by Mariah Stone
Actually, he’d noticed that something was different ever since he’d gotten back from Scotland. When he’d reached the Keir farm, the first thing he’d done was call her. And she hadn’t even missed him. She’d been surprised he’d apologized for not calling sooner, even though he was supposed to have been back the day before.
The Keirs had taken him to the hotel in Dalmally, where his friends had booked rooms, and a pissed-off Andy had raged and yelled at him for an hour. Scottish search and rescue hadn’t been able to find him, and they’d been really close to calling his mom to tell her it was likely he’d died.
He’d told Andy he’d gotten lost in the storm, fallen into a ravine, and injured his ankle and his head. He’d said a woman who lived in a cottage found him and took care of him, and he’d stayed with her for a couple of days. The phone lines had been broken, so he couldn’t contact anyone. Andy had still been furious with him.
Andy had his bag with his passport and his phone, and they’d both flown back home right away. During his first week back in L.A., Konnor had gone to see his mom daily, making sure she was all right. She seemed surprised, and maybe even a little annoyed, to have him visit so often. “You’re like a mother hen, Konnor, for God’s sakes. I love you, but please stop, I feel a little suffocated.”
His firm was doing well, and it seemed the world had moved on while he was gone.
Only he hadn’t.
“Mom,” Konnor said, “whatever it is, tell me.”
She sighed and glanced at the tablet. “All right. But promise me you’ll take the news calmly.”
His heart drummed. News? Was she sick? Was she moving? What was going on?
“I met someone.”
Silence. If silence could explode, it just had.
“You what?”
She sighed. “I met someone, and I want you to meet him, too.”
“Mom!”
She shrugged. “He’s an art dealer who went to the same painting class as me half a year ago. About portraits.”
Fuck.
She shrugged. “He said he loved my painting, and I showed him my collection. He said the same thing you’ve been telling me for years, that I should have an exhibition and sell them. And you know what, I’m doing it. He’s helping.” She giggled. “In New York, of all places!”
Konnor groaned. Fear gripped him in ice-cold vise. “You’re not serious.”
She blinked. “All right, all right. Calm down. I’m not moving in with Mark or anything. But we’ve been dating for six months now.”
“Dating for six months, and you’re only telling me now?”
“Because I feel like it’s only now gotten serious. While you were away in Scotland, we took a trip to Vegas. Mark’s very respectful and sweet and…”
She’d left town with a man he hadn’t even met while he was out the country? No wonder she hadn’t been worried her son hadn’t called.
His blood pulsed hotly in his temples. She was about to give him a heart attack. “Sweet? But after Jerry—”
She stood up and propped her hands against her waist. “No, Konnor. You don’t get to bring up Jerry now. I learned my lesson. I went through therapy. It was fourteen years ago, son.”
“And I still cannot forgive myself for letting him hurt you like that.”
She stilled, wide-eyed. Something he hadn’t seen on her face for a very long time appeared. Guilt.
“You? Forgive yourself? You were a boy, Konnor. Nothing about that situation was your fault. What could you have done?”
They had never spoken about it. Not while Jerry was alive, not after he died. But it hung on Konnor like heavy weight. The guilt.
“Something. Tell someone. Call the police.”
“I told you not to.”
“Still. I should have been stronger.”
“No, Konnor.” She took his face in both her hands. “I should have. Do you hear me? It’s on me. On the grown-up. I should have left him and protected both you and me.”
Tears welled in her eyes, and his chest tightened. She let him go and sat on the chair, taking a big sip of her wine with a shaky hand.
“Actually, it’s something I’ve talked with Mark about. He understands me because he, too, comes from a home where his father beat him.”
A spasm contracted Konnor’s stomach.
“But despite that,” Mom continued, “he’s a wonderful father, because he never wants his children to go through what he went through. I met his ex-wife. Actually, she owns the gallery in New York, and they’re very amicably divorced. Mark and I, we’re both victims of abuse.” Her voice shook. “And so are you, honey.”
Konnor jumped off his chair. It was too painful to listen to this, too shocking. He wanted to erase these words from his memory and not hear a word of it again. His mom was moving on. Either that, or she was making the biggest mistake of her life. Hadn’t she learned that love only ended in pain?
He paced along the kitchen island, clenching and unclenching his fists in an attempt to relieve the tension in his shoulders and arms.
“But how do you know he’s not going to be just like Jerry?”
She straightened her back and raised her chin. “You’re right. I don’t know it for sure yet. But I’m also not jumping into anything like I did with Jerry. I’m taking it slow. I’m looking after myself.”
She looked at the napkin with seashell patterns and shifted it on the table so that it lined up perfectly with the middle of the plate. When she met his eyes, Konnor felt as though a goddamn spear was ripping into his chest.
“I should’ve been strong enough to leave Jerry,” she said, “and not put us both through hell. But I am stronger now. I will recognize the signs of a violent man if they appear.” She lifted her brows. “Unlike then, I don’t need a man. And I’m not in a rush to move in with someone or anything. My life is great as it is.” She cocked her head and smiled. “I’m happy with myself, Konnor. I have you, my wonderful son. But you have your own life to live, and I’m closer to the end of mine.”
“Mom! You’re not even sixty.”
“Yeah, and I’m sure I have many more great years ahead, and I want to enjoy them to the fullest. You’re grown. You don’t need me. Maybe my art exhibition will be a hit, and I’ll finally get out of your hair and earn my own money doing something I love. Wouldn’t you like that for me?”
Yeah. His feeling had been right. His mom was moving on. Everything was changing. Except him. Was he clinging on to issues that were no longer there? Did his mom no longer need him?
A dark, bottomless wound throbbed in the middle of him. The only thing that would make the ache go away would be to get on the next flight to Scotland, find that ruin, and travel back through time to take his Highland Queen in his arms and never let her go.
He leaned against the kitchen island top, the black granite cool against his heated palms. “Of course, I’d love for you to be happy. But I need to make sure the guy is good for you. I won’t forgive myself if anything bad ever happens again. Safety comes before any infatuation.”
“Infatuation?” she said, looking puzzled.
“Yeah. Infatuation. What else can be there after a couple of months of knowing each other?”
She smiled. “Six months. And it’s more serious than infatuation. Here.” She shifted towards the tablet. “Let me introduce you. Please?”
Konnor’s nostrils flared. Everything within him screamed against it. He was worried for her. He hated the man already. He sighed. The guy was in his mom’s life, and it was Konnor’s job to make sure she was safe.
“Okay. But if I sense even a hint of violence in him…”
“Then what?”
“You’ll break up with him, that’s what. I’m not risking your health and your safety.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s not for you to decide.” She unlocked the screen and called a Mark Campbell on Skype.
Campbell?
While the tablet rung, Konnor’s stomach roiled with a strange
sensation of déjà vu. Campbell was no doubt a modern version of Marjorie’s clan name, Cambel.
“Does he live in New York?” Konnor murmured.
“No, L.A., but he’s in New York to set up the exhibition for me next week.”
“Next week? Were you even planning to invite me?”
The screen went live. “Hello!” a male voice said.
Staring at Mark’s face, Konnor sat completely still.
Tamhas looked back at him from the screen, only sixty years old, and with his long hair completely white. He even had the same white stubble on his chin, and intense gray eyes.
“Hold on,” Mark Campbell said, and the background behind him shifted. “Let me find a calm spot. Ah here, the back of the gallery will do.” He looked at Konnor and his mom and smiled. “Hello, Helen. Hello, Konnor. Nice to finally meet you.”
He had a bright, pleasant simile. Wise eyes. Calmness and peace radiated from him.
“Hi,” Konnor said, stupefied.
“Hi, honey,” his mom said.
Konnor suppressed a growl. Honey. We’ll see about that.
“So I hear you’ve been seeing my mom,” Konnor said.
Mark nodded. “I’ve been fortunate enough to, yes. She’s one of a kind.”
Konnor cocked his head. “We can agree on that. What are your intentions towards my mother?”
He sounded like an old-fashioned prick, but he didn’t care.
“My intentions—”Mark met his mom’s eyes, and they warmed with such light and love that Konnor gritted his teeth. “My intentions are to make her deliriously, unconditionally happy. As long as she’ll have me.”
Yeah. We’ll see about that, too.
Konnor’s hand clawed around his fork. “When are you back to L.A.?”
“Tonight.”
“Like soccer?”
“I do, actually.”
Konnor was pretty sure the man said that because his mom had told him Konnor was a soccer fan. But at least he had the decency to pretend like he did.
“How about we go to see a game tomorrow. Have some beers. Talk man to man, not on Skype.”
“Sounds like a plan. Just one thing. I don’t drink.”
“Why? Alcoholic?”
“Konnor!” His mom gasped.
Mark laughed. “It’s a fair question given my upbringing. No, I’m not an alcoholic. I tried a beer once when I was sixteen and hated the taste and the way it made me feel. In combination with my childhood and my father being an alcoholic, I decided not to drink.”
Ah, hell. Konnor just might like the man, even though he hadn’t intended to.
“All right,” Konnor said to the modern, older version of Tamhas. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Chapter 30
The stadium rumbled with the singing of thousands of voices. Konnor watched the brightly lit green grass, though he wasn’t really interested in the game. The seats in the Midfield Box of Banc of California Stadium were amazing. Konnor wasn’t a poor man, but he couldn’t afford being a member here.
Mark really did like soccer and had enough money for the membership. They sat in the middle of the box, and a waitress brought them two boxes of nachos and two sodas.
“The preparation for your mom’s exhibition is going well,” Mark said. “I’ve seen many different artists in my years of doing business, but raw talent like your mother’s doesn’t come along often.”
Konnor simply stared at Mark’s profile. The resemblance with Tamhas was uncanny. Yeah, there were some differences, like Mark’s nose was thinner and higher, and his eyes were a different color. But even the voice, save for the Scottish burr, sounded similar. Mark and Tamhas had the same pleasant baritone. Only where Tamhas talked fast and was always on the lookout for danger, Mark was calm and at ease.
“I’ve been telling her she should show her paintings to someone for years.”
“Yeah. She told me. You were right.”
“But are you sure you’re not just trying to get her to like you more?”
He smiled sadly, his eyes watering. “I was afraid I could be biased because I’m so in love with her.”
In love? Konnor’s lungs contracted.
“But I asked my ex-wife, who owns a gallery in New York, and some of the art dealers I know and trust. They all think she’s a gem. How many does she have? Hundreds? She’s sitting on a fortune, my friend.”
Konnor sighed. It was great to know his mom was so talented and could secure her future if for any reason Konnor were to disappear…
If he went back in time, for example.
Oh, how he wanted to see Marjorie. Take her into his arms, inhale her herbal scent.
But he couldn’t. No matter how desperate and sad he was, how empty his life felt without her…
He loved her.
He, who knew love was an illusion and only brought pain, loved her. The Highland faerie Sìneag was right. Marjorie was the woman for him. He knew it in his bones. It fit so well. And he’d needed to cross hundreds of years and see his empty, pointless life to realize that.
Still, he couldn’t abandon his mother. And he still needed to make sure Mark was the man his mother thought he was. After all, Jerry had been sweet and kind until Helen and Konnor had moved in with him.
“What do your kids do?” Konnor said.
“My oldest, Denise, is your age, and she’s a boat captain. My middle son, Trevor, is a pediatrician in Chicago. My youngest son, Jack, is still in school studying psychology.” He chuckled. “They say psychologists go into the profession to solve their own problems, but I hope we didn’t do too bad of a job as parents.”
Konnor looked sharply at him. He actually hadn’t considered that until right now. Even though Mark was the victim of domestic abuse, like Konnor, he’d gotten married and had three children. Yes, he was divorced, but he didn’t look like he was suffering or anything. He said he loved Konnor’s mom.
“So what happened with your ex-wife?” Konnor said. “Why the divorce?”
Mark inhaled deeply, sat back in his chair, and sighed, looking at the players running around the field.
“Good question. What happened… I don’t know. We were deliriously happy. I loved her. She loved me. We had our kids, did a great job with them, if I say so myself. I’m very proud of every single one of them. But then…something was missing. I suppose, Janet said it first. She asked what was going on. We simply…grew apart. There was no hatred between us, no drama. The whole divorce thing was really boring, actually. We still have a good relationship. A lot of it revolves around work, actually. She has her gallery, which was ours before, and I hunt down great art. We’re comfortable financially, as you can see. I think it was a bit difficult for the kids, but in the end, they understood and agree it’s better for everyone.”
Konnor felt it. The man was being truthful with him. It was in the ease of his words, in his relaxed pose, in his tone.
“So there was no pain? When you divorced?”
He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Not pain exactly. More like sadness, I think. I did mourn our relationship. We were happy, and I’d thought we’d always be together. You don’t marry someone thinking you’ll be done with them one day, right?”
“That would be what I’d be thinking,” Konnor mumbled.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“No. Tell me. Did you say you’d be thinking that?”
Konnor sipped his coke, regretting his words, hoping he could distract the man. He had no intention of talking about his feelings and limitations. “Doesn’t matter.”
“No,” Mark said. “It actually does. It’s not my business, of course, but I do think you and I, and your mother, share something deep and unfortunate. That experience of being abused and helpless and being taught all the wrong things about life. I used to hate everything and everyone. I stole stuff. I beat the shit out of others. I thought bad things about myself because my father’s fists taught me to do so. I think that’s why
I went to study art, to find the relief from pain.”
Konnor nodded thoughtfully. For someone with a similar violent upbringing, Mark seemed like a normal guy now. Not broken. And he was a family man who’d raised three kids.
“Did your ex ever accuse you of being emotionally unavailable?”
Mark rubbed his chin with an amused half-smile. “Is that what your girlfriend accuses you of?”
Actually, Marjorie had never said that to him. She was hurt he left, but she was the first person he’d opened up to. He’d told her his worst insecurities, and, surprisingly, she’d accepted him. Not only accepted, she’d actually kissed him.
For the first time in his life, he’d been emotionally available to a woman. And he’d loved it.
He loved her.
She’d believed in him unconditionally. She’d trusted him and hadn’t been afraid of him. She’d said he could be a wonderful husband and father.
“What helped you be a good husband and father, Mark? Your dad, like my stepdad, was a terrible role model. What made you think you could do it?”
Mark chuckled. “Well, to be fair, I didn’t think I could do it until the day my daughter was born. But the moment I held that little pink baby in my arms, the moment I heard her first cry, I knew what I didn’t want to be. Him. That I’d do anything in my power to shield her from that. That I’d be the opposite of my father, whatever that meant. I wouldn’t be violent. Wouldn’t be a selfish asshole. And suddenly, I was thankful to him for showing me how bad someone could be. For giving me the choice of not being like him. And every day of my life, I wasn’t. And it’s because I know that darkness that I can choose light. And I can show my wife and my kids light.”
He blinked.
“I think your mother knows it, too. And so do you, Konnor. So do you.”
Konnor stared at the soccer field but didn’t see it. The sounds of crowd yelling grew quieter and became echoey. He felt like he was being lifted out of his body and flying up, staring at himself sitting next to Mark from a distance.
Mark was right. Why was he so fixated on not knowing how to be a good father and a husband? Of course he didn’t know. But no one knew until they figured it out. And sometimes, knowing what you don’t want to be was enough. It was everything, actually.
