.”

  “You think most rich people aren’t nice?”

  She shrugs. “I’m sure some are, I’ve just happened to meet many who aren’t.” She lets out a sigh. “When I was a girl, there were these self-entitled boys. They were bullies and used to tease me, throw things at me, and...well, let’s just say they thought they could get away with anything, and they usually could.”

  “Fuckers,” I say under my breath, anger burning through me. “They threw things at you?” I look her over, to check for scars. “Where do they live? I’ll pay them a visit.”

  She chuckles. “I can fight my own battles today, Tate.”

  “I know,” I say. Summer is proving to be a strong, independent woman, yet everything in me wants to protect her. “Did they hurt you?” I ask quietly.

  “Yes.”

  That one simple word, so soft, so low, so full of raw pain, rips through me. “Summer,” I whisper, my stomach clenching so hard I feel sick. “What did they do?”

  “I was the poor kid, you know, and when we reached high school, one of the boys said he liked me.” She shakes her head. “I was so stupid to think a guy like that would ever go for a girl like me.”

  “A girl like you?”

  Her throat gurgles. “From the wrong side of the tracks. But I believed it.” She pinches her eyes shut and gives a shake of her head, her fine hairs falling over her shoulders. “Oh, did I ever believe it.”

  She shifts in my arms, and lays her head on my lap. I smooth my hand over her hair and tuck it behind her ears. “He invited me to his house one day.”

  “Did you go?”

  “Yes. But when I passed beneath a window, I could hear him and his friends inside talking.”

  “About you?”

  She sniffs, and her voice is low when she says, “They were talking about the things they were going to do to me.” Her voice cracks. “Really awful things, Tate. They were going to take turns.”

  “Summer, I’m so sorry,” I say, the words tight in my throat.

  “I ran though, before they could touch me or hurt me.”

  I let loose a slow breath. “Thank fuck.”

  “He lied to me, tricked me into thinking he was something he wasn’t.”

  I swallow. Hard. Guilt niggling at me. No wonder she doesn’t trust privileged guys. When it comes right down to it, I’m lying to her, too, tricking her into thinking I’m someone else. Is that why she thinks she’s not the marrying type, because they did that to her? That guys only want one thing from her?

  “You were young. Yo
u thought you could trust him and it wasn’t your fault you couldn’t, Summer.”

  “I never told anyone that story, Tate. Back when it happened, I was too embarrassed.”

  “Hey, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. That was on them, not you.”

  “I know that now, but it took me a long time to realize that. I have no idea if they planned to go through with what they were saying, but it was wrong either way... I’m not even sure why I’m telling you.” She gives a small sigh, her voice low and tired. “Must be the bartender in you that’s able to drag the stories out of people.”

  “I know they never put their hands on you, but they still hurt you. I’m sorry they were such assholes, and they should be held accountable for their actions,” I say, the lawyer in me coming out. I want to tell her she should have called the cops, but I don’t. Going through that was hard enough on her.

  “It was shortly after that I went to Boston, putting it all behind me.”

  As the storm pummels the mountains, Summer’s breathing changes, becomes softer and slower as she falls asleep on my lap. My heart pounds against my chest, her stories playing over and over in my head. How could this sweet, tortured girl from Brooklyn be the same girl who’s conning my grandfather?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Summer

  I WAKE UP in bed alone, and unease moves through me. I go still, and listen for noises in the main room, but when I hear only the flames in the hearth, I berate myself. No wonder he left. Last night things became personal, too personal. Why the hell did I open up to Tate like that? This is just an affair. A sex-only weeklong affair, where emotions have no part. Tate didn’t need to know about my father or mother or what those stupid boys did to me. I crossed a line, didn’t follow the rules of a one-night, or rather one-week, stand, and I don’t blame Tate for leaving. This wasn’t what he signed up for. Although I do have to say, I liked the insight into him, learning more about his childhood. He doesn’t want my pity, just like I don’t want his, but when he told me about his mom leaving, my heart ached for the six-year-old boy still in him.

  I put my arm over my forehead and stare out the window beside me. The storm might have passed, but deep in my gut, there is still one going on. Maybe I should be happy that he left, end this affair before I get in too deep. Oh, how I wish it were that easy. A noise at the door draws my attention and I go up on my elbows, my hair a tumbling mess over my face. I shake it free and zero in on Tate as he reaches above his head to stretch his body.

  My eyes widen. “I thought you were...”

  “Thought I was what?” He arches a brow, and my gaze rakes over him. He looks like sex in jeans as he watches me, his bare feet crossed.

  I shrug. “Gone, I guess.” He gives me a puzzled look, and I hurry out with an explanation. “Tate, about last night. This is an affair and I shouldn’t have told you any of those things. I get it if you want to leave.”

  “I don’t want to leave.”

  A little thrill goes through me. “You don’t?”

  “No.” He points to the window. “The storm passed, and it’s time for payback.”

  I look at the man who has been doing the most glorious things to my body, and there is a change in him. I can’t quite figure out what it is, but his mood is different. “Payback?” I ask, not sure what he’s getting at.

  “Yeah. For the donkey costume. I told you I was going to pay you back for that.”

  He has a mischievous grin on his face, and I can’t help but admit I’m intrigued. I sit up and the blankets fall from my body. That’s when I realize I’m naked. “Where are my clothes?” I ask, and pull the sheets up to my neck.

  He pushes off the door frame. “Why are you covering up?”

  “Because I’m naked.”

  His eyes go dark as he stalks toward me. “Are you forgetting that I’ve been inside you?”

  A shiver moves through my body, igniting my insides. I’ll never forget that for the rest of my life, and I’m sure that’s going to be a problem. “No,” I say. “It’s just that I don’t normally sleep in the nude.”

  He gestures to the chair and I see my yoga pants and T-shirt. “You fell asleep on my lap last night, and I undressed you for bed.”

  “I don’t normally sleep in the nude,” I repeat.

  “When you’re with me you do.”

  I laugh at that. “Oh, is that how the rest of this week is going to play out?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize just how little time I have left here, with him. Sadness seeps under my skin, settles around my heart. God, Summer, what did you go and get yourself in to?

  My phone rings in the other room. “I’ll get that for you,” Tate says.

  I grab his arm, a little too aggressively, and he goes still and looks at me. “I’ll get it,” I say, and jump from the bed. I tug the sheet around myself and hurry to my purse. I pull my ringing phone out and see that it’s from my web expert. I’ve been so distracted with Tate I’ve barely had time to think about my online hacker. “I have to take this.” I dart into the bathroom for privacy and slide my hand across the screen.

  “Hi,” I say, keeping my voice low.

  “Hi. We’re still working on things.” Dan’s voice booms loudly and I’m glad I excused myself for this work call. I still feel bad for lying, but I’ve already decided it doesn’t really matter at this point.

  “Is the image down yet?” I ask.

  “These hackers are good. A lot of our clients have been hit.”

  “I know but none of them got the boob job I got,” I say, and Dan laughs.

  “Anyway, I just wanted to give you an update. We’re close. Any day now. Just keep checking the site.”

  “Thanks, Dan,” I say, but hate the thought of checking the site to see my head on a ridiculous body.

  I end the call and step back into the other room to find Tate scrolling through his phone. “Everything okay?” His brow arches as he glances up at me.

  “Yeah, just some things I needed to deal with back home.” I shove my phone in my purse, but feel his eyes burning through me when I reach for a glass of water. “What are our plans for the day?” I ask.

  Our plans. Oh, how I like the sound of that.

  “First, I’m going to feed you, then we’re going to go bungee jumping off the mountain.”

  I gasp and turn around fast. “Tate, I’m afraid—”

  “I’m kidding,” he says, stepping toward me, his knuckles brushing mine. “I know you don’t like heights, and I’d never ask you to do something you’re uncomfortable doing.”

  “Thank God.”

  “There’s a game of snowshoe softball going on. I thought we’d check in with your friends, see if they want to play.” My heart melts a little.

  “That’s really sweet.”

  “I’ve been keeping you all to myself, and I’m not sure that’s fair. I already bought four tickets.”

  Dammit, I hate how he’s putting so much money out for me, but I don’t want to insult him and bring that up. “Let me text them.” I grab my phone, and shoot off a text. Cara instantly answers that they’re both in, and we agree to meet later for the game.

  “All set,” I say.

  “Tonight though,” he says, and rubs my nipples through the sheet, “I want you all to myself again.”

  My body warms. “I want that, too.” He gives me a little tap on the ass to get me moving, and I hurry to the bathroom for a quick shower. Tate is fully dressed in his boots and coat when I emerge, and I quickly get myself ready, pulling on the bomber-style jacket I brought with me, and my boots, and we’re out the door in less than fifteen minutes.

  I breathe in the fresh morning air—there’s nothing like a new day after a storm. We go to the café in the center of town, and after we put our order in, he stands.

  “I have to run an errand. You okay here for
a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  He walks toward the door, pulling his cell phone from his pocket as he does. He goes still for a second like he’s reading a message, and then he disappears out the door.

  I sip my coffee, and glance around at all the happy vacationers. I have no idea what Tate is up to and when it comes right down to it, it’s none of my business. Less than ten minutes later he’s back, and he shrugs out of his coat.

  “Sorry about that,” he says, no explanation.

  “Just in time.” I look up to see our food has arrived.

  I dig into my pancakes and consider his whereabouts. Maybe he was trying to get someone to cover his shift. “Do you work today?”

  “No,” he says. “I have a couple days off.”

  “Tate,” I say. “I really hope you’re not taking time off on my account. I wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize your job.”

  He stops eating, and leans toward me. His hand touches my chin. Instead of answering, he drops a soft kiss onto my mouth, one that leaves me breathless and confused when he breaks it. My head is swimming as I refocus on my food. Honest to God that kiss, it felt more emotional than physical. Tate digs into his food, but suddenly I no longer have an appetite. I nibble a bit, and when we’re done, Tate pays the bill and we head outside.

  “Come on,” he says, and captures my hand. He hurries me to the frozen lake, where the game is being held, and I give myself a good hard lecture about what is real and what isn’t, when I see my friends picking up their snowshoes. Tate asked my friends to join us because he’s been monopolizing my time, not because he wants to get to know me better through my friends, and that kiss, well, I’m just fooling myself into thinking there could be more to us, right?

  Stop it, Summer.

  “For the record, I’ve never played snowshoe softball before,” I say to Tate.

  “That makes two of us, but the money to play goes to a good cause.”

  My heart misses a beat. Donating like this is so sweet of him.

  “Summer,” Amber says, and waves me over to where everyone is putting on snowshoes.

  “I’m going to break my neck,” I whisper to myself, and Tate puts his arm around my back and guides me over. The sounds of a ball hitting a bat cracks the air, and I turn to see the batter warming up.