Unwanted Fate (13 page)

I
miss rush hour traffic and I’m pulling into his driveway thirty minutes after leaving my house. I know the houses in this area aren’t cheap, but I don’t see them as his style, or what I thought was his style. I keep learning new things about him every time we talk or I see him.

Evergreens and tall grass landscaping line both sides and the exterior of the two-story house is gray clapboard with white trim. Finishing off it all off is a gray aluminum roof, several windows in the front of the house, and I’m sure there are more in the rear since they look out to the mountains.

I park my SUV in the U of the drive, not blocking the garage door in case Patrick needs to leave immediately. As I get out, I take a deep breath and wipe my sweating palms on my skirt. I don’t know why I’m nervous. This is two friends getting together for dinner and conversation. What if he wants more? Maybe I want more too.

Before I can think about it further, Patrick opens the front door and he’s waiting for me to enter. I’m glad I still have my sunglasses on because Patrick looks ruggedly good-looking in a pair of tight fitting faded jeans and a muscle hugging T-shirt. He looks fine in suits, but he looks even better in jeans and a T-shirt, and I can’t take my eyes off is his chiseled body.

“Glad to see you didn’t have any trouble finding my house.” His smile is bright and down right devilish with both dimples showing. Um. Down girl. Friends, remember?

“None at all. The GPS brought me right here.” I remove my sunglasses so no more staring at his muscular arms.

“Good. Hungry? Dinner is waiting. I ordered Chinese. I hope you like sesame chicken,” he says as he closes the door and leads me into the open kitchen. A slate bar sits in the middle of the space with two plates with silverware, napkins, and glasses sitting in the center of the slab.

“My favorite, thank you.” He pulls the chair out for me to sit down in and I do after placing my purse on the back of the chair.

“I’m kind of limited with drink choices; wine, bourbon, or Coke. I need to go to the grocery.”

“Coke is fine since I’m driving.”

He grabs the glasses from the bar and fills them with ice, and he gets in the fridge. He comes out with two cans of Coke. He carries the glasses and the cans to the bar, and he walks over to the wall that looks like an oven with a warming drawer. He opens the drawer and pulls out a brown paper sack, the food, and brings it to the bar, setting it out for us to eat.

“Sorry I’m not too fancy here. I’m rarely home so everything is pretty basic.”

“Oh, no need to apologize. Your house is beautiful.”

“Thank you. When we finish eating, I’ll give you the tour.”

“Sounds great, thanks!”

We get out containers of food and put out what we want to eat on our plates, and cover up the leftovers so they stay warm if we want more later.

“How long have you lived here,” I ask, being a little nosey.

“Almost five years. I bought it after I was hired on full-time with CUGC.”

“Very nice. I live in an apartment close to UNR. I can’t bring myself to buy a house. I like being able to call the landlord to fix things.” I smile and he laughs.

“Good perk to renting. I wanted out of the city and this house was perfect. I haven’t done anything to the house, as I’m not much of a decorator. Everything is pretty much how I bought it,” he admits, almost embarrassed.

“It’s a classic design. There isn’t much I would change from what I’ve seen so far.” I give him a reassuring smile—the house is gorgeous and immaculately clean for a bachelor pad.

“If you’re finished, I’ll show you the rest of the house.” His eyes light up like a child showing off a new toy.

“I am. Dishes?”

“I’ll get them in a bit,” he says and gives me his sexy grin.

I smile and he offers me his hand, and I hesitate, but place mine in his, and I feel a magnetic pull that pushes my hand further into his hand. The tingles of the connection radiate up my arm and throughout my body. I look up at him and he smiles, and all I can do is lick my lips.

He hesitates for a moment, looking a little lost for words. “Well, you saw the entry and the combo kitchen and living room. Over here is the all seasons room.” He pulls me through the doorway that meets up with the entryway of the house, and the view is spectacular.

“This door,” he points to a door to our left, “is a guest bed and bath. He walks over and opens the door so I can peek in. I’m sure the view is amazing from that room too, but the curtains are drawn. “There’s a den at the front of the house, but I use it as a small library.”

“Nice, you like to read?”

“I did when I was younger. I don’t get the time to do much reading now.”

“That’s a tragedy.” I smile and wink at him.

“You read?” he asks.

“As much as I can.”

“I might be a little jealous,” he says as he gently squeezes my hand.

“I’ll share my books with you, but I don’t know if they are your genre…”

“You never know.” He winks. “Upstairs is my bedroom, office, and a loft.” He pulls me up the stairs that are by the entryway. We make our way up the stairs and they open into the loft. The loft in in front of the house and has a big window that overlooks his front yard and beyond. There’s nothing in this area except for a few pieces of art, and I think to myself this would be an amazing place for a reading area.

“Prepared to see the rest?”

“Yes.” He pulls me to the door a few feet from the staircase and I have no idea which room it is.

“My office. This is the only room I’ve done anything with.” He lets go of my hand so I can look around, and I see that he’s framed his degree and accreditations. I see a picture of him with a woman and a younger girl. His mom and sister maybe? There are also a few pictures of him and the girl alone, but no pictures of him and his dad.

“The space and view is magnificent. I don’t know which I like better, here or the all seasons room.”

“This one. Because you can see farther out and at night, it’s breathtaking. This office is what sold me on buying the house.”

“Really?”

“Yes, because it faces the east, so the moon comes up and the stars are close at night. You almost feel like you can reach out and touch them.”

“I think I should be the one that’s jealous.” I giggle. “Too much light pollution to see much at my place.”

“Well, stay a little longer and you’ll get a show before you go.”

“I might take you up on that.”

He smiles and grasps my hand and pulls me out of the room. “The only room left is my bedroom…and it’s just a room.”

“That’s your private space; you don’t have to show me.”

“Truth is, I didn’t make the bed, and I might have dirty clothes on the floor.”

“Gasp. You live in filth.” I dramatically place my hand on my chest and laugh. “Mr. Matheson is human, folks.” At first, I think he thought I was serious until I laughed. “See, I told you I had bad jokes.”

“That was pretty good I have to say. You had me for a moment.”

“I’m sorry. I was totally kidding.”

“That’s good to know. I would hate for you to think I was a dirtball or something.”

“Definitely not.” I smile, trying to make him see that I don’t think anything bad about him.

“Let’s go in the all seasons room, and we can talk about the reason behind your visit.

“Okay.”

He walks down the stairs, still holding my hand, and I don’t mind following behind him. I feel…safe with him.

“Want another Coke?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks.”

He grabs himself a Coke, sans glass and ice, and we head to his all season room. Since the sun is setting on the other side of the house, the room isn’t hot. The room has large oversized blue canvas couches and chairs to relax in. Patrick unceremoniously falls down into the couch, pulling me in with him.

“Oof.”

“Sorry. I guess I didn’t realize I still had a hold of your hand.”

He slowly removes his hand from mine, and my hand wants to follow his. I look up at him, gazing into his eyes. Lost within my thoughts, I want to smile every time I think of him, look at him. I’m infatuated with him. There I said it. I’m totally crushing on Patrick.

“It’s okay. So…do you have the letter?”

“Shit. I do. I left it in my car. I’ll be right back.” He gets up and goes into the house. I few moments later I hear a door open and not much after that. A few minutes pass and I hear a door close, then he’s walking into the room. This time he sits like I thought he would the first time.

“Sorry it’s a little crumpled up. I wadded it up after I read it. I was so angry, I don’t know what to think or feel. I was confused and hurt,” he says as he hands it to me. “Well, I still am.”

I read the document, word for word, trying to understand what his dad was trying to say to him. There’s a lot of grief in the words, so much pain and regret, and since his dad can’t verbalize his apology, there are so many things that are probably being left out that he implied but couldn’t bring himself to actually say the words. I want to give Patrick my honest opinion, but I don’t want to be too far fetched.

“Well?” he says after I’ve stared out into the hills too long.

“This is what I think. You can take it with a grain of salt or whatever.”

“Okay,” he says, gently squeezing my hand to urge me to continue.

“I believe he’s genuinely sorry for failing you as a father figure. He’s proud of you, and I think he regrets not telling you that.” I pause, thinking how to word the rest of what I want to tell him. “He means every word that he wrote. It’s hard to say sorry, especially when you’ve been wrong for so long and caused a lot of pain. He’s sorry for that pain, but he’s not sorry that you turned out to be so much more than him.”

I place my hand on his, and he turns his palm up so our fingers intertwine. I watch him lazily trace circles in palm with his thumb, as he lets my words soak in. The room is silent except for our breathing, and I don’t know what else to say to calm his troubled mind.

H
er voice, her touch, just her being here relaxes me. I so want to believe every word she said about my dad, but what if she’s wrong… I guess I won’t know either way, unless he makes an extraordinary recovery. Anything is possible these days.

“Want to tell me a more about your father, like anything positive you remember about him growing up?”

She looks up at me with her big, brown eyes, waiting to know more about my fucked up family and me. What do I say? I don’t remember anything good about my childhood, and I close my eyes, willing my memory to recollect something, anything.

“I don’t remember much. I remember when Addison was born. Everyone was happy, and we were a family then. My dad worked a lot, but he was still a good guy. Then I saw less and less of him and when I did, he said mean stuff to me. I’ll never forget the first time he hit me. I messed up on a math problem. He told me I was worthless and backhanded me. He didn’t apologize, but he didn’t do again for a while. The next time it happened, it was like the dam broke and I was getting smacked around for everything and continued to do so until my mom died…”

“Oh, Patrick.” She squeezes my hand.

“I sometimes wonder if the age difference between my parents caused issues too. My dad’s fifteen years older than my mom, and so much changed in the way people were raised in those decades. I don’t want to make excuses for him, though.”