Shy Kinda Love (24 page)

Kade squeezes me tighter against his chest and kisses my head. “I love you, Filly.” I keep my eyes closed as he releases me, not wanting to watch him leave. I hear his feet shuffle, then his footsteps become more and more distant as he walks away.

I want to stop him, tell him I love him and beg him to stay, but everything he said is true. If he stays, I’ll let him keep comforting me while I continue being the wounded victim. I can’t ask him to do that because we will end up repeating this cycle of me pushing and him pulling.

I can’t love Kade the way he deserves to be loved… unless I’m able to stop shoving down my feelings, and decide being with him is worth the risk of losing him.

Chapter 39

It’s day twenty of life number three. The first few days, I battled against my natural instinct to run. Every day I wake up and have to decide if I’m going to face my demons or hide from them. I want to load up everything I own, or nothing at all, get in my truck, and drive fast and far. I want to put thousands of miles between me and every memory this place holds. The only thing keeping me from that one-way road trip is the image of that mare and her unborn foal.

The idea that Kade knew exactly what I needed to stay, and to heal, causes my chest to tighten again. He knew that my need to save these two horses would ultimately force me to stay. I’ve not seen Kade since the day he left the barn. I have not gone to see him, or called him, because I’m not sure that’s the right thing for him. Although I’ve come to accept myself for who I am, and all my flaws, I’m not convinced that I can give Kade what he needs.

I see Keegan and Gemma a couple times a week, but I decided not to move back in with them. Being that close to Kade would break my resolve to let him move on. So I live with Ryder again. Although most days it feels like I live at the barn.

I decided to name the mare Respirar, which means “breathe” in Spanish. Angie says it’s a mouthful so she calls her Espy. We’ve gone from feeding Espy several times a day, to the normal twice-a-day feeding. Her rehabilitation is going very well. Her body condition, and energy level, has responded well to proper nutrition. Espy is a very affectionate horse. The first week, I was in her stall, petting and talking to her. I felt her almost lean into me with her head, so I wrapped an arm up under her neck and offered her the hug that Walker always loved. When she turned her head, leaning into the hug, I felt the tears begin to form as I remembered all the times I held Walker like that. Instead of racing from the stall and finding a corner to rock in, I kissed her big head and promised to give her no less than I gave to him.

Doc Johnson is coming by soon to do another pregnancy exam. Isaac is here, and we are all excited to see how the baby is doing and to get an estimated due date. Angie and I feed the other horses and turn out, then clean the stalls as we wait for the vet. I hear a familiar voice that causes me to smile. I step outside the stall I’m cleaning to see Keegan and Gemma walking toward me. “What are you two doing here?” I ask.

Gemma’s face lights up. “We want to see the baby.”

Keegan nods. “Yeah, it’s not every day a person has the chance to see a horse’s visit with a gynecologist.”

Of course these two would come today. I do believe they’re interested in watching the vet do the exam, but I also know they are here to support me if the vet has bad news. Everything I’ve put these girls through, including Angie, and they all still rally around me. I’m beginning to see that my life is not all bad luck and poor decisions.

As we all stand in Espy’s stall, spoiling her with affection, someone clears their throat. I look up to see Doc Johnson, brow raised. “Can I join the party?” she asks.

I shoo away my friends as Doc Johnson carries her equipment into the stall. “Let the woman have her space,” I tell them, eager for answers.

We are all silent while watching Doc Johnson’s face for any information as she completes, what looks to be, a very thorough exam. After examining multiple areas of Espy’s belly, I see a smile spread across her face.

“Everything looks really good so far,” she says, and the warmth in my chest spreads. “The fetus and uterus both look healthy. I can’t tell for sure, but she’s pretty far along. We will likely see a baby in two to three months.”

Those words take away some of the warmth. I was hoping for more time to get Espy ready for the strenuous feat of delivering the foal. Also, in two months we will be in the middle of winter. That is a less-than-ideal time for a mare to foal.

Angie sees the worry on my face, “It’s okay, sweetie, we can heat her stall for a long as we need. We can also heat the indoor arena, so they can get exercise without having to go out in the elements.”

I look to the vet to see if my concerns are warranted. Doc Johnson smiles and agrees with Angie. “You have a great facility for her and the baby. Not many barns in this part of the country could support such a high-risk mare and her foal. She’s a lucky horse to have found you.”

At her words, I remember the day I lost Walker. If Walker were still here, Espy would not be. Then I remember the day Ryder brought me here to see her—the day Kade and Angie forced me to stay and fight for her, and for me. I close my eyes and say a silent thank you to a God I am beginning to believe may exist.

***

Later that day, I sit in my room at Ryder’s, looking at the business card for U.S. Marshal Beth Mackie. Beth had called me a few days after the shooting. Although she had not been my marshal, it turns out she was assigned to my dad. Beth was part of the investigation, and eventual closing, of the Marco Munro case.

Beth had tried to get me to talk when she called, but at that time I was still living in my oblivion.  She asked if I still had her card, and when I confirmed, she’d told me to call if I ever needed anything or wanted to talk.

Deciding I’m ready to handle whatever she might tell me, I dial her number. She picks up on the first ring.

“Shyanne,” she says, apparently having my number in her contacts. “Is everything okay?

“Hi, Beth, and yes, everything is fine. I just wanted to ask you something.”

I can hear the smile in her voice when she replies, “It’s so good to hear from you, sweetie, and of course, ask me anything.”

I clear my throat. “What happened to my dad that night?”

“What do you mean?” she asks, but I can tell by the pitch of her voice that she knows exactly what I’m asking.

“Please, Beth, I need to know, and I’m ready to know. My feelings regarding my dad are confusing at best, but I have the ability to process those feelings now.”

I hear her draw in a long a breath. “Well, as he told you he would, your dad got to Munro before he got to you. He was waiting outside Ryder’s that last night, knowing that would be the first place Munro would look. Munro parked several blocks down and was watching the house too—he made your dad before your dad made him.”

I close my eyes, trying not to visualize how those moments went down.

“Hold on, I know what you’re thinking, what you’ve probably been thinking since that night. He’s not dead, Shyanne. Munro held him at gunpoint and forced him into the trunk, then he knocked him out. Munro drove your dad’s car, with your dad in the trunk, out to the edge of the farm. He left the car, and your dad, there and walked to the house. After the shooting that night, we had police and agents all over the farm trying to determine how Munro got to the house. That’s when your dad was found. Munro had a plan for your dad, or he would have killed him outside Ryder’s. We just won’t ever know what that plan was.”

Beth pauses, maybe waiting for me to say something or ask a question, but she knows the only question I have. Finally, she says, “Your dad is alive and well.”

I open my eyes and exhale. “Where is he?”

“Are you sure you want to know this, Shy?”

No, I’m not sure.
“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay,” Beth says, sounding cautious. “He lives about twenty minutes south of you, in a small rural town.”

I feel like the knot forming in my throat is going to choke me. I swallow hard. “Beth, why would my dad, whom I’ve had a tortured relationship with, be living just minutes away?”

“Sweetie, I can’t answer that for you. But I can tell you that you don’t need to be concerned for your safety. Your father has not forgiven himself for what he let happen to you, and I can assure you that he would never do anything to hurt you again.”

The idea of fearing my father never crossed my mind. I’ve never feared him; I’ve hated him on many different levels, but never feared him.

“He left his phone number with me, in case you called. He would like to see you, but on your terms.”

The knot in my throat now has a choke hold on me.

Chapter 40

It’s day thirty-eight of life number three. Since my conversation with Beth, I’ve thought about my dad every day. After about the fourth day, I stopped lying to myself and accepted that I do want to see him. Since then I’ve I asked myself, every day, why I want to see him. What is it that I hope to get from him?

For four years, I was raped by men in my own home. During those four years I believed my dad condoned what was happening; I even believed it was his idea as a way to get himself out of debt. Once I was out, and the FBI told me Munro and the others were part of a sex slave operation, I hated my dad even more. It wasn’t until my dad stood in front of me, just over a month ago, and told me how he’d tried to get us out, that I saw those years from his point of view. It made him human again to know that he, too, was in pain when those men came to me.

Two days ago I finally sent him a text—which was easier than hearing his voice. I asked if he wanted to meet for coffee, and his reply was instant. We made the arrangements and I’m now on my way to see my dad… sit down… and have coffee… with my dad.

I have played this scene out in my mind no less than ninety-five times, yet I have no idea what to say. So, when I pull up in front of the café, I’m tempted to turn around and go home. I remind myself that I made a decision, when I started my healing process, that I was no longer going to run. So I close my eyes, draw in a calming breath, and exit my truck.

He’s already here, seated at an isolated table in the back. I square my shoulders and make my way to him.

“Hi, dad,” I say, as I take my seat across from him.

His face lights up. “Shyanne, it’s so good to see you.”

I give him a small smile. “Thank you for using my new name.”

The waitress approaches and we order our drinks. When she walks away, we stare at each for an uncomfortable amount of time.

I finally speak. “Why did you move so close to me?”

He turns his head to look out the window, and takes his time answering. “I don’t expect us to act like we haven’t been through ten nightmares, and I certainly don’t expect you to act like it’s not all my fault. Actually, I never thought you’d call.”

“It was your fault,” I say, calmer than I feel.

He looks back to me, eyes wide and nodding. He begins to reach for my hand, but I pull it back. “I know it’s my fault. I wasn’t saying that. I’m just trying to explain that I didn’t move here hoping for us to have a relationship.” He shakes his head, and looks down at the table. “Hoping to be in your life again would be akin to hoping to find a pot of gold beneath a rainbow.”

I can’t help but smile at his analogy. It reminds me of my comparison of not running to Kade getting me a flying horse. Maybe that’s something my dad used to do, make analogies, and I just don’t remember because of everything else that clouded our life. That thought makes me sad. What other things don’t I remember about him, or about my mom? I’ve tried for so long to not think about them, I’ve forgotten everything.

“Anyway,” he continues, lifting his eyes to meet mine again. “I know that saying I’m sorry is more offensive than healing to you. Those words will never undo the damage that happened to all of us, because of the decisions I made. I’ve spent many years thinking of ways I could make a positive difference in your life.”

He’s cut off when the waitress returns with our drinks. When she is gone again, he continues. “It wasn’t until recently that I had any idea where to even begin.”

I don’t know where he’s going with this, but he’s doing all the talking, so I just listen.

“I know you were given the money from the trust I started for you, and I am so thankful they allowed you to have it. But I wanted you to have more. I want you to never have to want for anything.”

Now I interrupt him. “I don’t want for anything. I don’t need anything. All I ever wanted was for you to love me and protect me.”

I can see him visibly swallow as he looks away. Maybe that was a shit thing to say, but it was an automatic response.

He sniffs, then looks back to me, and I can see the tears forming in his eyes. “I know, baby girl, I should have done something different to protect you, but I have always loved you. I need you to know that.”

I remember him telling me how he considered killing us both, but even the vision of putting a gun to my head was too much. I shiver involuntarily and I have to blink away my own tears. I don’t know what it was like for him during those days, so I have to stop pretending I do.

“I’m sorry, dad. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He reaches across the table again, and this time I allow him to wrap his hand around mine. “You can say whatever you need to say; I deserve it all.”

Feeling as though the walls of the coffee shop are closing in on me, I pull my hand away to reach for my coffee. Wrapping both hands around the mug and lifting it to my lips, I ask, “What are we doing here?” The question is sincere. He said he doesn’t expect a relationship from me, so is he seeking closure?

“I need you to forgive me, not for me, but for you. I’m not asking for you to accept me into your life. I’m asking that you let go of your anger and your pain, and you give it to me. You’ve lost so much in your life, most of it at my hands, and I don’t want you to lose another day. As long as you’re holding on to those feelings, you’re still living in the past. You are a strong, independent, and passionate young woman. You have the ability to be and do so much, but only if you free yourself. By forgiving me, you free your heart.

“Me, on the other hand, I will never be free. I’m the one who opened the door to the devil and gave him access to our family. Every day, for the rest of my life, I will see your mother’s face as she begged me to run, and I will hear your cries that I never answered. This is my cross, Shyanne, and I need you to let go of it—it is not yours to bear.”

Taking another drink, I look out the window at the people passing by. “That’s all? You came here to ask me to forgive you, then we both go our separate ways?” I’m not sure why this angers me. I don’t want a relationship with him, but maybe I expected him to fight for that.

“There is one more thing,” he says, reaching to the seat next to him and retrieving a folder. “Since I didn’t give you the support to grow and explore your passions then, I want to give that to you now. I continued to work as stock trader after I was relocated, but this time I made smarter, and legal, decisions. Several investments paid off very well and I put all that money into an account—an account for you.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want your money.” No way am I taking money from him. It would feel to much like a bribe to forgive.

He raises a hand to stop my argument. “Just wait and hear me out. I knew you would never just take the money from me, so I spent some time considering how the money could make a difference for you.”

I set down my mug and lean back in my chair, curious where he could be going with this.

“Beth told me about your new passion for horses, and how you recently helped another young man find healing with your horses. So I did some research and I found this.” He opens the folder and turns it to face me. “It’s an organization that provides training and certification in the field of equine assisted therapy. With your horse experience you meet the criteria to become certified. You should go to the website and see all the programs ”

Equine assisted therapy? That sounds way more professional than what I was doing with Isaac, but the concept makes sense.

“Beth also told me the story of the auction where you got your first horse, and the women you met who run rescues for those horses.”

Apparently Beth has been talking to Ryder. I’m not sure how I feel about my dad having all of this information on me. 

“Anyway,” he says, interrupting my thoughts. “I was thinking maybe you would like to run a rescue yourself. There is more than enough money to help you build your own facility, and I’ll continue to contribute. Whether you choose one of these options or something completely different.”

My own rescue. The vision of going back to that auction house, and driving away with several horses, fills me with something all warm and gooey.

“You’ve really put some thought into this,” I say, impressed with his creative thinking. He’s right, I would never take money from him, just for the sake of having it, but he has certainly made an offer that is worth considering.

He nods. “I want you to find something that makes you wake up with drive to succeed, and helps you go to bed with a smile.”

I remember smiling when Kade would entwine his fingers with mine as we cuddled in bed.

My dad throws some money on the table, for the bill, and taps the folder. “Look over this information and do your own research. We don’t have to meet again, you can just text me what you decide. If you want to go with one of these, you’ll need to set up a non-profit. I can work with an accountant to get a business plan created, and the money transferred.” He stands, and with a sad smile, says, “I know I was never the dad you needed, but I hope this makes a difference for your future.” Then I watch as he walks away.

Although I should probably be glad this meeting is over, I feel an overwhelming sense of emptiness. He said everything a father should say, and acted completely selfless. This is the dad I wanted when I was a teenager, and now I have him. Accepting what I feel for him right now, and refusing to analyze it, I grab the folder and run out the door. I see him in the parking lot, so I yell to get his attention. When he looks up, and sees me running toward him, I can see the confusion on his face.

I don’t slow my momentum as I barrel into him, wrapping my arms around his waist and burying my face in his chest. With his arms wrapped tightly around my shoulders, I allow the tears to fall freely now.

“I always loved you too, Dad,” I say between breaths. “Even though there were days that I hated you for not saving me, I always loved you.”

The sound of his sobs and mine mix together as we hold each other, for the first time, looking forward instead of back.

“Baby girl, you are the most amazing person I have ever known.”