The Good Father (31 page)

Livia, seven at the time, had whispered to him, “I’m scared, Brett.”

She was on the couch, where their father had set her when he’d carried her in. Brett was with her. He’d been reading, but put the
Baby-Sitters Little Sister
book down and told her, “Don’t worry, I’m here.”

He’d really believed he could protect her. His folks had given him the job when she was born. Before they even brought her home from the hospital. “You’re the big brother,” they’d said, assuring him that his role was as important as anyone else’s. That he wouldn’t get any less time and attention from them.

He’d been only three.

But he remembered hearing that.

In the end, it hadn’t mattered. Nothing he’d known during those first ten years of his life had mattered.

He hadn’t been able to help Livia. She’d been scared of dying, and he’d sat there and watched her die.

He’d told his mother he wouldn’t let his father lay another hand on her, but the old man had just knocked him out cold and hit her anyway.

He’d made a silent promise to Ella that he’d never hurt her.

And that was just about all he’d done.

His plans...they hadn’t worked.

Which left him with...nothing.

No plan. No action to take. No solutions.

The engine droned. A lady across the aisle snored. He was like his mother. He shut down. Cut people off. He couldn’t open his heart to the woman he loved more than life.

He dared anyone to sit there with a sick little girl who was looking to you to make it all better. To listen to his mom get the crap beat out of her because another medical bill had come in, and they didn’t have the money to pay and be too young to get a job.

You have to make your own choices, Brett.
How often had he heard his mother say those words?

She’d been so certain he’d make the right ones.

And how could she believe that? He’d made one wrong choice after another.

You aren’t your father, Brett, you’re your mother.

Ella’s words came back to him. Brett closed his eyes. Tried to sleep.

Rage is distorted anger. Usually resulting from internal shame.
He’d read that someplace.

Rage triggered fight-or-flight tendencies. Which triggered chemicals in the brain to see everyone in sight as an enemy. To distort thought.

To lash out at everyone.

He knew all of this.

Knew it.

Your instincts are honed to prevent abuse.
Ella had told him that when he’d saved Jeff from hitting Chloe.

You’re a great man, just one who’s chosen to live life on the sidelines.
He could see Ella standing on the boat in the dark, looking so damned sexy in jeans and that big bulky sweater.

I’m scared, Brett.

Don’t worry, I’m here.

Livia had trusted him
.

It’s not a matter of what I think of you, Brett. It’s a matter of what you think of you that’s always been the problem.

Ella had taken a chance on him. Married him. Loved him.

I’m scared, Brett.

You’ve taken thirteen years of my life. You can’t have any more.

And that was really it, wasn’t it?

He’d had his chances. And he’d blown them.

The overhead speaker crackled. The captain’s voice came on asking the flight attendants to prepare the cabin for arrival.

A good man was all he’d ever wanted to be.

He’d taken control of his life, of his behavior.

And now the only thing he could do, was being made to do, was return his seat back to its full upright position and hand over his first-class tray table.

* * *

E
LLA CALLED
L
ILA
on her way home from work on Wednesday.

“I want, first of all, to thank you,” she said. “For listening the other day.”

“You’re welcome, my dear,” Lila said. “You do understand that it is not my job, nor my training, to give advice...”

“You listened. I think that’s what I needed most.”

“I think so, too.”

She’d spent the last couple nights home alone. Cleaning. Listening to music. Talking to her unborn child. Trying to quiet her mind so she could hear her heart. Brett had been back in town Monday night, and would be again that afternoon. Ever since she’d told him she was pregnant, he’d been keeping her up-to-date on his schedule. He would be calling at some point. Wanting to switch homes with her. She had to know what to tell him.

“Do you think, maybe, we could get dinner or something sometime?”

“I don’t go out much,” Lila said. “But let’s not rule it out.”

Ella took a breath. Wiped her sweaty hand on her scrubs.

“I have one more favor to ask,” she said, resting her hand on the baby mound beneath her shirt.

“So ask.”

“I need to know how I’d go about scheduling a visit for someone at the Stand. Not a woman. Or a child.”

“You want to bring a man here?”

“Yes. My husband. Ex-husband. My baby’s father...” She was blabbering. Talking too fast. Brett was probably never going to agree to the visit.

“I’d like him to meet you and Sara...”

“I’m happy to arrange a visit,” Lila said. “I can’t guarantee I’ll be available, but certainly one of the counselors can be. We don’t often deal with adult male victims since we aren’t equipped to house them here, but we’ve counseled a few.”

“I’m not even sure he’ll agree to come with me.”

“Don’t be disappointed if he doesn’t. From what you tell me, it could be a harder sell than he’s able to take on.”

“Believe me, I know.”

“But if you can get him to agree, you call me. I’ll arrange something.”

“Tonight?”

Lila’s pause prompted her to say, “If I can get him to agree, I want to get him to go before he has a chance to change his mind. I need to try this, before I can move into his home.”

She was listening to her heart.

Brett wouldn’t be allowed down in the bungalows. But that wasn’t what she needed him to see.

“Oh. Okay, fine. Yes, if he agrees, you call, and I’ll get him in.”

“Could you see if Lynn and Sara have plans for tonight? And Maddie? And Darin and Grant? Since they’re the only two men living in the complex? I know they aren’t victims, but... And some of the residents, too? If not, that’s fine, but I thought...I might only get this one shot at this, and I want him to meet some of the others who know and understand and are like...”

Him, she’d been about to say. And stopped herself.

She wanted him to meet the people whose names he’d recognize. People she believed he’d grown to care about—even without having met them.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Lila told her.

And Ella crossed the easiest part of the plan off her mental checklist.

* * *

B
RETT HAD HAD
a meeting in San Francisco first thing Wednesday morning. Just a stop in to go over the monthly books at a local nonprofit gay and lesbian support house. He flew in and out of Burbank and made it home by midafternoon. But as tempted as he was to drive by the hospital, look for Ella’s car and then wait for her to get off shift just so he could assure himself she was fine, he took a roundabout way home to avoid the hospital altogether.

Changing into his golf clothes, he thought he’d take himself out to hit nine holes. Saw his bike and changed his mind. And his clothes.

In black jeans, a black leather jacket and shades, he felt free, and completely innocuous as he took Coastal Road One and sped along the ocean for more than an hour. He’d always loved riding. From the first time he could remember being on the back of his dad’s bike. He’d been given the ride—which he’d been begging for for what seemed like forever—as a gift for his seventh birthday.

He’d ridden with Jeff for a while in college.

And then quit.

Because eventually, he’d shut out everything in his life that reminded him of the good times he’d had growing up.

Because every single time he revisited them, they led to the bad times. And the pain of their loss served no purpose.

He’d been a fool.

He hadn’t had to lose the joy of riding.

He pulled into his driveway just as the sun was starting to set. Maybe he’d go out for dinner.

Go down to the corner and have a sandwich and a beer.

He hadn’t seen Ella’s car as he’d gone roaring up to the garage. She’d parked it in the gravel parking area to the side of the house—put there by the former owners who’d used the old home as a bed-and-breakfast.

But he saw her as she stood up from a white wicker rocker on his front porch and came toward him.

He stared. Felt his jaw drop. And just kept staring.

In jeans that hugged every inch of her long legs and a tight, short-sleeved T-shirt, the evidence of their child was on display for him to see.

She’d left her hair down, and it curled around her arms and shoulders, her breasts.

“It’s not polite to stare.”

He’d give anything to change his past. And be able to scoop her up and carry her to bed.

“You...look...beautiful.”

“I’ve come to ask a favor, Brett.”

He’d give her the moon if he could. Problem was, most of what she needed, he didn’t have. “Ask. You know I’ll do what I can.” Hooking his helmet over the handlebar of his bike, he smoothed a hand over hair that was too short to stick up far, and walked toward her. Intending to take her into the house.

She stopped on the driveway.

“I want you to trust me. Completely trust me,” she said.

Frowning, Brett studied her face, wishing he still had the ability to read her. “I do trust you. Trust has never been an issue between us.”

“I mean
really
trust. As in, you’ll go along with whatever I say—whatever I ask of you over the next hour or so. No matter what. Just for an hour. Not a lifetime.”

An hour he could do. Couldn’t he? An hour was only sixty minutes.

Even he wasn’t convinced by his own nod.

“I mean it, Brett. But we’ll take it slow. If you really can’t handle it, as in you’re going to have a heart attack or throw up or start seeing stars or something, you tell me and we’ll stop.”

He had no idea what they were talking about. And Ella’s expression was as serious as he’d ever seen it.

He nodded again.

“So, just so we understand each other, in this exercise, if you start to struggle, you have to tell me.”

He got it. Loud and clear. She was trying to force him to share himself with her.

Standing toe-to-toe with her, Brett, careful not to allow any part of his body to touch any part of hers, looked her straight in the eye. “Just so we understand each other,” he echoed, “I will do my utmost to try to do as you ask.” He could only give what he had to give. But he had to give all of it.

Nothing had changed.

And there was no room for game playing between him and Ella.

Life had been serious from the day they’d met.

Because he’d come to her with issues.

And she’d loved him enough to take them on.

He’d give anything to be able to love her back that much.

CHAPTER THIRTY

E
LLA WAS MORE
nervous than she’d ever been as she took the shortest route she knew. A five-minute drive.

Brett had never been to The Lemonade Stand. Not even to the land he’d purchased to have it built on.

He’d paid for it. Others had done the work.

It was time for him to stop paying and start reaping some of the benefits.

She hoped.

The exact location of The Lemonade Stand was known only to those who’d had occasion to be there. Brett’s mother actually owned the two city blocks housing the shelter and its holdings—gifted to her from Brett much as he’d planned to gift Ella his house. She hadn’t missed the connection.

Her sweaty palms slid along the leather steering wheel, leaving a visible sheen behind. She wondered if he noticed. Three more minutes and they’d be there.

“Your hands are shaking.”

“I’m nervous.”

“Me, too.”

Well. There, then. They were off to a good start. And were a couple minutes away from the possibility of all hell breaking loose.

“I’ve been an ass, El. I confused controlling my actions with controlling destiny.”

She had no idea what he was talking about. And couldn’t focus. Which upset her more because Brett was finally doing what she’d always prayed for.

He was talking to her. Not all stilted as though he was choosing every word, but just like a normal person.

She turned the last corner. In about thirty seconds, Brett was going to be facing what could possibly be the toughest challenge of his life. She completely understood that.

She also believed, now, that he was up for it. What she couldn’t believe was him—when he told her he couldn’t do it. He could. He just didn’t know that yet. But he thought she didn’t know because she wasn’t listening to him.

And he was right. She wasn’t listening to him. She was listening to his heart. Brett had taken up residence there. Waiting for her to listen to him. To really see him. So here she was, more than a decade late, but ready to do what he’d been begging her to do since she’d met him—to show him the way to love her back.

They’d arrived. She pulled into the nondescript parking lot and stopped the car.

“What is this place?” he asked, looking around at the small space. Over a hedge was a thrift shop. Farther down the block the computer center where Nora was working. And a street sign.

He was going to figure it out. He knew what businesses the Stand owned and operated. He knew the address.

So she didn’t give him time. Getting out, she hurried around to meet him and approached the outer door to the shelter. She’d sent Lila a text before they’d left Brett’s house.

Someone should be waiting for them inside.

He stopped just short of the door. “Wait. What is this place?” A look of horror crossed his face. “What are we doing here?”

He was too quick for her.

“Brett?” Her voice was calm. “You promised.”

He looked at her. At the door. He knew.