Crossing the Line (19 page)

“So you used a condom?”

“No, because we didn’t have sex. Not that night, not ever. That’s what I thought you should know.”

“Why do you think she wouldn’t she want to tell me that?”

“You hurt her, D, badly. With your silence and your words, and then with your wayward dick. If she tells you we had sex, it’ll be to repay some of that hurt, and you should damn well let her. But I wanted you to know the truth—we didn’t.”

“Thanks. For everything.”

“Always, man.” Jeremy pulled him into another hug, thumping him on the back with affectionate gusto. “Anything for my brother.”

Chapter Nine

The house hadn’t changed over the years. Somehow, his old man had maintained its “piece of shit” level and the place hadn’t dropped into the “unfit for human occupancy” category. One of these years. Then the walls that’d muffled so many cries and screams would have to be bulldozed to the ground. And what a fucking happy day that would be.

Derrick got off the bike and hung his helmet on one side. He hadn’t been here since the day he escaped. Had vowed then never to set foot on Jim Sutter’s property again, despite his dad’s numerous messages asking Derrick to stop by since Chris’ death. Now here he was. Before he could go to Hanna, beg forgiveness for his mistakes and ask for another chance, he had to do this. Go back to where it began. Put the ghosts to rest.

The decaying wood porch creaked under his boots. He palmed the handle, then let it go, rapping on the edge of the ancient screen door instead. Not his house to walk into anymore.

The inner door swung open and his old man came into view. It’d been four years since Derrick had seen him at the funeral, but from his appearance, it could’ve been fourteen. The skin on his face hung loosely from his cheekbones and jaw, pale and deeply grooved. His eyes looked sunken and his once-blond hair, a Sutter family trait, was now an ashy-gray. The booze had caught up to him.

The resemblance between him and his dad had always been strong. If he hadn’t already decided to quit drinking, this could’ve been him in about thirty years. He wouldn’t end up like the man before him, not outwardly or in.

“Derrick, son, my god.” The door slapped closed behind Jim as he stepped out onto the porch.

“Which god are you praying to today, Dad—Jack Daniels or Captain Morgan?”

“Neither, boy. Sober now, twenty-five months and six days.”

Now that they were only a couple feet apart, Derrick sized him up further. Used-up as the man looked, he also looked different—less raw, with clearer eyes. The sobriety claim might be legit. “Why’d you quit?”

“You. Your brother. My grandson.” Jim scrubbed a weathered hand under his eyes, then gestured toward the door. “Want to come in? I got pretty good at making coffee after the shaking and DTs stopped.”

The offer, his dad’s demeanor, seemed genuine. And he’d come here to put the past to rest, once and for all, but go in that house…he just couldn’t do it. “Out here’s good.”

Jim nodded, and a teardrop slipped down his cheek—one his gnarled hand didn’t get to fast enough.

“I’ve never seen you cry.”

“Didn’t let it happen back then. Chased away anything that’d make me sad or guilty with booze. Being drunk and angry was easier.”

“Yeah, I remember.” Heat rolled in his gut. “That’s why I’m here.”

Another weary nod from his dad. “Been hopin’ this day would come. I gave up calling you, but I kept hopin’.”

He wanted to say his piece and walk away, go to Hanna, restart his life. Maybe it was the out-of-character tears, or the way his old man’s voice cracked. He sighed and stuffed his hands in his front pockets. Leaned on the porch post and prayed the whole structure didn’t cave in on top of them. “I’m listening.”

“I have it written out in the house. A three-page letter, if you’d like to see it.” His shoulders slumped when Derrick remained motionless, didn’t invite him to take his time and retrieve the letter. “I wrote down what I can remember, though I’m sure there’s more I don’t. I’m sorry for all of it, boy. I blamed so many things and people for my actions…but they were my fault, every horrible word and deed. I’m not askin’ you to forgive me, I just want you to know I regret what I did. I’m sorry I hurt you and your brother. Sorry that he turned out like me and it killed him, after it drove the two of you apart. It don’t mean much coming from me, I know, but I’m proud of you. You turned out real good.”

Not so good lately, but he was gonna fix that—permanently. He nodded. After all that had happened, “thanks” didn’t quite fit. “Yeah. Okay.”

“I hope you believe me.”

“You kinda beat the ability to blindly trust out of me years ago.” Jesus, Jim nearly crumbled in front of him. Derrick didn’t even know this man. “But I want to.”

“That’s more than I deserve, thank you.”

“Sure. Yeah.” Nothing about this moment matched the scenarios he’d imagined. The rage was missing, on both their parts. So was his desire to get the fuck away. “I’d like that letter to take with me. I don’t know if I’ll read it, but I’d like to have it.”

Jim moved as if a fire had been lit under his feet. “I’ll get it.” He paused halfway through the door. Looked Derrick up and down, nodding as he did, then disappeared inside the house.

Derrick pushed off from the post. He paced the deteriorating porch. What the hell was going on? He’d come here for closure, not this other shit popping up in his head. In his fucking heart.

He turned at the sound of the door banging closed for the third time. His face must’ve held one hell of an expression, because his dad froze on the spot, one arm extended, folded papers in his shaking hand. Jim Sutter was afraid of him.

As a kid, Derrick had dreamed of this day. Played it out in his head, over and over, multiple versions. The thought that someday he’d mete out payback was the only thing that kept him sane sometimes. Now was his chance.

He took the letter, turned it over in his hands a couple times before sticking it in his pocket. “This place could use some TLC…replace the floor boards that are rotting, install a new closer on that door to stop it from slamming against the frame.” Jesus, this was nuts. “I could swing by with my tools and supplies, start on some repairs.”

“Repairs.” Jim’s mouth quivered as he said the word—the old man hadn’t missed its secondary intent. “That sounds real good, son.”

“Yeah.” He crossed the porch and made his way down the stairs, staying out of physical reach of his dad as he passed. No handshake or physical contact, not yet. Maybe one day. Hell, even that possibility was amazing. He nodded as he mounted his bike. “You didn’t ask why I came over.”

“Guess I was afraid of the answer.”

No doubt. “I came to forgive you, put the past behind me for good, even if you were still a disgusting, drunk son-of-a-bitch.” He pulled on his helmet, turned the key and pulled in the clutch. “I’ll call you soon about those repairs.” He pressed the ignition switch and headed east. Toward Hanna, the future, and the biggest repair job of his life.

* * * * *

Hanna was in the middle of
not
reading the book in her hand when Megan’s doorbell rang.

“Pizza’s here,” Megan said, checking her watch as she sprang off the other end of the couch. “That was crazy fast. If the delivery guy’s cute, maybe I’ll give him a special tip.” She winked while cupping her boobs through a skintight, white t-shirt.

Hanna shook her head, but she did it while smiling. “Should I make myself scarce? Give me a code word, so I can duck out the back door if I hear it.”

“You’re in an apartment, honey, no back door. But you’re small enough, you can probably squeeze into the bottom of the linen closet.” She stopped with one hand on the doorknob and wiggled her eyebrows in the most ridiculously exaggerated manner. “Ooh, or you could join in…”

“Oh my god, just get the pizza, you nut.”

“I’m crushed.” She fake-sniffled, then pressed her eye to the peephole. “Good lord, you have
got
to be kidding me. Honey, it’s not the pizza guy, it’s Derrick.”

Predictably, her heart practically catapulted from her chest. After his recent behavior, she should want to throttle him, not have this desperate need to run to the door, throw her arms around him and never let go. “I’ll talk to him.”

“I knew you’d say that,” the deadbolt clicked under Megan’s hand, “but I’m talking first.” Her friend’s petite frame seemed to puff up to fill the doorframe. She pointed at him, her index finger poised within eye-poking distance, should the need or opportunity arise. “
You
are the king of douchebags.”

“King’s a bit harsh. More like sergeant-at-arms.”

“Whatever. What’re you doing here?”

“I need to talk to Hanna.” He leaned against the frame, managing to look relaxed and charming, despite the fury rolling off Megan. His eyes lifted and locked on Hanna, where she clung to the couch cushions as if they were life preservers. “Please, baby, give me an hour.”

Baby.
With that one word, he’d bought himself the time. She nodded and rose, the action drawing a worried frown from her bestie, and a sweet, irresistible smile from her husband. “Let me grab my purse.”

“And a jacket. We’re taking the bike.” He must’ve read her mind, because he added, “I brought your helmet.”

“Presumptuous and cocky, what a surprise,” Megan said, still not allowing him one inch inside the apartment.

“Safety-minded and hopeful.”

Megan scowled at him, grabbed Hanna by the shoulders as she tried to slip past. “Honey. Remember all the things he’s done. Don’t let him take advantage of your soft soul anymore—he’ll just hurt you again.”

Before she could get a word out, in her defense or Derrick’s, he jumped in.

“Megan, I appreciate you wanting to protect Hanna, I do. But she’s willing to give me an hour, so maybe you could hold off on the insults until she hears me out. You don’t want to wind up looking the dick friend who said too much if she decides to forgive me and take me back.”

Oh god. He’d come to ask for another chance. And she wanted to give it. So, so badly. But she didn’t need Megan’s reminder. His recent activities had devastated her, and damaged them. Nothing that couldn’t be repaired, but she wasn’t about to roll over and absolve him. He had major explaining to do. Some begging wouldn’t hurt, either.

Megan’s hands slid away. “Be careful.”

“I will,” she said, directing the words at Derrick.

Megan’s door clicked closed and the world shrunk in on them. He didn’t crowd her, didn’t touch her, but their connection was there, taut as a bowstring.

He smiled. A small one, the sincere kind. “Thanks for giving me a chance.”

“I didn’t agree to that. I said I’d give you an hour.”

“Fair enough.”

They took the stairs from Megan’s second-floor apartment in silence. Derrick stayed close. Hanna knew without seeing that his hand hovered near the small of her back—it would’ve rested there, gentle yet protective, if things were normal. Their footsteps echoed in the low-rise building’s small lobby. He pushed and held the exterior door, leaving her enough room to scoot beneath his outstretched arm, but not enough to pass without brushing against him.

“I missed you,” he said as she squeezed by.

Traitorous, uncontrollable heart, it pounded hard against her ribs, demanding she simply jump into his arms. Instead, she lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. “Is this where you want to spend your hour talking?” Take that, heart. She’d stayed strong.

He smiled, reached for her hand and laced their fingers together. He brought her knuckles to his mouth, brushed his lips and beard against her skin. “Am I on the clock already?”

Damn him and his charming…everything. “I know what you’re thinking, mister. A little kissing and rubbing equals magical, instant forgiveness. That’s not how it’s going to be. Don’t mistake any smiles that might cross my lips—”

“Your gorgeous, sexy lips.”

Damn him again. “Or anything you might see in my eyes—”

“Your hypnotizing, beautiful eyes.”

She pulled her hand away and shook her head. “Stop it.”

“Not gonna apologize for the truth.”

“Then listen to mine. The emotions you see on my face are because I love you. I can’t control the love, or I would’ve turned it off Friday night.”

The flirty fun present in his eyes seconds earlier dimmed.

Good, he needed to understand. “The love is why I’m letting you take me somewhere to talk, but I’m not guaranteeing what happens after that.”

“Got it. Sorry for taking liberties—hard not to when you’re close to me. I missed you so fucking much, baby.”

She nodded. If she tried to answer, her lips would undoubtedly betray her.

“I’m over there.” He gestured to his bike, parked beside her car, and shrugged. “Yeah, the Bolt missed your Bug too.”

The sight of his motorcycle with its gleaming, army-green tank and blacked-out exhaust gave her butterflies. Crazy that she’d missed his bike, yet she had. She sighed and slid her hand through the loop of his arm. A sucker, that’s what he made her.

They walked without talking. He freed her helmet—the one she thought she’d never wear again—from its hold under a tied-down cargo net. Her hands shook as she fiddled with the chinstrap. She’d done this hundreds of times, in all kinds of situations and weather. Now though, the strap seemed twice as wide as the rings it needed to slip between.

“Stupid thing…”

“Here, let me.” Gently, he tipped her chin up, got her buckled securely. “Ready?”

Ready to cry, throw up, maybe pass out—yes. The rest of her life was riding on the hour ahead. How could she possibly be ready for that? “I don’t know.”

“Then I’ll walk you back to Megan’s door and say goodnight.”

God, now she really
was
going to cry. “You’d give up that easily?”

“No. Fuck no. I’ll come back every goddamn day and try again. I won’t ever give up, but I’m not gonna push you into something you’re not ready for, not even a conversation. I already fucked up bad enough, baby. Not doing it again.”