Running Scared (32 page)

“Not just any woman,” he said, “but the only woman I really cared about, the one I didn’t want to hurt. That was why he wanted me to do it to you. It wasn’t a sense of nobility on his part, he wasn’t setting me up with you because he knew that you loved me.” He shook his head and anger destroyed some of his sadness. “The reason he wanted me to sleep with you was to confirm my utter and undying allegiance to him.”

“That’s sick—”

“Yes.”

“Stuart was into power. Control and power.” Collin swallowed hard. His jaw slid to one side and his eyes narrowed in regret. “He just wasn’t into love.”

“And so you agreed?” She dashed the damning tears away.

“Oh, God, yes,” he admitted, the words torn from his throat. “And I drank as much as I could hold and convinced myself that I wouldn’t hurt you, that I was doing what you wanted, what Stuart wanted, and it didn’t matter. It was just sex between people who cared for each other. Oh, hell, I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“It didn’t,” she said, finally understanding and feeling pity for him instead of rage. He, too, had been a victim.

“Of course it did.”

“No, Collin,” she insisted, still caring for him enough not to want him to suffer for a crime he didn’t commit. She walked to his chair, laid a hand on his shoulder, felt him tense. Though he’d mortified her beyond words, he hadn’t fathered her son.

“Liar.”

“You just accused me of being a lousy one, of being able to see right through me.”

Slowly he raised his eyes to her and she kissed his cheek, tasted the salt from his silent tears.

“Do you remember that night, what happened?”

“Most. What I didn’t, Stu filled in later.”

“And he told you that you and I…we made it.”

“Yes.” A muscle worked at the side of his jaw.

“Oh, Collin, no.” Kneeling at his chair, she cradled his head against her. “Stuart lied. You couldn’t do it. Either you were too drunk, or not turned on enough. I—I tried everything to get you in the mood and then, then I saw my brother and…you fell asleep and Stuart and I had the fight of the century. I took off and…”

“And I woke up with Stuart’s arms around me. He smiled at me, told me I’d done well, and that even though you were furious with us both, he’d been turned on enough to want me. I tried to kiss him then, but he climbed out of bed, called me darling, and told me we’d be missed at the party. I stupidly thought there was still a chance for us. But as usual, he was stringing me along, playing with my emotions, oh, shit, he treated me the way I treated you and then, within the week…” Again tears tracked from his eyes, shining in the moon glow. His words were choked. “Within the week he was dead.” He moved a hand, raised it from his knee, only to let it fall again. “Now, years later, I find out that you were pregnant—that you had the baby nine months after that night. You had to have gotten pregnant—”

“Soon afterward. But you aren’t the father.” She took one of his strong hands and squeezed it. “Believe me, I know.”

Relief flooded his handsome features. “Jesus, Bibi, I’ve been such an ass. I fucked up beyond fucked up.”

She didn’t argue. There was no point.

“I’m surprised you speak to me.”

“You forced me in here, remember.”

“But who’s the baby’s father?”

“No one you know, and besides, it doesn’t matter. It’s my business. All we have to worry about now is to make sure that the child isn’t found. If he is, my life, your life, and his life would be ruined.”

Collin snorted. “I don’t care about being the next crown prince or whatever the hell you want to call it for the whole damned family. That was Stuart’s role. He should have inherited.”

“Just like Uncle William,” Bibi said, voicing a thought that had nagged at her conscience for years. “Don’t you think it’s strange that the firstborn always seems to die?”

“I wouldn’t follow that line of reasoning too closely,” Collin warned. “Next in line would be that son you want to keep hidden away.”

A vague unease pierced her mind. “Another reason for him to stay where he is.”

Collin touched her tenderly, his fingers caressing her face. “You know, Bibi, if I were so inclined, you’d be the only woman for me.”

“What about Carrie?”

“My wife?” he asked, saying the word as if it tasted bad. “Frigid.”

“But—”

He shook his head. “We each had our reasons for marrying. I did it because my father was getting on my case and I was still young and stupid enough to think I had to please him.”

“And her?”

“Her family was going broke. She couldn’t reconcile herself to being poor, so we worked a deal. Kind of like my mother and father. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“But now, the divorce?”

He laughed without a trace of mirth. “It’s damned hard to live a lie, Bibi,” he said, “but then you know all about it, don’t you?”

“Oh, Lord, do I.”

“My guess is you even know where your boy is.”

She couldn’t trust him; not with a secret this big. “No,” she lied and felt a little tenderness for the boy he’d once been, the boy she’d loved so long ago. “I don’t. And I pray to God that I never do.”

There was a soft rap on the door, and then it opened, a shaft of light piercing the gloomy shadows to fall on them huddled together. “Bibi?” Kyle asked, standing in silhouette, a strapping man with thick hair and a voice that rarely showed a note of concern. He frowned slightly as Bibi climbed quickly to her feet and put some distance between herself and Collin’s chair. She felt guilty as sin and he knew it. His brow furrowed in silent accusation. “Not that I really want to know, but could you tell me what the hell’s going on in here?”

“So your mom’s pretty and can cook, too,” Daegan said, winking at Jon across the table covered with a turkey carcass, as well as platters of candied sweet potatoes, gravy, stuffing, white potatoes, peas, and cranberry sauce.

“Watch out, Jon, Daegan is piling it up so high we’re all gonna need boots in order to slosh through it.”

“Mom!” Jon admonished, but delight registered in his eyes, as it did every time she stepped out of her controlled, I’m-the-mother-so-I-do-everything-as-expected mode.

“Well, okay, I was laying it on a little thick and there was a problem with the dinner.”

“Oh?” She arched an eyebrow high, daring him to find fault with her masterpiece of a meal. She’d been working on it for days though she wouldn’t admit it. Ever since Jon had announced that he’d invited Daegan to dinner, she’d wanted everything to be perfect. Foolish woman.

“There wasn’t enough food.”

Jon nearly choked on a bite of stuffing.

“Not enough?” Kate leaned an elbow on the table and held her chin in her hand to stare at him.

“Well, not if you intend to feed the rest of the town the leftovers tomorrow.”

“Very funny,” she said, but felt her eyes sparkle.

Daegan found a toothpick in a little glass holder and jabbed it into the corner of his mouth. “I thought so.”

“Me, too,” Jon agreed, anxious to have someone on his side when he and his mother battled.

“Okay, okay, let’s not argue,” she said as she pushed her chair back and realized that this was the first holiday that she and Jon hadn’t spent alone since Laura had visited one Easter two years ago. Never a grandparent, an aunt, a cousin, or a brother or sister for her boy. Nor a father. Just the two of them. Sometimes it was too much for her—other times she was fiercely proud that they’d made it on their own. But today was different. She’d enjoyed having Daegan over and had even spread an ivory-colored linen cloth over the old dining room table and made a centerpiece of gourds and small pumpkins in a basket of candles and flowers. For the first time in a long, long while, she felt content. The nagging restlessness that had been chasing her down was at bay this afternoon, and though outside it was bitterly cold with swollen dark clouds and snow falling from the leaden sky, she felt warm and safe.

“We can have dessert by the fire,” she suggested, nodding to the living room. “Jon, help me clear—”

“Awe, Mom, it’s a holiday.”

“I’ll help,” Daegan said.

“No way, you’re the guest!” Jon was horrified.

“That’s right. You don’t have to—”

“I’m used to cleaning up after myself. It’s no big deal.” Daegan shoved out his chair and gathered up his plate and silverware.

“It’s not man’s work,” Jon argued.

“You know better than that,” Kate muttered.

“It is unless you’re lucky enough to have a woman do it for you, and even then, you’d better be careful,” Daegan said, “because some women take offense to duties being described as theirs, especially when it comes to kitchen duty. Get downright testy about it. Don’t say as I blame them.” To Jon’s utter horror, Daegan picked up Kate’s plate and his as well.

“But—”

“Be smart, Jon,” Daegan advised. “This is a holiday for your mother.”

“So now you’re an expert on family relations?” Kate asked.

Jon eyed him strangely. “Is this what your mom taught you? Or your dad?”

A sadness scurried across Daegan’s features, but was instantly replaced by the same hardness Kate had come to recognize—tight jaw, thin lips, furrow between his eyebrows. “My mother,” Daegan said so softly that Kate barely heard the words over the clink of the glasses Jon was collecting. “But that was a few years back.” He made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. “My mother doesn’t talk to me anymore.”

Kate’s heart dropped and she felt a sudden ache for this hard-edged man; so there was a softer side to him, a place where he hurt. He just kept that part of him hidden.

“Why not?” Jon asked.

“Because of something I did a long, long time ago,” he admitted, frowning.

“What?”

“Jon, it’s none of our business—”

“It’s all right,” Daegan said as he set the dishes in the sink and Kate slid the platter containing the turkey carcass onto the counter. Jon joined them in the kitchen and his gaze was glued to Daegan.

“My father was a jerk of the highest order. Never married my mom. In fact, he was married to someone else but kept coming around, cheating on his wife with my mother and cheating on my mom with his wife.” His gaze touched Kate’s briefly before he stared out the window and forced his hands into his back pockets. Kate guessed that he wasn’t seeing the snow falling in tiny icy pellets from the sky, that he didn’t notice how dark the sky had become. No, he was lost in his own private space—trapped in forbidden memories. “I finally took offense and had it out with my old man. And my mother…” His jaw clenched even tighter. “My mother stood by him even though he beat her and treated her like scum.” He said the last words as if they tasted bad. “You asked me once if I killed anyone.” His gaze moved back to her son, and Jon, swallowing hard, nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I didn’t lie. I never killed anyone in my life, but I tried to kill my bastard of a father once, aimed a gun right at him, but I missed.”

“Holy shit!”

Kate didn’t even admonish her son. She held on to the edge of the counter for support. Inside she was shaking. “Dear God.”

“So you never talk to your mother?” Jon asked, his eyes round as proverbial saucers.

“I tried. It’s a one-way street. Let’s not talk about it.”

“When was the last time you saw her?” Jon asked, unable to let it go.

“The day I moved out. A long time ago.”

“But what if she gets sick? What if—”

“I have someone who will let me know,” he said, then cleared his throat and wondered what had possessed him to open up to them. Hell, considering that he was here to break apart their little family, he had no right to try and garner any sympathy for his own sorry home life. Kate blinked rapidly, as if fighting tears. Jesus, he was making a mess of things. He’d been lulled into a sense of belonging this afternoon, of being a part of a real family. “Look, I’d better be leaving.”

“But dessert—” Kate said, motioning toward two pies cooling by the window. Apple and pumpkin from the looks of them.

“And you were going to teach me how to play pinochle and poker,” Jon reminded him.

“Another time.” Daegan’s insides churned when he saw the look of utter disappointment on the boy’s features. Kate tried to disguise her own sense of loss, but it was there in her eyes, lancing through the thick skin he’d tried so hard to wear as a shield. “Thanks. Thanks for everything.” It sounded like an exit line and it was. He was getting too close to Jon and Kate, trapped in all the trimmings that a family meant. Candles and flowers and pumpkins and big meals. Laughter and wine and playing cards. Jokes and flashing smiles and disappointments. His insides churned and for a few fatal seconds he was the boy from South Boston again, the kid with no grandparents, no father and a mother who scraped by on her own delusions. He loved that woman for how fiercely she’d fought for him and cursed her when she’d chosen his father over him.

That old searing pain shot through his soul and he silently cursed the family who had used and abused him.

“Daegan—don’t go,” Kate said and her voice wrapped around him like a balming mist. “It’s Thanksgiving.”

“Yeah, stay. Please.” Jon’s voice. His son. His own flesh and blood. But no one knew it. If he were a true man, a real father—the kind who put his son above himself—he’d walk out now, return to Boston, and tell Robert Sullivan the truth, that he’d sired Jon, that if Robert insisted on tracking the boy down, he would have to go through Daegan and face a scandal so dirty and shame-filled he’d never be able to raise his head among the social elite again. Jon would never know. Kate would be safe.

“I’ll see you,” Daegan said and walked to the front door, where his jacket hung on the curved spoke of a wooden hall tree.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Kate said and he turned to look into her worried, whiskey-colored eyes. His heart twisted as he saw the accusations and disillusionment in his son’s gaze.

“You, too.” He grabbed his coat off the hall tree and shoved his hands through the sleeves.

Jon rushed forward, and as Daegan reached for the door, Jon touched his hand. Bare skin on bare skin. “You’re leaving,” he accused him.

“Yes.”