Unforgiven (17 page)

Daniel had ended his lecture by apologizing again. “I really am sorry, Darren.”

Daniel did leave the hospital again. The very next day he passed away, and the funeral home collected him a couple hours later. Like most things in life anymore, Darren didn’t have a clue how to feel about it. He imagined Bailey getting the news. He wondered who they’d send. Perhaps one of the staff counselors or social workers. Or would her mother simply call the prison and ask to speak to her daughter. Maybe they’d grant her a special phone privilege reserved for situations such as these. What the hell did he know about prison life?

He saw her crying. He imagined the pain he felt losing Jess, and then he applied it to Bailey. She was going to suffer. He knew that, and he knew what it felt like. It was going to be severe, and she was going to be alone. If ever there was a time when fate was getting its comeuppance it was now . . . but it didn’t feel nearly as good as he thought it would. He really thought he wanted her to suffer, and when he imagined it, there
was
a sickening feel of pleasure to it, but it was painful too. He felt the pain he thought he wanted to bestow on her, but imagining her suffering hurt him too—even as he felt the grotesque satisfaction. It all left him feeling guilty, monstrous, and completely broken. He couldn’t even enjoy his retribution.

That night he dreamed of her. Actually, he dreamed of the time she’d comforted him when Scott had died, but this time it was reversed. They were in his bed, and his arms were around her. He was stroking her back, shushing her quietly with his lips to her ear, and she was crying quietly, letting her tears drop to his chest. He squeezed her tighter, held her closer, and he vowed to never let her go. He was going to protect her from every ounce of pain the world might throw at her, and when he said it, he meant it.

He woke with a start and quickly reached for the light on his nightstand. He was gasping, trying to slow his heart rate. He looked around the dimly lit room of his small Savoy apartment. He’d just broken ground on his new house, and there was no turning back now. He’d only accepted the position in Savoy a few months ago, and in that time, he’d witnessed the passing of Bailey’s father already. He was going to face her someday. He didn’t know when, but it would happen. It wasn’t an easy decision, moving back to Savoy. Building a home was like saying,
Yeah, I’m local, and I’m not going anywhere
, but now . . . he was starting to realize what that really meant. There were just so many ghosts in this place.

She’d no doubt gotten the news by now, and that meant she was in hell dealing with the loss of her father. He stared at the ceiling above him, imagining it again and still feeling conflicted about whether he could enjoy such pain. He didn’t want to be the type of monster who could enjoy another’s anguish, but losing his sister had taught him he was capable of being pretty damn cruel when he was hurting.

He fell asleep again with images of her crying in his mind. They were his images, but he knew it was all true. She was in pain, and it left him feeling the stabs of it as though it was his own pain, but he could feel the pleasure of it too.

Now

He looked entirely too good in running shorts and no shirt. He’d ditched the shirt after mile one, and it was nothing but a distant memory wadded up in his hand as he led her through the winding, hilly terrain surrounding the lake. Macy was leading the charge, circling back around, and making them both look lazier than slugs. She barked, bounced, and then bounded off into the woods.

Bailey was struggling to keep up, and she’d fallen behind him. She wasn’t complaining. The behind-him scenery was just lovely, and she could almost pretend she had a place in this man’s life at the moment. He wasn’t glaring at her, saying rude things to her, and he’d almost smiled at her when he’d seen her lacing up her old running shoes—the very ones she’d had when they used to run together in college.

“Recognize those. Might be time to invest in a new pair, especially once you’ve been out on these paths a time or two. No nice, level, paved running trails here.” And there it was. The smirk that was almost a smile. She smiled, even if he didn’t or wouldn’t or couldn’t. Her lips pulled up, and while she didn’t bare her teeth to him, it was a real smile. Perhaps he’d catch on.

Now he was making her work her ass off to keep up with him. They took a breather when they reached a high bluff overlooking the lake far below. It certainly wasn’t the largest lake in the Ozarks—not by a long shot—but it was beautiful and clean. The Army Corps of Engineers didn’t allow for building on the lake, and it kept the waters crystalline clear. That was not to say it wasn’t populated, and homes could be seen speckled around the lake, sitting a ways off the shore and buried in the thick trees. The lake was maybe a mile at its widest and twenty-five or so miles long, winding and curving its way through the hills.

“I need to rest. Please.” She was panting and gasping pathetically as she came to a stop on the rock outcropping.

He stopped, and his hands moved instantly to the top of his head as his chest rose and fell. His T-shirt was still wadded in his hand, and after he’d caught his breath, he walked up behind her on the large rock she was standing on. It occurred to her that if she fell off, she’d be a goner down the long, rocky incline that slopped steeply, nearly vertically, away from them. The fact that her biggest enemy in the world was standing right behind her didn’t escape her attention, either. But he didn’t push her.

He reached for her waist, clasping his hand on her side, and pulling her closer to him and away from the edge. “Makes me nervous when you stand so close to the edge. Eight-year-old girl went over just last year when she was goofing around with her brother. Hardest case I’ve had to deal with. She didn’t make it. Massive brain injury.”

She turned toward him, standing directly in front of him. He looked down at her, but he didn’t back away. He stayed close to her body. She was sweating—her face, her neck, her chest. She’d worn short running shorts, and a fitted tank top, but it was hot as hell out, and there was no escaping the sweat. He lifted his T-shirt to her neck, patting along her skin down to her chest. Her nipples were hardening by the second. He’d already called her out on her ability to nip out even when it was hot, and she wasn’t sure her nerves could handle another call out on the subject. But he remained quiet. That was not to say his attention didn’t stray to her breasts.

She shivered and her skin popped with impossible goose bumps as he openly looked at her. When he licked his lips and his nostrils flared, her barely contained nerves started dancing a jig, and she swallowed over a lump in her throat. She could only stare at the middle of his chest. Of course, given the incredible definition of his pecs and abdominal muscles, the sight did nothing for her nerves but elevate the jig to a schizophrenic seizure of emotion.

She watched his hand as he reached to her, letting the back of his middle finger brush down across the peaked nub of her nipple through her tank top. She gasped, and her eyes flashed to his as his attention snapped to her as well. His lips parted just slightly, and he hummed a nearly inaudible warm groan.

“Darren—”

“We should head back. The sun’s going down.” He looked away from her out over the water to the distant shore. The sun was hanging lower over the trees than it had been, and the day was fading fast. He turned from her and headed back down the path from the direction they’d come. He let her go in front of him and set the pace, and he followed the entire way back to his house. It was a bit anxiety-inducing to have him behind her, especially after the nipple grope. There was little doubt he wouldn’t notice she had an ass on the many-mile journey back, and she had to focus hard on her feet rather than her absolute self-consciousness.

When she finally saw his tall house slowly materializing in front of them, she almost burst into tears. It was farther than she’d run since before she’d been in prison, and she was going to be paying for it. She’d be lucky if she didn’t puke when she finally stopped running. He rounded her and hopped up the steps to his house two at a time as she tried to pretend she wasn’t ready to collapse.

“I’m going to change before I leave if you don’t mind.” She could barely get the words out. She was trying not to pant, but her face was burning hot and sweating, and her limbs felt like Jell-O. Never mind the very visible tremor in her fingers as she snatched her tote bag off his entryway floor. She ducked into the half bath off his kitchen and collapsed against the sink, stifling the groan that so desperately wanted to come out.

She stripped down to nothing and stood over the air conditioning vent, letting it push cool air up along her body, and then she flushed her face with cold water. Finally, once the sweat on her skin had dried, her face was a more normal shade of pink, and she no longer looked like she was going to stroke out. She put more deodorant on and dressed.

She found him sitting on his deck with his legs sprawled out in front of him. He’d changed into a tattered old pair of jeans, but he was still shirtless. He held an open and half empty bottle of beer in one hand, and a full, unopened one in the other. When he heard her, the hand holding the full beer moved up to offer the bottle to her, though he didn’t bother looking over his shoulder to see her.

She took the beer and moved in front of him, leaning against the deck rail, facing him. He looked wasted. He looked distant and dazed, and she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what had changed since she’d gone into the bathroom. She didn’t have to wait long to find out.

“I never intended to see you when you came home. I made a promise.” She was confused for a moment, but she kept her mouth shut and watched him. “To a dying patient who loved his daughter as much as I loved my sister.” The confusion lifted, and her father’s image settled into her mind. Her eyes teared, and his focus shifted up to see her. “Why can’t I stay away from you?” He looked lost, and she whimpered. “I’ve
never
been able to stay away from you.” He shook his head as his gaze moved off to some distant place in the woods.

She kneeled in front of him. She was shaking, but she was so afraid of losing him again that she couldn’t stand where his words might lead. “Please don’t push me away. I stayed for you. You promised you wouldn’t run away.” He looked at her again, and his eyes looked glassy, but completely restrained.

He nodded. “I’m not going anywhere.” She sighed and sank back to sit in front of him, leaning against the deck rail again.

She tried to open the bottle he gave her, but every muscle in her body felt like mush. He reached out for the bottle, taking it from her hands and opening it for her. And then they settled into silence, drinking their beers. She stared at his naked stomach, lost in her thoughts, and he stared at her face. She knew he was studying her face because every time she managed to look up from his stomach, his eyes were locked on hers. She was relieved. She was also scared. She had no idea Darren had seen her father before his passing, and she couldn’t say that surprised her.

Most of her interaction with her father had been by phone once he became sick, and their conversations didn’t revolve around Darren. They revolved around Bailey’s future. It was something her father seemed obsessed with as his life winded down before he was ready for it to, and every last conversation they had touched on it in one way or another. His very conversation with Darren apparently revolved around her future too, and her father had seen fit to make sure Darren wasn’t going to be a part of her life. He must have suspected it could get ugly for them, and ugly it had gotten. But it wasn’t at the moment, and the last thing she wanted was to lose him. She knew their interaction could kick her ass and blow up in her face, but she wanted to see it through. God bless her father for caring so much, but she needed Darren to disregard what he’d said. Promises or no.

She was in no hurry to finish her beer, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t nervous. Not a word was spoken between them as they sat on the deck, and he continued to watch her. Macy was running around like a lunatic, still burning off energy no human could ever match. Darren set his empty beer bottle on the arm of the Adirondack chair he was sitting on, and she swigged down the last of her bottle. He stood, offering her his hand and pulling her up to stand.

“When did my father speak to you?” She hadn’t intended on perpetuating this conversation—mainly because she was afraid of what the outcome would be. But as she stood in front of him, she simply couldn’t seem to help but ask. He’d seen her father at a time when she couldn’t, and she wanted to know.

“The night before he passed away. He was admitted to the hospital, and he asked his nurse to contact me.” She nodded, but there wasn’t much to say. “He loved you very much.” She nodded again. Her throat was constricting, and she was fighting the tears. He stepped out of the way, and as she passed by him, his hand met her lower back, and he walked with her into the house.

“Good night.” She responded the same, and then she left.

One Year Before

My dearest Bailey,

I hope enough time has passed since my death for this to be a little less painful for you to read. I asked your mom to save it for a time when the end was near. Not my end, that’s long past by now, but your end, and end is perhaps not the best word. Beginning. Your time is approaching—that time when you’re going to get the chance to live your life again.

Jess’ death was hard enough on its own for you to endure, suffering this punishment multiplied your pain tenfold. I have no doubt you believe you earned it, deserved it. You’ll understand if I disagree. I get it. Actions, consequences. It’s just the way it works, but to see my little girl sent to prison for a crime that on its own was punishment enough, well, let’s just say that’s a difficult pill for a dad to swallow.

Stay strong. Be brave. Don’t let the world tell you what you’re worth based on the last few years of your life. A life is a long thing. Perhaps mine wasn’t quite as long as we’d have liked, and many can say the same, but you understand my point. Five years in comparison to the whole of what you’ll accomplish. You can surely appreciate that it shouldn’t take over your life when it spanned such a short period of it. Perspective is a hard thing to keep sometimes, and you’re going to need to hold onto yours tightly. The world will want to take it away.