The Shooting (10 page)

“I don’t date men who drink.” There, she’d said it
.
Now she’d wait for him to bluff and bluster and pepper her with increasingly aggressive questions that usually turned into accusations and then, what was supposed to be a perfect evening would come to a sudden halt. She’d gather her purse and quietly excuse herself and they’d never see each other again.

“Why?”

The breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding poured out of her mouth in a rush. She stared at him, searching for signs of hostility and found none. What she did find was kindness and gentleness and a quiet curiosity.

“Why do I steer clear of men who drink?”

“Yes. Most men like a beer or two, especially when they go out. You must have a good reason why you’re against it.”

She looked away, her thoughts in turmoil. She couldn’t remember ever being asked for a reason. Most guys went straight on the defensive. She should have known Tom would be different. The knowledge warmed her.

“I-I guess I just don’t,” she said lamely, cursing her cowardice.

A flicker of impatience flashed through his eyes, but his tone remained low and mild. “What happened to make you so afraid of alcohol?”

She closed her eyes and shivered against the sudden tightness in her chest. For all of her desire a few moments ago to be honest with him, she didn’t know if she was ready.
Could she find the courage to tell him?
Could she handle the repercussions when she did? He was a drinker. There’s no way he’d understand how it made her feel.

Tom reached out and took one of her hands and held it. “Talk to me, Lily. You’re shaking. Don’t tell me it’s nothing. I deserve better than that. We hardly know each other, but it doesn’t seem to matter. At least, not to me. I-I feel something so strong for you… I can’t even describe it.”

He dragged in a breath and then kept going, as if determined to lay everything on the line before he lost his courage.

“I’ve never felt this way with anyone and it scares me half to death, but I need to see where it’s going, if you feel anything for me. Please, Lily, tell me what’s going on. There’s something very wrong and I don’t believe it’s me.”

A flash of anger at his arrogance surged through her and then just as quickly died away. She wasn’t angry at him. After all, he was only telling the truth. It wasn’t him, it was all men—or at least, the ones who enjoyed a drink. She thought of what David had said and was suddenly filled with determination and then she focused on what else Tom had said.

He felt the same connection that she did.
He’d just said as much. A tiny flame of hope flickered to life inside her. Something told her she could trust him with her secrets. She’d tell Tom the truth and see where it left them. She only hoped it wouldn’t end in disaster, like David’s confession had.

Forcing the awful memories from her mind, she drew in a deep breath and squeezed Tom’s hand. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the waiter approach, but Tom waved him away.

“Talk to me, Lily. Please.”

His quiet words and the sincerity in his blue-eyed gaze gave her the courage she needed. She took a quick gulp of her soda and then told him.

“My father was an abusive alcoholic. When I was six, my mother finally left him. We stole away one morning, right after he left for work. By the time he arrived back home that evening, we were long gone. I was allowed to pack one suitcase of my favorite clothes and toys. We could only take what we could carry. Everything else was left behind. I cried for days over the dolls and books and dresses that hadn’t fit in. The suitcase had been bursting as it was. And it was heavy. My mom carried it, along with hers, most of the way.”

Tom’s hand tightened on hers, but he remained silent and let her speak. She shot him a look of gratitude and drew in another deep breath.

“For the next few months, we lived in hiding, moving frequently from one rental house to another. I got used to changing schools and meeting new friends on a regular basis. I guess it’s one of the reasons I’m comfortable socializing with perfect strangers.” She shot him a small, wry smile. “I’ve had a lot of practice over the years.

“We moved around a lot. It was hard for Mom to find work. She could only take on jobs that allowed her to work school hours and of course, she needed the holidays off. She was an only child and I’d never heard her talk about her parents. There wasn’t enough money for childcare, so Mom had to make sure she was home when school got out. When I was nine, she met Tony.”

“Your stepfather,” Tom guessed.

Without conscious thought, Lily’s voice softened. “Yes, my stepfather and a more kind and generous man you’ll never meet.”

“You love him.”

“Yes, I do and he loves me. What’s even better, he loves my mom with all his heart. I’ll love him forever for that alone. He saved her from a difficult life. He taught her to love again and he gave her back her self-esteem.”

She sighed quietly. “I was too young to even know what that was when she was with my dad. It was only much later, when I was older, that I could appreciate and understand the horror of what she’d been through and how deep her scars ran.”

“I take it your mom and Tony are both still alive?”

“Absolutely. They’ve been married now for ten years and though they’ve had their ups and downs, they still love each other.”

“So you believe in love, then?”

Tom’s gaze grew warm with intensity and she couldn’t look away. Her heart skipped a beat and then accelerated. She caught herself from pressing a hand against her chest.

How could they be talking about love?
They’d only just met. But somehow, with Tom it didn’t matter. She nodded.

“Yes, I do. I absolutely believe in love.” She paused and then grabbed hold of her courage and the next few words came out in a rush. “How about you?”

Tom picked up his beer. The bottle was halfway to his lips when his progress halted and he set the drink aside. Lily swallowed her surprise.

“My mom and dad have been married for more than twenty years. They still kiss, they still hold hands. In fact, I’d say they’re more in love than ever. They have a quiet respect and understanding of each other that transcends even time. It’s special to watch and be a part of. It’s something I’ve always yearned for myself and I’m not prepared to settle until I have it.”

His expression was open and vulnerable and she felt his hunger all the way through to her heart. And then he blinked and shook his head as if to clear it and his lips quirked upwards in a self-deprecating grin.

“I’m sorry. I probably just gave you way too much information. We’re still getting to know each other, right? To give you the short answer, yes, I believe in love and I’m prepared to wait until I find it.”

Lily slowly withdrew her hand from his. For all of their revelations, nothing changed the fact that he was a man who liked to drink and she didn’t fall for drinkers. As if he could read her thoughts, he spoke quietly again.

“The night of Charlie’s party, I’d had a pretty difficult day. Hell, what am I saying? It was the worst day of my life. I’ve been a cop for two years and I’d never before seen what I did that day.” He shook his head and then added in a whisper, “And I pray to God I never see it again.”

“What happened?” she asked softly.

“We were called to a suspected murder-suicide. I’d been to a couple of suicides before, so I braced myself for what we were likely to find. No one warned us that three of the victims were kids.”

Shock ricocheted through Lily. Her hands flew to her mouth and she couldn’t hold back a gasp.

“Oh, Tom! No!”

He nodded, his eyes dark with remembered pain. “It was a father and his three children. He’d gassed them in the family car. He made sure the deed was done by putting a shotgun in his mouth. It wasn’t a pretty sight.”

Lily shook her head slowly back and forth, still trying to come to terms with the horror he’d endured.

“You poor, poor man. How on earth did you deal with it?”

His short burst of laughter sounded more like a bark and held none of his trademark humor.

“Who says I dealt with it? What I did was got myself good and drunk. So drunk, that I fell over and then entertained the guests by vomiting in the bathroom, but for a little while that night, I forgot the faces of those children.” He shrugged apologetically. “Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing courageous about drinking yourself into oblivion, but it was all I could think of to do.”

“Have they offered you any counseling?”

“Of course and I’ve attended the mandatory sessions, but nothing’s going to change what happened or erase my memories. It’s just something I’m going to have to learn to live with. It’s part of the job.”

He grimaced. “And as much as I hate to say it, there’ll be other times like this. It won’t be the last suicide or murder I see and sometimes, they’ll involve kids. Next time, I’ll remember to ask a few more questions beforehand, so I can be better prepared.”

Lily’s heart filled to overflowing with respect and admiration for this special man. All of a sudden, the fact that he was drunk at the party didn’t matter so much. After what he’d been through that day, she could understand his need to forget, if even for a little while.

His explanation, while not eradicating her lifelong vow not to get involved with a drinker, helped to soften it a little, until it wasn’t a black and white, non-negotiable instrument, but something blurred and much closer to gray—and now, she didn’t have a clue what to do.

Tom filled the silence by reaching once again for her hand. Taking it between his two large ones, he held it firmly. When he spoke, his voice was full of such quiet sincerity that tears burned behind her eyes.

“Knowing about your childhood, I get why you don’t like alcohol, or more specifically, men who like to drink. But not everyone is like your father. My dad enjoys a beer every now and then. Hell, occasionally he even gets drunk. But he doesn’t come home and belt my mom and he doesn’t punch holes in the wall. He doesn’t yell at his kids or kick the dog. He doesn’t do any of those things. It’s possible to drink and not be abusive.” He grinned ruefully. “It’s possible to drink and just fall down.”

She stared at him, her heart in her throat. His smile slowly faded away. When he spoke again, his voice was little more than a murmur.

“A few drinks here and there don’t have to end in fear and violence.”

Lily gave up on trying to keep her tears at bay. They slid down her cheeks, one after the other, a silent witness to her pain. She bit back a sob and tried to explain.

“I know there are men out there who can drink without turning into a monster. My stepfather’s one of them. While he doesn’t drink in my presence, I know he enjoys a glass of wine with his meal. He even has a beer or two, if he’s at a party or is entertaining guests. But the thing is, I’ve been terrified for so long at the thought of getting close to someone like my wretched dad. I don’t know if I can even think about setting that fear aside and even if I wanted to, I don’t know how.”

Her voice cracked with emotion and her tears now fell with a vengeance. She was conscious of the other diners, but too upset to care. To her relief, Tom didn’t seem to care, either.

Instead of looking embarrassed, his expression was filled with pain—as if he hurt for her as much as she hurt for herself and he wanted desperately to fix it. He pushed back his chair and came around to her side and then slowly drew her up into his arms. She leaned into his strong, broad chest and sighed.

Home.
It felt like she was home.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Chatswood, Sydney—present day

Tom took a sip of his coffee and sighed in gratitude. “Thanks, Mom. You don’t know how much I needed that.”

His mother smiled fondly at him from her place across the breakfast table. Marguerite Munro was in her mid-sixties, but looked at least a decade younger. She glowed with health and vitality, which was a comfort to Tom after the health scare they’d endured with his dad the previous Christmas.

She and his father had arrived late last night from where they lived in the city of Grafton in northern New South Wales and had caught a taxi from the airport. They’d stopped in to see Lily at the hospital and then continued on to Tom and Lily’s comfortable, two-storey house in Chatswood.

Outside the wide bay window that framed the modern kitchen, the day dawned bright and sunny. It was the kind of day that could lift anyone’s spirits and would have lifted Tom’s if his wife wasn’t gravely ill in the hospital. He’d already called Brandon, who’d maintained his vigil by Lily’s side throughout the night. There had been no change. Lily was still unconscious.

Tom tried not to let Brandon’s words affect him, but he couldn’t help the fear that tightened his gut like a vise.
What if she never woke up? What if this was as good as it was going to get?

With a muttered curse, he forced the negative thoughts aside. There was no reason to think like that. The doctors and everyone surrounding her were still talking positively. There had been no mention that she might remain in a coma forever. He had to believe she was going to wake up again and offer him her usual sunny smile. The alternative was unthinkable and with steely determination, he refused to allow his thoughts to wander down that path again.