Two Blue Lines (Crossing The Line #1) (28 page)

A bird, black as an oil slick, pattered on the compact sand behind my father, its beady eyes steady. Watchful.

Why black? I wondered idly. Where were the gulls this morning?

And still, my father watched me, patiently waiting for my answer. How did I explain what I scarcely understood myself?

“Melissa had the baby last night,” I finally said, my words sounding like a foreign tongue to my own ears.

My father just blinked at me, registering my words for a moment, then he sat heavily on the sand next to me. He turned his head and I felt his gaze searing me. “Then why are you
here
, Son?”

I couldn’t look at him, couldn’t face the accusation I heard snapping in his words. I simply shrugged.

“Are they all right?” he demanded.

Again, I shrugged. “I think so.”

The anger was literally vibrating off of him now. It had been a long time since I’d been on the receiving end of my father’s temper. “God damn it, Reed! What’s wrong with you?” He waited until I looked at him—He knew I would. “Why
don’t
you know? Why the hell are you sitting here when your girlfriend and baby are in the hospital? Why did you leave them at all?” He heaved an angry breath, his face turning a deep shade of red. “Jezus, Son, I’m ashamed. What are you thinking?”

I didn’t answer.

What was there to say?

He didn’t care.

I squeezed my eyes shut and pinched the bridge of my nose, focused on the sounds around me. Unfortunately, all that was coming through loud and clear was the pounding of my pulse as it increased in time with my frustration. And it seemed to be ticking up in anger to match my dad’s the more he huffed and puffed next to me.

“Reed!” He shoved my shoulder.

“What!” I exploded, pinning him with my eyes.

He hadn’t been expecting that and he reared back a bit. But he recovered quickly enough. “Well? What were you thinking?”

I blinked quickly, silently cursing the tears. “What was I thinking? Well, let me tell you, okay? I’ll tell you . . .” My words began to trip over themselves as tears slid down my cheeks, one on top of the other, dripping onto my lips. I ignored them. Ignored the slice of pain gaping open my heart. “I was thinking about the fact that as Mel was wheeled away for her emergency c-section, she was begging me to not hate her even if the baby wasn’t mine . . .” I choked on a hot ball of emotion and a painful sob. “Even if . . . even if it was . . . even . . . if . . .”

He put his arm around me, his anger suddenly evaporated. “Even if what, Son?”

“Jonah . . .” I barely got his name out as I collapsed into my dad’s arms, sobbing like I was four-years-old again.

He squeezed me and I latched on like he was my lifeline. I think he was.

And I cried.

And sobbed.

And wept.

Until I had nothing left in me to give.

I had no idea how long I purged the broken pieces of my heart there on that beach, but he sat in silence and let me until I was strong enough to pull back and try and find my bearings again.

I swiped at my eyes with my palm, suddenly embarrassed. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

“What for?”

I glanced at him and shrugged. I felt like such a . . . sissy. I hung my head. God, that was his word, still seared in my psyche from all those years ago. “Nothing, I guess.”

His hand clasped my shoulder, warm and reassuring. “Reed. It’s okay to be emotional. Hurt. Sad. Whatever it is you’re feeling. And it’s okay to cry . . . Men cry.”

I peeked at him in my peripheral vision, disbelieving. I’d never seen my dad cry. About anything. Not when grandpa died. Not when Izzie was in the hospital and really sick. Definitely not over anything I’d ever done, including the Great Disappointment.

He grabbed a handful of sand and let it run through his fingers. “So, what do you think you’re gonna do now, Son?” He glanced at me, his eyes somehow mirroring my pain, which baffled me. “About Melissa and the baby, I mean?”

I shifted my gaze out to the waves as the sun began to kiss the haze away. “I dunno. I just don’t know if I can be around her right now and wonder . . . if the baby’s not mine, I guess I need to let Jonah take care of it.” I nearly choked on the words.

He dropped his handful of sand. “Why?”

“Why what?”

His eyes searched mine as if he was seeking some truth of his own. “Do you love her?”

I swallowed and nodded, unable to say the words aloud.

“Then why walk away?” He didn’t wait for me to respond. “You love her. She loves you. You said she begged you not to hate her, so maybe she made a mistake. You owe it to her to talk it out with her. At least try. That baby deserves no less.”

“But what about Jonah?”

His face clouded. “What about him?”

I think my jaw dropped. “Wha—He . . . I . . .”

“Listen, Son.” He shifted closer, his eyes pinning me. “Until yesterday, that baby was yours.
Yours
. Do not walk away until you know differently, or I promise that you will regret it for the rest of your life.”

He spoke with conviction. Like he knew from experience. Premonition began to hum in my veins and the little hairs stood up on the back of my neck. “Okay. Okay,” I murmured, searching his face for a clue. “But I don’t get why you care so much. You’ve been so unhappy about this baby since we told you. I thought I disappointed you so bad that you’ve hated me.”

Tears filled his eyes, startling me. “Ah, Reed. I could never hate you, buddy. Sure, I was disappointed. I don’t think anyone envisions their sixteen-year-old child having a baby. But it’s more than that . . .” His gaze drifted as an emotional battle played out across his face. I’d never seen him like this. It was kinda scary.

“What, Dad?”

He hung his head, mirroring my position earlier. “I hated myself. Not you. Never you.”

Shock filtered down my body in a cascade. “What? Why?”

He turned and met my gaze. “Because I was the biggest fraud in this relationship. How could I be disappointed in you . . . how could I expect better . . . when I’d done the exact same thing?” He paused, caught his breath, while I tried to process just what he was saying.

He’d done the exact same thing?

What?

“I did the exact same thing,” he continued, his voice shaky, emotional, weaker than I’d ever heard. “And I did not stand up—did not man up and do the right thing. And it haunts me every single day.”

“Uh . . . Dad? I’m confused. What’re you talking about?”

He sighed. “I’m talking about the fact that I got a girl pregnant when I was seventeen.” His gaze did not waver. He was serious. Holy— “But I wasn’t nearly the good kid that you are, and she wasn’t really even my girlfriend. Just a girl I was screwing around with. I would’ve never brought her home to meet my parents. I hardly knew her, didn’t really care about her if I’m being honest. She was from the bad part of town, and I didn’t want to be seen with her . . . her father was the janitor where my dad worked . . . I was a stupid, embarrassed kid. But she had a crush on me so she slept with me, and I knocked her up because I was cocky and dumb. Thought it wouldn’t happen to me. Simple as that.”

I sat in shocked silence. I had no words.

He didn’t wait for me to come up with any as his story just continued to pour from him, like it’d been waiting, dying, to spring free. “When she told me, we decided she’d have an abortion. Quick. Easy. It’d be over and I’d be free, we’d go our separate ways. I gave her the cash and pretty much told her ‘thanks for the good time.’ I didn’t even go with her. I was such a . . .” He shook his head, letting the words slide away.

“Aw, Dad.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “You were just a kid. I’m sure it’s fine.” My reassurance sounded hollow to my own ears.

A small, mirthless laugh escaped him. “Yeah. Not so much.”

“What do you mean?”

Another handful of sand seeped through his fingers as his eyes stayed pinned to the ground. He was silent for several moments as my heart beat in my ears. Finally, he patted the ground, raking his fingertips through the grit. “I moved on, met your mom in college. Married her a couple years after we graduated. We did the career thing, then had you and your sister a few years after that. But I have to tell you, the moment they put you in my arms, I had this epiphany . . . it probably sounds totally corny, but it’s true . . .”

I waited.

He met my eyes. “You filled a hole in my heart, Reed. I had no idea what kind of damage I’d done, how much I really regretted what I’d done, until that day. And now, you’re going to see just how much your children—all of them—are gifts, and it’s like they leave little fingerprints on your soul. Don’t miss out on that, Son.”

I blinked away the burning in my eyes as I saw my father in a totally different light. “What happened to her?”

“The girl?”

I nodded.

He looked away. “Shortly afterward, she moved away with her family to Louisiana and I never heard from her again.”

“Oh.”

“But I did go to Baton Rouge on business when you were about three and I thought maybe I saw her when I stopped at a Walmart. She was just getting off work, I guess.” I perked up at this revelation. “She looked so haggard, so much older, so sad. I nearly said hello, but then a man walked up to her who looked just as rundown in a greasy mechanic uniform. He had a young boy with him who looked to be about twelve or thirteen, and all I could do was stare. I was shell shocked. He looked so much like you.”

Oh.

My.

God.

“What did you do?”

He shrugged. “Nothing.”

“You just let her go? Without finding out if that was your kid? Are you serious?” I could not even wrap my mind around the fact that I could have a brother out there in the world somewhere. Weird.

He nodded. “The kid called the guy ‘dad.’ What was I supposed to do? I let them go and I didn’t intrude. But, like I said, the choices I made back when she was in my life, and that baby could’ve been mine, kill me a little more every day.”

I opened my mouth, closed it. I couldn’t really process this. And I darn sure didn’t have room to talk, given my own situation.

He surprised me and grabbed my hand. “I think about that boy every day. See his face when I look at you. Please don’t make my same mistake.” He squeezed my fingers. “I know you’re young and you’re scared and this was not what you had planned for your life. Mistakes happen. But man up, Son. Do the right thing. Your heart already knows what it is.”

I blinked, faced the breeze whipping off the ocean as the sun rose to its full brilliance, still holding onto my dad’s hand.

He was right.

If I peeled back the curtain of my fear and peeked inside my fractured heart, it knew where it was leading me. It was simply up to me to follow.

November 1
st

First Aid for the Broken Heart

I
left my dad sitting alone on the beach by Lettie’s cross and knew I needed to go back to the hospital.

I had no idea what I was in for, or how I would handle it, but I just knew I had to go. I figured I’d wing it when I got there.

I stopped long enough for a quick shower and breakfast and to let my mom know I was alive. One look at my face when I told her I’d explain later, and she miraculously let it go, when normally she’d nag me ‘til kingdom come.

I found myself studying her red-rimmed, teary eyes as she leaned against the sink and I suddenly wondered if she knew everything my dad had told me. God. Pity overwhelmed me for all of us in this screwed up situation.

I stood to drain the milk from my bowl of Cornflakes and wrapped my arms around her shoulders, noticing how much smaller she seemed to me.

Her sob was muffled in my T-shirt as she gripped me in a bear hug like she wasn’t going to let go.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I just . . .” What?

She drew back and dabbed her eyes. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

God, I felt like a selfish jerk. “I’m sorry,” I repeated. “I had a bad night.” I studied her downturned head. “Melissa had the baby.”