Breathe (10 page)

He wanted to find the kid again. The one person who made him forget

everything else. The one person who hadn"t looked at him with contempt or pity.

The one person he"d connected with who knew nothing of what he"d done or

where he"d spent the last six months.

“Mom!” Davy sprinted into the kitchen, a Hello Kitty backpack dangling from

his right hand. “Jessica can"t breathe.”

Nancy jumped out of her chair. “Where is she?”

“Outside. We were just walking home like you said we could.”

Lincoln headed for the open door. Jessica stood on the top rung of the porch

steps, wheezing, a tiny black-and-white kitten in her hands.

“She ran.” Davy sounded as if he was about to cry or scream or both. “I told her

not to, but she wanted to catch it.”

Breathe

47

Shallow gasps punctuated Jessica"s words. “She"s…too small…to be…alone.”

Lincoln scooped her up and carried her into the house. He lowered her feet to

the floor and knelt next to her. “Breathe deep. Nancy!”

She frantically searched through the backpack. “It"s not in here. Davy, go get

the one by her bed.”

Jessica"s entire upper body heaved with each hitch of her breath. Lincoln

rubbed her back, whispering in her ear. “Breathe. Slow. Easy. Just breathe.” Her

wide, brown eyes watched him, her tiny hands still clasping the kitten.

Davy returned in a hurry. “Not there.”

The backpack hit the floor at Nancy"s feet. “Not there?”

“We"re taking her to the hospital.” Lincoln didn"t hesitate. He picked Jessica

up, pried the kitten from her hands, and dropped it to the couch. “Your new friend

stays here.” The stupid little thing could fend for itself for now. Maybe Sparky

wouldn"t eat it before they got back.

Nancy followed him to the door. “She just needs her inhaler.”

“We"re not waiting. Get your keys.”

“All right.” Nancy called for Adam and asked him to stay with Davy. Despite

their argument, the kid didn"t complain once he took a look at his sister.

They were in Nancy"s car in no time, Jessica on Lincoln"s lap, her back to his

chest, her every struggle for air obvious. A five-year-old should be able to do

something as natural as breathing. Life fucking sucked sometimes.

Nancy seemed to agree. “I wish she hadn"t lost her inhalers. I don"t have the

money for this.”

He brushed a stray clump of hair behind Jessica"s ear and kept stroking her

head. “We"ll work it out.”

* * *

Jay followed his dad into the living room where his mom sat in front of the

television, a crushed tissue in her one hand, the TV remote clutched in the other.

She stared up at them, tears on her cheeks, anger in her eyes. She didn"t make a

move to do as her husband had said.

On the television screen, a reporter stood outside a courthouse recapping the

events of the fatal car crash on State Road 91 and said, “
Justice has finally been

served for the family of Katherine Miller
.”

Was this all she did? And why now? She knew Jay was on his way over for

dinner.

“I said turn it off.” Jay"s dad tried to grab the remote from her.

She jerked her hand out of reach, playing keep-away from her husband. After

a minute of their flailing arms, his dad gripped her wrist and wrenched the remote

from her hand.

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Sloan Parker

It was amusing until the reporter said the name, “
Lincoln McCaw
.”

His dad was right. He didn"t want to see this. Not after having met the man—

not after what they"d done in the snow behind Sonny"s Tavern.

The reporter continued. “
McCaw shed tears as he apologized to the family of

Katherine Miller
.”

Jay"s dad pointed the remote toward the DVR.

“No,” Jay said. “Leave it.”

From where she sat, his mom reached for the remote, slipped it out of her

husband"s fingers, and held it to her chest as if it were a lifeline, as if it were all she

had in the world to hold on to.

Jay moved the wooden chair from in front of the fireplace so he could sit near

the TV and pretend his parents weren"t behind him.

In a flash, there he was.

McCaw.

Looking so different from the man Jay had kissed—the man who had sucked

him off in a back parking lot. A slight shiver worked its way through Jay. Goose

bumps rose up with thoughts of Lincoln McCaw on his knees, but the images faded

as Jay took in the televised pictures from six months earlier.

McCaw looked thinner than he did now. His dark hair contrasted with the

paleness of his face. His eyes were bloodshot. The bags underneath gave him a look

of intense despair. Tired. Broken. Destroyed. Worse than the first time Jay had seen

him at the bar.

As the judge read the sentence, the camera tightened in on McCaw. A slow

buildup of tears swelled into silent sobs. The newscast cut to McCaw addressing the

court.

“
I can’t say I’m sorry enough. There…there aren’t words
.” Tears streamed down

his face, and he batted at them with trembling fists. “
I will never forget that

moment
.” He swatted away the last of his tears, struggling to say more. “
I want the

family to know how sorry I am for their loss. How if I could go back and make things

right, I would. I’d give anything to take back what I’ve done. I can only imagine the

pain, the sorrow I’ve caused
.”

The television screen returned to the reporter who wrapped up the story with

the standard “
Reporting live, this is
…” salutation. Jay"s dad had the remote again,

and the television went black.

But all Jay saw were those dark eyes filled with the same haunted look he saw

in the mirror every morning.

* * *

have enough gas to get home. He didn"t want to end up stranded outside Lincoln

McCaw"s house. Especially since he hadn"t made up his mind about knocking on the

front door. What could he say to the man?

Breathe

49

The truth.

He owed the guy that much. Jay didn"t think he could stand in McCaw"s

presence for long without thinking about what they"d done behind Sonny"s Tavern,

but the man in the courtroom footage deserved closure. They all did.

Jay climbed out of the Jeep, headed for the porch, and took a deep breath as he

rang the bell. The front door opened, and a huge German shepherd lunged at him.

“Duke!” A man grabbed the dog"s collar and yanked him into the house. “Sorry.

Duke, stay back.” He released the dog, who went barreling into the house with a

slight shove from his owner"s hip. The man was in his thirties and stood a touch

shorter than Jay. “Can I help you?”

“I"m looking for Lincoln McCaw.” Why did that sound so odd? Right. No hint of

the hatred or disgust usually surrounding that particular name.

The man let go of the door and crossed his arms over his chest. The smile

faded. “He doesn"t live here anymore.”

“Do you know where I can find him?”

He searched Jay"s face. “How do you know Lincoln?”

“We used to race in the series together.” The lie slipped out easily. Did that

bother him? Jay had always hated lies. They were the coward"s way out. So why

was he spreading so many lately? Did it matter? All he needed was an address.

“Thought I"d look him up. See how he"s doing.”

“Why don"t you come in.”

The other man held the door open, and Jay entered the house. Had Lincoln

McCaw come here that night? Had he walked through the front door and gone

upstairs to his warm bed while her cold body lay in the morgue? Had he gotten any

sleep?

“Said the name"s Paul.” The man had a hand out.

“Jay.” They shook, and he followed Paul into a kitchen.

“Have a seat.” Paul opened the refrigerator. “Want a beer?”

“Thanks.” Jay sat at the kitchen table. The room was sleek, the appliances a

matching silver, the countertops a marble he"d seen in more upscale homes like the

Shaws". Fancier than the exterior had suggested. And the exterior was the best of

the block. The only sign of wear in the room was a scratch along the edge of the

wooden kitchen table. Jay ran his thumb over the imperfection, mentally clinging to

it as if it were all that grounded him to his own destroyed life—grounded him to the

anger he hoped to hold on to. He couldn"t forget who Lincoln McCaw was, couldn"t

let his desire get the better of him.

Paul disappeared behind the fridge door and rummaged around before he

returned with two beers. “These are all I"ve got. Don"t drink much anymore.” He sat

opposite Jay and slid a bottle across the table.

Jay reached for it, but Paul didn"t let go. His gaze roamed all over Jay. “You

raced with Lincoln?” he finally asked. “Friends?”

50

Sloan Parker

“Yeah.”

He let go of the beer and sat back.

“I take it you know him,” Jay said.

Paul took a long swallow from his beer, his stare never leaving Jay. The bottle

clanked onto the table. “I knew him. Quite well.”

Footsteps thudded outside the kitchen. “Hey, babe. Who was at the door?” A

blond man stepped into the room wearing a pair of jeans and nothing else. He froze

when he spotted Jay. “Sorry. Didn"t mean to interrupt.”

“Sam, this is a friend of Lincoln"s. From his racing.”

Sam gave a nod to Jay.

“I"m sorry to just show up like this,” Jay said. “This was the only address I

found.”

Sam fixated on Paul, his eyes wide. Was he even listening? What was making

them uncomfortable? Jay"s visit? Or the mention of Lincoln McCaw? In either case,

Sam was uneasy, and Paul knew it.

Jay rambled on. He had his own secrets to keep. “I wasn"t sure if he"d moved or

was still around. How long have you lived here?” he asked Sam.

“I don"t. It"s Paul"s place. You"ve lived here what? Five years?”

Paul nodded.

The pieces were falling into place. “You lived with McCaw?”

“Yeah.” Paul sized Jay up again as he drank more of the beer. “We were

together. You got a problem with that?”

Jay didn"t have to lie on that one, even if he was lying his ass off about

everything else to these two.

Sam spoke before Jay could. “I"ll let you two talk.” He hesitated a moment,

staring at Paul until he left the room.

Jay offered an answer. He couldn"t afford to offend. “I don"t have a problem

with it. I know he"s gay. Just didn"t know he"d lived here with someone.”

Silence followed. Paul looped his forefinger and thumb around the neck of the

beer bottle and twisted it back and forth without lifting it off the table. The scrape

of glass on wood didn"t seem to bother him. “That"s surprising,” he said. “He"s not

ashamed of it, but around here, you don"t advertise. Most people he raced with

didn"t have a clue.” He stilled the bottle. “You know about the accident?”

Jay"s breath hitched. He inhaled and tried to make it appear natural. “Yeah.”

Paul leaned forward in a posture of pure warning. “If you"re here because

you"re a friend, then I might tell you how to find him. If you"re here "cause you hate

him for beating you on the track or something else he did to you back in the day and

you"re out to stick it to him, then fuck off.” He paused and then added quietly, “He"s

in a bad way.”

“You"ve seen him since he got out?”

Breathe

51

“Nope.” Paul seemed to have passed by some hidden barrier and couldn"t stop

himself. He assumed they shared a kinship in their affection for McCaw. “I tried to

help him. I did. He broke it off and refused to see me. Our relationship died the day

of that accident.”

Paul"s words penetrated Jay and plucked away at his resolve to hate and

blame.

Was seeing Jay again, no matter what the reason, going to make things worse

for McCaw? Worse for both of them?

The answers didn"t matter. Something inside Jay told him he had to do this—

had to let the tortured man from the courtroom recording off the hook. It"s what

Katie would want. “I need to find him.”

“Sonny"s Tavern. South side of town.”

“I tried there. They said he hasn"t been in for a few days.”

“Before he left, he was there a lot. I imagine he"ll pick up right where he left

off.” Paul took a long drink from his beer, then met Jay"s stare. “Maybe you can help

him. If you don"t want to try, then don"t bother, yeah?”

All Jay could manage was a nod. Maybe he had used up his allotment of verbal

lies.

“He"s staying with his sister. Nancy Connell.” Paul wrote an address on a slip

of paper and gave it to Jay.

“Thanks.”

“Could you give him a letter for me?” Paul went into the hall and returned