Isle of Hope (29 page)

Lids snapping up, she slashed her hair from her face with eyes blazing. “It was me, wasn’t it?” She stared, moisture welling against her will. “I was the one you hated, not Mom.”

“No!” He jerked the boat to a stop so abruptly, she stumbled against the captain’s seat, fingers digging in while both the boat—and her life—tilted off-center. He was breathing hard, gouging his hair like he used to before his temper would snap. Only this time, the anger in his eyes had given way to an anguish she’d never seen in her father before. “I didn’t hate you!”

“Well, you sure didn’t love me.”

“I tried!” he shouted, sweat slick on his brow as he gouged at his temple.

“Yeah? Well, tell me when, Daddy,
please.
” Her tone bled with sarcasm, fists clenched so hard, she thought her knuckles would crack. Leaning in, she took full advantage of the regret she saw in his eyes. “When the O’Bryens were around? Because I sure don’t remember unless there were people to impress.”

“That’s a lie!”

“No,
you
were the lie!” she cried. “Pretending to be a father when you were nothing but a stranger.”

“You weren’t easy to love.”

“How would you know? You never even tried.”

“And this is why!” he shouted, the gorge of blood in his cheeks evidence she’d finally tripped his temper. He gouged shaky fingers through his hair as a dangerous tic pulsed at his temple. “From little on, you’ve been nothing but grief.”

“Then why did you even have me?” she shrieked, striking the seat with her fist.

“Because you were a mistake!” Eyes wild, he slammed his hand on the wheel, his scream renting the air as much as her soul. Fury scorched his face scarlet while words she had goaded spewed in a violent hiss, his spittle striking like a blow to her chest. “A med student with a bright future, saddled
with a kid I wasn’t even sure was mine!” He wheeled around, fumbling with the ignition switch, grinding it as savagely as he had just attacked his only daughter.

A daughter who now stood welded to the carpet of the fiberglass floor, too paralyzed to move.

A mistake.
That’s all she’d ever been. No matter how hard she had tried to please him, she never could. Her ribcage convulsed in pain. Nor ever would.

Heart bleeding, she watched with a glazed stare while he hunched over the wheel with a hand to his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice gruff with remorse, “I never meant to say that …”

No, never meant to say it.

Never meant to marry her mother.

Never meant to forget the biggest mistake of his life.

Her body was numb while dizziness buzzed in her brain and all she wanted to do was flee, to get as far away from Ben Carmichael as she possibly could. Dazed with pain, she absently zipped her purse and moved toward the back of the boat like a sleepwalker, vaguely aware of a voice now edged with fear.

“Lacey,
no!
”

But she didn’t listen. Stepping over the gate to the platform, she leapt into the water, the glug of her descent drowning out her father’s panicked cry. The Skidaway River swirled around her, enveloping her with warmth like her father’s arms never could.
No, not my father.
A stranger.
She surfaced in a gush of saltwater with a dull pain in her chest, and ignoring his frantic shouts, she slashed through the waves in a fury, seawater flushing the tears from her eyes. The rumble of his engine and hoarse pleas drew near, but she shut them out as tightly as she planned to shut him out of her life.

“Lacey, wait!”

Wading wildly through the shallows, she stumbled onto the shore, breaking into a dead run. The marshy grass lashed at her legs like needles while her body heaved with breaths as fractured as her heart. Behind her, her father called over and over, panic and pain bleeding into his cries, but she refused to spare even a glance.

“Lacey, come back—
please!
”

But the hurt inside told her she wouldn’t.

Ever again.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Dusk was Jack O’Bryen’s favorite time of day, especially when he could fish all alone on the dock, his mind free from the clutter of work. He sailed a cast across the rippling water with a quirk of his lips. Not that working with kids at Memorial was “work,” but there was a tranquility he craved that came only from the sound of water lapping the shore or the faraway chirp of an osprey sailing overhead. Somehow the indigo glow of the water against a fuchsia sky always seemed to calm him like few things ever could, willowy grasses swaying and shushing his problems away with a sea-scented breeze. Sperrys firmly planted on the far edge of their dock, he reeled in and cast again, his slow exhale in quiet rhythm with his line as it gracefully looped over the water.

Problems? What problems? He was a twenty-nine-year-old pediatrician poised on the threshold of a lucrative career in the practice of his choice at a hospital he loved. He was dating the prettiest nurse at Memorial and had the day off. What more could he want?

Lacey Carmichael, maybe?

The thought swallowed his good mood as quickly as a fish swallowed his lure, spitting it out before Jack could even reel him in. Expelling a weighty sigh, he ambled over to sink into one of the Adirondack chairs, freshly sanded and painted per his mother’s honey-do list. His toss of the line back into the water was lackluster at best, kind of like his moods tended to be whenever his thoughts strayed to Lacey.

Fishing rod limp in his hand, he leaned back and closed his eyes, succumbing to the temptation to dwell on the woman who had slowly become his best friend all over again, like years ago, before they’d fallen in love. His lips cocked to the right. Yeah, only for him, the falling in love part was still a hazard, buried deep to keep Lacey from running away, obviously petrified she might be leading him on. She’d made it more than clear that friendship was all she wanted, and with Chase in the picture, that pretty much sealed the deal. So, friends it would be.

Because when it came to Lacey Carmichael, he’d take any crumbs he could get.

Mouth clamped, Jack opened his eyes to crank in his line, determined to purge Lacey from his thoughts, at least for the moment, to better enjoy the peace of water and sky. Focusing on fishing, he changed to his favorite bait, rigging his line with shrimp and popping cork before he recast and settled back in his chair. The river seemed almost glasslike, melding into dusk with a hazy layer of fog that slowly rolled over the water, obscuring the faint silhouette of trees on the other shore. The shadows of dusk enveloped him with its familiar peace while the mournful wail of a loon filled the night. A sad smile lighted on his lips as he recalled his mother’s explanation when he was small, that the loon was calling for its mate, “I’m here—where are you?” The memory coaxed Jack’s eyes closed once again while he listened for the return cry. “I’m far away—come find me.”

Far away.

Just like Lacey.

And Jack would give anything to find her again.

He sat up at the ripple of a splash, brows knit when he didn’t feel a tug on his line. It sounded again, and he turned to squint through the fog, something sloshing down the shore.

“Jack?” It was no more than a rasp, a voice so out of breath that Jack had no idea who it was until a dark silhouette slowly emerged through the haze.

“Lacey?” He shot to his feet, rod and reel clattering onto the dock as he blinked in shock, finally bolting down the ramp to meet her on the shore. Clasping her hard, he held her at arm’s length to make sure she was okay as he took in her sopping clothes and matted hair. “What on earth happened?” he asked, the hitch of air in his chest cracking his voice.

“Oh, J-Jack …” With one violent heave, she fell into his arms and began to sob, her broken words slicing through him as if her pain were his very own. “D-Daddy and I h-had an awful f-fight, so I j-jumped off his b-boat …”

His arms swallowed her up, clutching her so closely her wet clothing bled into his, along with her pain. “Shhh … it’s gonna be okay, Lace,” he whispered, palm gently massaging her sodden back. He pulled away to rub her arms, ducking to peer into eyes swimming with both tears and sorrow. “Are you cold? Because we can run up to the house if you need to chang—”

She shook her head against his chest, body shivering in his arms. “No, Jack, please—can we just t-talk on the d-dock … like we used t-to?”

Like we used to.

Love surged in his chest as he pressed a kiss to her hair, his voice and touch tender. “Sure, Lace. Come on—I have an old blanket we can wrap you up in, okay?”

She nodded, and without another word, he swept her up in his arms, finally depositing her in his Adirondack chair, gut churning over what she’d gone through tonight. Squatting to briskly rub both of her arms, he assessed her with a tender smile. “Are you hurt anywhere—scrapes, scratches, anything that needs immediate attention?”

“Just my heart,” she whispered, her wobbly smile betrayed by a fresh sheen of tears.

He pressed a soft kiss to her cold nose. “Well, you’re in luck, Miss Carmichael, because the doctor is in, and he’s all yours for the night.” Jumping up, he fetched the old picnic quilt from the storage closet, then grabbed one of the bottled waters he’d brought, suddenly noticing the slight chill in the air. “You sure you don’t want to get into some dry clothes first?” He bent to carefully tuck the blanket around her. “It’s pretty cool tonight.”

Limp strands of her bangs shook along with her head as she looked up, moisture puddling in her eyes. “No … b-but would you m-mind …” A muscle convulsed in her throat along with one in his heart. “I mean do you think you c-could … you know … h-hold me like you used t-to when D-Daddy and I would f-fight?”

His pulse forgot to beat for several seconds.
Would I mind?

“You bet,” he said, voice gruff as he scooped her up and repositioned her on his lap in the chair, pulse ricocheting out of control. He wrapped the blanket around her before tucking her close, finally resting his head against hers. “So … what happened tonight?” he whispered, ignoring the aching familiarity of holding her like this once again.

She sniffled, and a faint smile shadowed his lips, remembering all the times he’d cuddled and coddled her, this little girl he so longed to protect. She swiped at her nose with the side of her hand, and he chuckled. “Sorry, Lace, I’m fresh out of Kleenex, but this quilt is due for a wash, so have at it.”

A congested giggle escaped, trailing into a broken sob. “He h-hates me, Jack,” she whispered, the frail hurt in her tone slashing right through him, “he always has.”

His breathing stilled. “Your father? No, Lace, I don’t believe that.”

“It’s t-true,” she said in a nasal stutter, clinging so tightly, her nails dug into his chest. “H-he told me s-so tonight—said I was a m-mistake …”

“What?” He couldn’t help it—he jerked back to look in her eyes. “He said that?”

She heaved and nodded at the same time, the motion so pitiful, he wanted to bust on Ben Carmichael till the man bled raw. “S-said Mom tricked him … got ‘knocked up’ as he s-so crudely put it, with a b-baby he wasn’t even s-sure was h-his …” Her voice trailed off into another gut-wrenching sob, and all Jack could do was crush her to his chest, eyelids sinking while he cuddled her close. He kissed her head, nuzzling her damp hair while the scent of peach shampoo took him back to a time when he had a right to hold her like this, pick up the pieces, and then kiss the hurt away …

“He’s just an angry and bitter man, Lace, whose temper has always gotten away from him, especially with you.” He gently lifted her chin with his thumb, heart twisting at the liquid grief in her eyes. “As much as I wish you weren’t his daughter, a person would have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to see the resemblance between you two.” He slowly caressed her eyebrow, tracing its perfect arch. “You have the same remarkable hazel eyes, flecked with gold in the sunlight that glitter like smoky emeralds whenever you’re angry or hurt. Or the oval shape of your jaw,” he whispered, her skin like silk beneath the glide of his fingers, “which leads to that same formidable chin as your father’s, the one that always promises a challenge.” Slipping a damp strand of hair over her ear, he infused a trace of a smile to chase away the sadness he saw. “Hate to say it, Lace, but except for the hair color and monumental grudge on his shoulder, you’re your father’s daughter no matter what the idiot says.”

The faintest glimmer of a smile broke free on her beautiful face, lifting the weight of the world off of his shoulders. A harsh grunt escaped as she swiped her nose with the side of her hand. “Yeah, I know—kind of makes a bald-faced liar out of him, doesn’t it?”

He smiled. “Especially when he calls you a mistake, because the only mistake here is his.” Jack lifted the quilt to dry the tears on her face and dab at her nose. “Because as God is my witness, Lace, if you were a mistake, then you’re the most perfect one I’ve ever seen.”

Her head tipped to the side. “I thought you didn’t believe in God so much anymore?”

It was his turn to grunt. “Didn’t say I didn’t believe in him, just don’t have much use for Him.” He tugged her back against his chest to deter any further talk of God. “So you really did it? Jumped off his boat? Not when it was running, I hope …”

She settled in, legs tucked and body scrunching close. “The engine was running, but I didn’t care. I dove off the back—the same crazy dance of rebellion and anger I was so good at in my teens.” A fractured chuckle rumbled against his chest. “What can I say, I’m the Queen of Shock and Awe when it comes to Ben Carmichael, but I’ll tell you what, Jack, I would have given anything to see his face.”

He grinned. “Me too.” He released a heavy sigh, chin propped on top of her head. “But all the hurt and anger aside, Lace, you can’t let the past—yours or your dad’s—dictate your future, and it will if you let it. Bitterness has a way of making us cold and hard, and I don’t want to see that happen to you. Ever. Because as far as I’m concerned that is one way that you are not your father’s daughter, Lacey Carmichael, and that on its own has always made me proud.”

She issued a grunt. “Can’t take much of the credit there—you were the one who always browbeat forgiveness into my head whenever Daddy and I would fight, remember?” She lowered her voice several octaves, mimicking one of the silly platitudes he’d always spouted back then. “‘Don’t ever forget, Lacey, forgiveness is the greatest gift we can give to ourselves.’”

He tweaked her waist, unleashing that glorious giggle he loved. “‘
Browbeat?
As I recall,
Miss Carmichael,
it was always you who came to
me
for advice and comfort, yes?”

Her laughter lit up the night. “Yes, it was, Dr. O’Bryen, and it’s a good thing you didn’t go into psychiatry, I suppose, or you’d be sending me a hefty bill.”

“Nope. I don’t charge
friends
,” he said quietly, the very taste of the word bittersweet.

Sitting up, she cupped both hands to his jaw, her voice the softest of whispers. “Especially best friends, Jack, because that’s what we are. And every single day of my life, I thank God He allowed me back in your life.”

He palmed her hand with his own, swallowing an awful lump in his throat. “I had no choice, Lace—you own a piece of my heart, and you always will.”

“Me too,” she whispered, the husky sound drawing his gaze to her mouth, lingering on parted lips he craved to taste.

“I missed our friendship when I was gone, Jack—your love and your comfort, yes, but most of all, your wisdom.” Ever so gently, her hand on his cheek twined with his, her touch a tender agony over all they had lost. “‘The words of the wise bring healing,’” she said softly, and he immediately recognized
Proverbs 12:18
, pulse stuttering that he remembered any Scripture at all.

“That was always you, Brye, the words of the wise healing my tortured soul, staunching the flow from all the wounds Daddy and I inflicted.” More moisture pooled in her eyes as her fingers caressed the curve of his jaw. “Thank you, Jack, for all you’ve done for me in the past and for all you continue to do. I think I would be lost without you.” Nestling back into his hold, she kept her hand warm within his. “No, I
know
I would, because nobody’s ever been able to calm me like you.”

“Not even Chase?” he asked, his casual tone cloaking the pride that surged in his chest.

“Nope, not even Chase. Although he does have it over you in one area …” She peeked up with an impish smile, glimmers of the little brat she used to be twinkling in her eyes.

His gaze narrowed. “So help me, Mike, if you say volleyball …”

Her giggle was pure mischief. “Well, that too, I suppose, but no—I was going to say he prays with me about things like you used to do. Unless, of course, you’d consider—”

“No!” He stood and dropped her on her feet so fast, she wobbled as much as his heart, which suddenly needed a lot more distance. She laughed so hard, the blanket dropped to the dock, revealing a soaked orange crop top plastered to luscious curves and shrunken enough to highlight a tan and toned stomach. Battling a gulp, he turned to retrieve his rod and reel, ticked off at just how easily the woman could simmer his blood.

“Here—I’ll let Chase do the prayin’, and I’ll do the playin’, deal?” He thrust his rod and reel into her hands and strode to the storage closet for another, anxious for the smell of shrimp instead of peach-scented hair. “Game on.”