Man of Honor (Battle Scars) (20 page)

She shakes her head, her expression forlorn. “He couldn’t. He loved her. He tried to talk her into leaving Tim, moving to Athens with him. He was going to finish school and make a life for them.”

I lean back against the couch. Suddenly, I’m weary. This story is making me feel tired, and sick, and just strung out. I was only a blip on the radar at that point, but I’d never known any of this as a kid growing up. And I was so miserable with my own circumstances, I never stopped to think how miserable she was. About how she got to the place she was in.

“What happened?” I whisper.

Sandy places a hand on my knee. She seems to realize that I’m falling apart on the inside, and one reassuring squeeze from her hand is enough to give me a little fortitude. She continues.

“She told Timmy that she was leaving him, and that the baby wasn’t his. He threatened to beat that baby right out of her if she tried to leave him. I would have thought that he’d let her go, once he knew that the baby she had growing inside of her was another man’s, but he wouldn’t. He just held on tighter, wrapping a noose around her neck so tight that she could barely breathe. He told her that if she left him, he’d hunt her down. He’d kill her, the baby growing inside her, and the man who put that baby there. It was enough to terrify her. It was enough to make her stay.”

Sandy brushes a stray tear that had left her eye and had begun to coast down her cheek. She sniffs. “She broke it off with Richard. She feared for his safety, she feared for yours. She knew Timmy well enough to know he’d never let her go. So she sent me to Athens to tell him that she’d lost the baby, and she didn’t want to be with him anymore.”

And there it is.
That’s the reason he never came looking for me. That’s the reason he never stepped up and became a father. That’s why he never lifted a finger to help my mother.

He didn’t know.

It’s like a drumbeat pounding inside my head. I have a father out there, and he thought I died when I was still inside my mother’s stomach. Nausea rolls inside me, and I take deep breaths to try and keep it down. I take another sip of water. Cough.

Sputter.

Swallow.

Repeat.

“What about…what about after I was born? Tim left her, right?” I don’t recognize my own voice. It’s full of rage. Of hatred. Of despair. All the emotions I’m feeling are rolling around inside me like an unsettled sea, threatening to pull me down into the deep, dark depths.

Sandy can’t stop the flow of tears now. “He was such a bastard. He made sure she severed all ties with the people who loved her. He made sure she couldn’t depend on anyone but him. He watched her suffer. He watched her die inside because she couldn’t be with the person she truly loved. And then, a year after you were born, he left and never looked back. He was picked up a few months after that for armed robbery, and I hear through the grapevine that he’s been in and out of prison ever since.”

“Shit.” It’s just a breath of a word. “Why didn’t she go back to Richard after that?”

“She thought about it. She went looking for him, brought you with her. But he’d graduated from school and had started living and working in Athens. He was engaged to someone else. She was heartbroken, and she left before saying anything to him. Then she came back to the house where she raised you. It belonged to her mother, who died right before you were born. She was a wreck then, and none of us could ever help dig her out of it. So we eventually just stayed away.”

I stand up then, because if I don’t move I might burst into flames. Angry, raging flames that’ll burn up anything and anyone in my path.

“I’m so sorry, Drake.” Sandy’s voice drops to a whisper. “What she was like after that…she was never the same person. She didn’t want my help or anyone else’s. So I stayed away. It broke my heart, but I stayed away.”

I give her a hard look. “Yeah, I was pretty broken, too. But I guess you couldn’t have known about that, because you ‘stayed away.’ Thanks for the information. I have one more question.”

She looks miserable. “Anything.”

“What was Richard’s last name?”

She looks into my eyes, sees the intention in them. “His last name is Walsh. Richard Walsh.”

I don’t know what I said to her after that. I just knew I needed to get out of there, breathe some fresh air, and let the thoughts floating around in my brain either eat me alive or guide me toward my next step.

As soon as I slam the Challenger’s door behind me, I lean my head against the steering wheel and roar. It’s a scream of pain, of regret, and of loss. It’s a shout of pure pain for my mother, for the life she was deprived of. If Timothy Sullivan wasn’t sitting somewhere in a prison cell, I would have hunted him down in that moment.

But as it is, I can’t get to him. So I beat my hands against the steering wheel of my car, and I roar.

I roar until the shouts turn to sobs.

W
rapping my hands around my decaf latte, I allow the steam from the mug to waft up and warm my face. Despite the end-of-March warmth outside, I’m shivering right down to my bones. Without even thinking about it, one hand drifts down to my belly. I rub it gently.

When Aunt Tay sits down in front of me, I smile at the woman who opened her home to me when I was just a messed-up teenager she’d never met before. Sure, we were family, but I will never be able to thank her enough for taking in Mikah and me.

“How are you, Tay?” I ask, my voice sounding haggard and weary to my own ears. “It couldn’t have been easy, hearing from that man.”

She shakes her head, shuddering at the very mention of my father. “He’s an awful man, Mea. I’m so sorry I didn’t rescue you from him sooner. I didn’t know…”

I place my hand over hers. “I know you didn’t. Now tell me what he said to you.”

She takes a deep breath. Scanning the coffee bistro, she notes that it’s mostly empty. The patrons are taking advantage of the weather and sipping their drinks and eating their sandwiches outside today. We’re almost the only customers inside. She lowers her voice anyway.

“First, he put on his charming act. He was contrite, saying that he learned a lot while he was locked away and that he knows how many wrongs he has to right. He asked for me to give him your contact info so that he could apologize for the pain he caused you.”

Now I’m even colder than I was a few minutes ago. I rub my arms, trying to circulate my blood so that they don’t go numb. There’s no way Carlos Sanchez wants to “right his wrongs.” If he wants to know where I am, it’s for no other reason than to hurt me.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Closing my eyes for a moment, I try to gather myself. I haven’t been to a doctor, and I know I can’t be more than a month along, but stress probably isn’t good for the baby, right? I have to think about more than just myself now.

“You didn’t give him my number or tell him where I am, right, Aunt Tay?”

She shakes her head, a violent motion that sends her long dark hair flying. Her skin is a shade darker than Mikah’s and mine. Our mixed heritage makes our tones lighter than hers, but the family resemblance is still there.

“Of course not. I would never do that, Mea.”

A small bit of relief finds its way into my heart. “So then what did he do? That had to make him angry, right?”

“Well…” She hesitates. I look at her closely, because there’s always a tell when she’s trying to hide something. When her eyes shift off to the left, I sit up straighter. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“When he called, Mikah was at the house. He was helping your uncle paint the porch. They heard my shouts when your father got me all riled up, and they came rushing in.”

Dread settles heavily in my stomach. After I talked to Aunt Tay, I was planning on ordering her not to say anything about this to Mikah. He’s so protective of me, especially after what happened all those years ago. I never wanted him to find out that our father had called Aunt Tay.

“Once he discovered who I was speaking with, he grabbed the phone before I could hang up. I think your father baited him easily. Mikah yelled, and he listened. And then his face went pale and he hung up the phone.”

This isn’t good. This is so bad. This is beyond bad.

“What’d he say to Mikah, Aunt Tay?” I whisper, horror filling me. I don’t want Mikah anywhere near Carlos. Never again. He might be out of prison, but I just want the two of us to keep living our lives independently of that man. No matter what he tries to pull, we’re adults now. We don’t have to be reeled in by him. Not anymore.

Aunt Tay shrugs helplessly. “He wouldn’t say. He just said good-bye to your uncle and me, apologizing for not finishing up the paint job. And he left.”

Sliding my mug away from me, I bolt to my feet. Aunt Tay stands, too.

“Where are you going?” Her tone is alarmed. “Mea?”

“Thanks for telling me this, Aunt Tay. I need to go find Mikah before he does something stupid.” I reach across the table, hug her quickly. Then I rush out of the coffee shop.

Sitting in my car, I push Mikah’s name in my contacts. The phone rings, and then it goes to voice mail.

“Dammit!” I swipe my finger across the screen until I get to Drake’s name. Lifting the phone to my ear, I wait to hear his luscious caramel voice, my balm, come over the line.

Drake’s voice mail answers.

Close to tears, my fingers fly across the keys as I text him.

Placing the phone in the cup holder, I buckle my seat belt and head back to Drake’s house. When I pull in, I notice with relief that Greta’s still there.

Stubborn girl isn’t going to leave me alone until Drake knows about this baby.
I smile, because I’m relieved that Greta’s here. I want to tell someone about what’s going on, and I don’t want to fly off the handle and make a bad decision. Especially not now.

But Mikah’s my baby brother. And if he’s in trouble, I will always go to him.

I fly through the front door. Greta is sitting at the bar in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee. When she sees the look on my face, she hops down from the stool and approaches me.

“What’s wrong?” Her tone is full of fear. “Are you okay?”

I gesture toward the couch. “Please sit down. What I’m about to tell you requires you to be sitting. And maybe drinking something stronger than coffee.”

Her eyes wide, she glances at her mug, and then at me. “I’ll take my chances. You’re okay, though?”

“I’m okay right now.” I reassure her. “But a long time ago? I wasn’t.”

Greta sits on the couch, her feet tucked under her, both hands covering her mouth. All I can see is horror, shock, and revulsion in her wide blue eyes. That’s why I don’t tell this story. That’s why, for all these years, I’ve kept it locked up tight inside me. It took a lot out of me, you know? Keeping something like that bottled up? It changes you. It makes you dark, cursed.

When I finish, I look her straight in the eye. I don’t look down at my hands in shame. I don’t hide from my past. I don’t cower or hide.

Because what he did to me isn’t my fault. And the people who truly love me will still love me when they know about my past. They won’t hold it against me. I won’t disgust them. They won’t try to pity me.

Drake taught me that.

“Is that…it?” she whispers. Her eyes are filled, like they have been for the past thirty minutes, with tears.

“Isn’t that enough?”

“Of course…I mean…oh, God. I…don’t even know what to say. To think of all the times I had the nerve to complain about
my
father. Mea, you must have hated me!” Her shame is cutting her deep. Her chest is caving in from the pain of it, and I go to her now. Because I’m ready to hug her.

I sling my arm around her shoulder, and she immediately curls into me. “Of course I didn’t. Because that was
your
struggle. Just because it was different from mine didn’t make it any less real. And you had no idea. I couldn’t talk about it then. Drake made me stronger. He made me feel safe enough to share. And now I need your help, because I’m afraid Mikah will go after him.”

Greta sits up straighter. “Would he?”

I stand, frustration eating me up from within. I take a page out of Drake’s book and pace the room. Wearing a line into the carpet. Tugging at my hair. “I think he would. He told me he’d never let him hurt me again. I believe he meant it. And Carlos is making himself a threat again. Mikah will never allow that to continue.”

Greta’s eyes narrow. “What do you want to do? Have you called Drake?”

“He didn’t answer. He’s got his own family stuff going on right now. He didn’t even say when he’d be back, or how long it would be until I heard from him. I can’t wait. I need to find Mikah.”

Greta’s face is set, determination apparent in the steely blue of her eyes. “I’m not letting you go looking for him by yourself.”

I offer her a small smile. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

“And I’m calling Grisham.” She pulls out her phone, her slender finger swiping across the screen while she studies her cell.

Mine dings from somewhere inside my purse. I grab my purse from the coffee table, searching through it until I find the thing. Pulling it out, my heart leaps when I see Mikah’s name on my screen.

“Greta!” I scream. My blood races toward my head, causing me to feel dizzy and disoriented. My hand shakes as I hand my phone out for her to take. She’s midconversation with Grisham, and she tells him to hold on as she reads Mikah’s text. When her face pales and her lips stretch out into a grim line, I know I’m right to jump to conclusions.

Mikah has gone to confront Carlos. For me.

E
ven though it’s dark when I leave Sandra’s house, I drive the hour straight to Athens. Checking into a hotel, I pull out my phone. I’m still not right in the head from the revelations I discovered about my mother. I never had a clue what she went through when she was young. Her life just went so horribly wrong. And all it would have taken was one different decision on her part, in any number of places, to force a change. I flipped through scenarios again and again in my mind as I drove.

But I know that it doesn’t matter. Any way I figure it, she still comes out the loser in the end.

Tomorrow, I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I’m going to find my father. I’m going to search for Richard Walsh until I find an address, and then I’m going to knock on his front door. I owe it to my mother to meet him. To tell him I exist.

I’m sure my showing up is going to do all kinds of fucked-up things to his day. I imagine he has a family. A wife. Kids.

Kids?

That would mean I have siblings.

Damn.

This is a mind fuck I’m in no way prepared for.

Once I check into a hotel and drag myself into my room, I flop onto the bed and pull my phone from my pocket. There’s a voice mail from Will, undoubtedly giving me a rundown on the day at the garage. There’s also a text from Mea.

Seeing her name on my screen does something drastic to my insides. It soothes me and ratchets me up at the same time. I close my eyes, picturing her lying here beside me. She’d offered to stay by my side. I should have let her.

I didn’t want her to walk blindly into the fucked-up situation with my mother and who might or who might not be my father. I knew it would mess with my head, force me to face demons inside me that I didn’t want to face. I didn’t want to go through it with Mea at my side, because I’ve never wanted to be anything but strong for her.

And right now? I feel anything but strong.

As I’m thinking about her, the strong urge I harbor to visit the bar downstairs dwindles. All I want to do is hear her voice. See her face. Feel her fingers grazing against my skin.

Fuck
.

I miss her.

Holding my phone up in front of my face, I read her text.

Frowning, I sit up in bed. That doesn’t sound good. Checking my phone, I see that I have a missed call from her. Hours ago.

“Shit.” I punch a finger on her name, waiting for her phone to ring.

It goes straight to voice mail.

A whirlwind of unrest is starting to stir in my stomach. Tumultuous. Chaotic. I gave my key to Grisham and Greta, so calling them means finding out what’ s going on with my girl.

Regret floods me, making me wish I’d never left her. I should have brought her with me. I should always have her by my side.

Especially with the bullshit going on with her father.
She said he hadn’t contacted her. Has that changed?

Now I’m up and off the bed. The chaos inside of me amplifies. I hit Grisham’s name on my Contacts.

“Man,” he answers on the first ring. “I was just about to call you.”

His tone is grim, dancing just on the verge of alarm. I know Grisham pretty well, and the dude is an ex-navy SEAL. He’s unflappable. Nothing scares him, unless it has to do with his fiancée.

“What the hell is going on there? Where’s Mea?”

“Where are you?” Grisham’s voice comes across as a growl, and I hear the distinct groan of an engine in the background.

“I’m in Athens, Georgia. About five and a half hours away.” Panic rises in my throat, tasting like bile. Too far. Too far.
“Where’s Mea?”

“Get your ass in your car. Or to an airport. Whichever is the fastest way to get you to Kentucky.”

I’m already off the bed and pulling my boots back on my feet. “What the fuck? What happened? Where’s my girl?”

Grisham’s voice is clipped. “In the car somewhere ahead of me. I’m guessing they had about an hour head start on me.”

“They?” The hotel room door slams behind me. My heartbeat is rioting in my chest, wreaking havoc against my rib cage. My duffel bag bounces against my thigh.

“Greta wouldn’t let her go to Ashland alone. Apparently, Mea has a crazy-ass father who was just released from prison.”

“Fuck! Yeah, I know that, Grisham.” I toss a few bills on the front desk as I breeze past it. The shocked faces of the employees don’t slow me down. I’m out the front door and eating up the concrete between the Challenger and me in less than a minute.

“You knew that, and you left her alone?” Grisham’s tone is incredulous.

“No,” I growl. “I didn’t leave her alone. I left her with you and Greta.”

Silence on the other end of the line. Finally, I hear Grisham take a breath.

I punch Ashland, Kentucky, into the Challenger’s GPS and rouse the engine to life. Later, I’ll change it to a more specific address. Right now, as it is, it has me crossing the state line in six and a half hours.

Not fucking fast enough.

“Tell me what’s happening, Grish. Why is she going there?”
Without me?

The answer to that is clear. She called me. She texted me. I wasn’t available.

I wasn’t there for her when she needed me.

“Greta is keeping communication open with me. They’re fine. They’re in the car, driving. Mea is worried that Mikah went after her father.”

“What?” I picture my conversation with Mikah at dinner in my head. He loves his sister. That much was crystal clear. He also had a lot of guilt about not being able to protect her all those years ago.
But why now?

“Grisham, I need you to tell Greta to get me Mea on the phone. Need that to happen now. Or I’m gonna lose my goddamn mind.” I’m somewhere between a complete meltdown and a full-blown panic attack. I just need to hear her voice. I need to know that she’s okay. And I need to tell her to stop and wait for me.

“Will do.” Grisham disconnects our call.

I wait, and while I wait, I stare miserably out my windshield. There’s nothing but dark asphalt and black sky beyond me. Somewhere out there, the girl I love is driving into who knows what kind of situation with a psychopath. I don’t want her anywhere near him. I don’t want her anywhere in his vicinity.

Slamming the steering wheel with my fist doesn’t make me feel any better. But I do it again, anyway.

When my phone rings, I press
ANSWER
on the screen on my console.

Mea’s beautiful voice fills the interior of my car. It pushes the air back into my lungs. “Drake?”

She sounds scared. Really fucking scared.

“Baby, yeah. It’s me. Are you okay?” I swallow hard, attempting to block my fear from reaching her.

“Where are you?” Her voice trembles, letting me know that she’s on the verge of tears.

But despite her fear, she’s still driving into a situation she knows could be dangerous. For her brother. She’s so goddamned brave. She’s a warrior. Always has been.

Right now, I wish she weren’t.

I try to keep my voice soothing. Even though on the inside I’m agitated. I’m restless, disturbed. Anxious. “On my way to you, sweetheart. You want to do me a solid and pull over somewhere safe for the night? That way Grisham and I can meet you?”

I can picture her shaking her head, and I curse under my breath. “No, Drake. Mikah might be in trouble. I need to get to him.”

I don’t want to rile her up while she’s driving. It’s late and she must be tired, but I don’t know what to do from so far away. I’m helpless, and it’s killing me.

“Okay. But if you get tired, pull over. You and Greta can switch drivers if you need to. I’m on my way, and Grisham is right behind you. Listen to me, Mea. We talk every hour while you’re on the road. You hear me? Every. Hour.”

She sniffs, but her voice sounds stronger, more determined. Her tornado, whirring around her. Gathering strength. “Okay.”

“Promise.”

“I promise, Drake.” A soft smile in her words. I can see it even when she’s not with me. Sweet. Fierce. Turbulent.

“Love you, baby girl.”

She gasps. “That’s…that’s the first time you’ve ever said that to me, Drake.”

“Not the first time I’ve felt it. And it won’t be the last time I say it.”
That’s a motherfucking promise.

“God, Drake. I love you. I wish you were here right now.” Another voice tremor.

A solid ball of emotion catches in my throat, choking me up and propelling me forward. Fear coils spindly fingers inside me. Reaching. Reaching. Reaching. My foot stomps down harder on the gas, and the speedometer jumps. “I’m right here, sweetheart. See you soon.”

After the longest, most nerve-wracking road trip in my life, I pull into Louisville. The sun is just coming up over the hills, the sky a serene burst of pinks and oranges that should make me feel ready to face a new day. Only I don’t feel anything but tortured as I barrel through town, looking for the truck stop where the girls and Grisham have stopped to clean up and grab coffee.

Mea’s little car in the parking lot is like a beacon for me, pulling me in. Grisham’s bright yellow Jeep is parked on the other side. Slamming my door shut, my boots hit the pavement. The bell above the door to the truck stop jangles loudly as I enter, a harsh and jarring sound too rowdy for the otherwise quiet morning.

“Drake!”

My girl is a sight for sore eyes. It’s only been a day since I’ve seen her, a day and half since I’ve held her in my arms, but
damn.
I welcome the turbulence of the swirling wind that always surrounds her as she runs and launches herself into my arms. Catching her easily, I cradle her to my chest, inhaling her scent on her neck, her hair, her cheek.

“You scared me, baby girl. Never again. Got that?” I murmur into her skin while I smell her, just reassuring myself that she’s real and she’s here. And she’s mine. Darkness and light churn together around us, pressing us more tightly together. Her body pressed against mine? Nothing has ever felt so good.

“You came.” Her words are more like a gasp, and they’re awed. Disbelieving. I pull back, staring into her eyes.

“Sorry I made you doubt that I would. I left because of the fucked-up shit going on in my head. Not because of you. You’re perfect. Don’t doubt that.” I nuzzle my nose into hers.

She sighs. “I’m worried about Mikah, Drake.”

Putting her down, I reach around her to shake Grisham’s hand. Giving him a meaningful look, I hope all of my thanks are conveyed to him. He made sure she was safe when I couldn’t. I’ll always owe him for that. Shooting Greta a quick smile where she stands beside her fiancé, I turn back to Mea. My big hands cradle her face.

“We’ll find him. Do you have any idea where the bastard is staying? Would Mikah know?”

Tucking a wayward curl behind her ear, she clears the haze of exhaustion from her face. Now that I know she’s safe, I can really assess her. She has dark shadows under her eyes. The red blood vessels smattering the irises indicate extreme tiredness. She keeps rubbing at them, which spreads a trail of mascara haphazardly across her face. Her hand clutches her belly, like she’s having anxiety pains there. My heart squeezes looking at her, wishing I could scoop her up in my arms and force her to take a nap.

“I talked to Aunt Tay,” she relays. “She told me that the only place she thinks he would stay is with his parents—my grandparents—here in Louisville. That’s why we came here.”

I nod, tucking every bit of information into my mind. “Do you know where they live?”

Nodding, she turns toward the door. “Let’s go!”

I tug her gently back to me. “Not happening. I want you and Greta to go get a room and stay put while Grisham and I check it out.”

The firm set of her chin is my first clue. My second is the way she narrows her eyes and stares with rugged determination right into mine. “I will not step aside while you go look for my brother. I’m coming, too.”

Greta pipes up. “She’ll go crazy, waiting in a hotel room for you, Drake. She won’t sleep. She’s better off with you.”

Turning away from them, I run both hands through my hair and tug on the ends. I want to roar with frustration, but I hold it together somehow. A rising tide of aggravation, helplessness, and anxiety is rising, threatening to overtake me at any moment, pulling me down into the dark depths of emotion. I take a deep breath and turn back to face her.

“Let’s go.”

Indicating that we should all go in the Challenger, I place Mea in the front seat while Greta and Grisham climb into the back.

Then we weave through the quiet streets of the Louisville suburbs. I follow the directions Mea gives me, turning onto residential streets and stopping at red lights. The Challenger handles the streets like a champ, but the noise it makes probably has all the residents checking out their windows for the offensive sound.

Crawling slowly down the avenue Mea has declared as her grandparents’, I approach a quiet, two-story Colonial-style home set back on the tree-lined street. The Sanchezes, according to Mea, are a retired elderly couple. Mea had never spent much time with them growing up, but from what she said they were probably devastated when their only son was arrested and imprisoned for such an abhorrent crime. It just goes to show that love for your child never changes and never waivers, no matter what he’s done.

Mikah’s car, a black two-door sports coupe, is parked at the curb.

Before the Challenger is even fully stopped, Mea leaps out her door and is running toward the house.

Cursing, I exit the car, hurtling behind her. Grabbing her in my arms, I pick her up off the ground and hold her to my chest. Her legs kick out wildly as she screams.

“Drake! Let me go! Let me
go
!” Her voice is vehement, potent, wild. She’s a strong little thing, I’ll give her that, but my arms are like iron around her and I’m not budging. There’s no way in hell I’ll let her go barreling into that house all by herself. If it’s up to me, she’s not going in there at all.

Just behind us, Greta’s gentle voice attempts to calm down her friend. “Mea—”

The navy blue front door opens then. We all freeze, the spectacle we’re creating in the front yard becoming clear as an elderly man calls out, “What’s going on here?”