The Father for Her Son Page 4

  TROY LEANED against the video-game console and watched Greg annihilate the Gorgon Forces of Evil. But his attention was repeatedly drawn to the woman across the room. Marlee sat with her back rigid, head high. She used her pride like a shield, keeping him at a distance. She had every right to be proud. She’d had to raise their son alone, and she’d done a great job, as far as he could tell. It couldn’t have been easy—the shabby house told him a lot about the sacrifices she made.

  He couldn’t change what he’d done. He couldn’t take away the pain of the past seven years for either of them. But he could make amends now. He’d give Marlee the things she’d denied herself and prove to her she didn’t need to do everything on her own anymore. He would be there for her, and this time he wouldn’t leave.

  He looked down at his hands, at the grease tattooed into every line and crevice of his mechanic’s fingers. No amount of scrubbing could get them completely clean. It wasn’t only his body that was stained—he felt soiled inside by all the things he’d experienced in the past seven years. He’d seen men killed in prison fights and others who’d killed themselves rather than live behind bars. He’d been stripped and searched and counted and reduced to a number instead of a human being. Only thoughts of Marlee and their son had kept him sane. They’d given him a purpose and a goal.

  He glanced at Greg, so absorbed in the video game. Troy had already proved himself no match for the boy when it came to defeating animated foes. “I’ll be at the table with your mother,” he said.

  Greg nodded, his eyes fixed on the screen, both hands working the joystick.

  Troy slid into the booth next to Marlee. “Greg’s a great kid,” he said. “You’ve done a terrific job.”

  The compliment apparently caught her off guard. Her expression softened. “Thanks. He is a great kid.”

  “What did you tell him about me? I mean, about his father?”

  She stared down at the red-and-white plastic tablecloth. “I told him his father left before he was born. We don’t talk about you much.”

  He wanted to remind her that he hadn’t left willingly, that it had all been a terrible mistake. But he knew from her earlier accusations that she didn’t agree. In her view, he’d chosen to break the law and leave them—the same choice her own father had made too many times.

  Knowing she lumped him into the same category as a career felon like Frank Britton angered and frustrated him. Words wouldn’t be enough to convince her. He’d have to prove himself to her, maybe over and over again, but he’d do it. He’d learned a lot about patience in prison.

  “Where are you working now?”

  He welcomed the change of subject, and the chance to have a real conversation with her—maybe one that didn’t end in an argument. “Wiley’s.” He tapped at the patch on the pocket of his shirt. “It’s a custom-motorcycle shop.”

  “Have you been there long?”

  He knew what she really wanted to know—had he been back in town long? Had he been out of prison long? “No. About three weeks before I came to see you.” It had taken him only a week to find the job, thanks to a referral from his parole officer.

  Marlee stirred the ice in her glass with her straw.

  “What about you?” he asked. “How long have you worked at the Crowne Towers?”

  “Six years. I started there a few months after Greg was born. I worked at night and Greg stayed with my mom.”

  “What do you do there?”

  “I’m an administrative assistant.” She’d started at the front desk—the job Trish held now—and worked her way up.

  “How is your mom?” He remembered Leigh Britton as a small, brown-haired woman who’d gone out of her way to avoid attracting attention to herself. She’d hidden from public censure and her husband’s notoriety, even as she refused to turn her back on Frank, as Marlee had done.

  When Troy had been arrested, he hadn’t called Marlee. He knew how she felt about her father and about jails. He’d hoped to make bail and avoid having her see him behind bars. But the D.A. had other ideas. When Marlee had finally come to him, Troy had been elated; when she’d walked away that last time, he’d been crushed. Now he wondered if she’d only been trying to avoid her mother’s sad fate, tied to a man who spent so much of his life locked away.

  “She died two years ago. Cancer.”

  He winced. “Marlee, I’m sorry.” One more thing he hadn’t been around to help her through.

  “Thanks. I…I still miss her.” She glanced at him. “What about your mom?”

  “She’s got a job out at the mall. Works in the food court. She and I don’t talk much these days.” Rather, he didn’t talk much to his mother. She still had plenty to say to him, most of it critical, of him and of Marlee. She blamed Marlee for everything that had gone wrong in his life. The way she saw it, if he hadn’t gotten involved with Marlee, he wouldn’t have approached Raymond and wouldn’t have ended up in jail.

  “She wasn’t very nice to me, after…after you left.”

  He nodded, and took a long drink of his iced tea. His stomach churned when he thought of how cruel his mother might have been to Marlee. “What about your dad?” he asked. “What’s he up to these days?”

  She stiffened and set her mouth in a hard line. “How should I know?”

  “Things haven’t changed, then?”

  She rubbed her thumb along the rim of her glass. “Why should they?”

  “Do you know where he is now?”

  She shrugged. “No, and I don’t care.”

  “He might be out of prison. Maybe he’s reformed.”

  “I’m not holding my breath.”

  “People can change.”

  She glared at him. “Why are you taking his side? You know how much he hurt me.”

  He could feel her pain washing over him in waves. He’d hoped by now those old wounds would have healed. He chose his words carefully. “Still…he’s your father. The only family you have—”

  “I have Greg. I don’t need anyone else.”

  She didn’t say I don’t need you, but he was sure she thought it.

  The pizza arrived, Greg trailing after the waitress like a hound tracking a rabbit. The boy saved him and Marlee from any further serious conversation. They confined themselves to a debate over pepperoni versus Canadian bacon and whether Shrek was a better movie than Wall-E.

  “What do you think, Troy?” Greg asked.

  Troy shifted in his seat. “Well, to be honest, I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen either one of those movies.”

  “You’re kidding! Why not?”

  “Too busy, I guess.” He glanced at Marlee, then quickly away, unnerved by how intensely she was studying him. “Now, baseball—there’s a subject I’m an expert on.”

  They launched into a discussion of teams and players. Troy discovered he was enjoying himself. Greg was a bright kid, fun to be with. He’d accepted Troy’s friendship so readily—if only Marlee could do the same.

  It was fully dark by the time they left the restaurant, and Greg’s head was already beginning to nod. Troy switched on the radio and the strains of soft rock filled the car. He recognized a song that had been popular when he and Marlee were dating. Maybe that was the key to reaching her—he would remind her of happier times.

  He turned the car onto the road that ran by the lake.

  Marlee jerked her head around. “Where are you going?”

  “It’s such a beautiful night. I thought we could take a drive.”

  He felt her watching him, but she remained silent. After a moment, she sank back against the seat, arms folded across her chest. Troy heard a child’s soft snores behind him.

  He drove onto a bluff high above the lake. The park there had been a popular make-out place years ago. Marlee must have recognized it, too. She sat up straight, but again, said nothing.

  He parked at the scenic overlook. Switching off the engine, he stared out at a scene that had scarcely changed in seven years. A single security light cast a so
ft pink glow over the lot, which was empty except for their car. He rolled down the window and inhaled the loamy scent of lake water. “I think Greg’s asleep,” he said softly.

  “It’s past his bedtime.”

  Troy didn’t miss the note of censure in Marlee’s voice, but he refused to be drawn out of his mellow mood. He opened the car door. “Come sit with me a minute. We’ll hear him if he wakes up.”

  “We should go home,” she said, but followed him outside anyway.

  He stepped up on the bumper and sat on the hood, then offered her his hand. She hesitated only a moment before taking it. “Do you remember when we used to come here?” he asked when she sat beside him, close, but not touching him.

  She stared silently out at the dark water below.

  Troy leaned back on his elbows and gazed up at the stars. “I remember this place,” he said. Once they had made love here, entwined in the backseat of his car, too eager for each other to wait for a more private location. He turned to her. Her head was bent, and she kept her hands at her sides. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said.

  She met his eyes, confusion apparent on her face. “I don’t know you anymore, Troy. I’m not sure I want to.”

  “I’m not so different.” He slid closer to her.

  “But you are.” She wet her lips. The sensuous gesture made his heart pound. “You’re…more serious than you were before.”

  “I’m older, Marlee. We both are. We aren’t ignorant kids.” He rubbed his hand up and down her sleeve.

  She leaned toward him, lips slightly parted in silent invitation. For seven years, he’d dreamed about her kisses—

  “You’re right, we’re not kids.” She pulled away and slid off the hood. “We have responsibilities. And mine is to get Greg home and to bed at a decent hour.” She walked around to the passenger door without looking at him. “We’d better go now.”

  He stared after her, his body still craving her kiss while his mind tried to register her rejection. Biting back a sharp retort, he slid to the ground and got in the driver’s seat. Without another word, he started the car and backed out of the overlook. So much for nostalgia. Things would never be the same between him and Marlee again. He might as well quit thinking they ever could be.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ALL THROUGH BREAKFAST the next morning, Greg talked about Troy. “He loves pepperoni pizza, just like I do”…“Troy said I could probably beat him at video games—isn’t that funny?”…“Troy said he’d watch Wall-E with me sometime, since it’s my favorite movie.”

  Marlee wanted to cover her ears to keep from hearing Troy’s name over and over. Greg’s fascination reminded her of how close she’d come last night to falling under Troy’s spell. At the park after dinner, sitting beside him in the darkness, memories of how he’d once made her feel had flooded her. Though she knew getting involved with him again would be a very bad idea, her body had other ideas. Every time he touched her, heat coursed through her, and when he leaned toward her, she longed for his kisses.

  “I can’t believe Troy hasn’t seen Shrek,” Greg said as he chased down the last frosted Oaty-oh in his bowl. “I’ve never met anyone who hasn’t seen Shrek.”

  Greg’s comment reminded Marlee of the reason Troy hadn’t seen the popular movie—the reason she needed to guard against allowing physical desire to overwhelm common sense. “There’s a lot of things we don’t know about Troy,” she said. “You need to be careful.”

  A sharp V formed between Greg’s eyes—the same V Troy had when he was concentrating hard. “What do you mean, be careful?”

  “You remember what I’ve always told you about not getting in cars with strangers or accepting presents from them.”

  “But Troy’s not a stranger!” Greg’s voice rose in indignation. “He’s my friend.” He carried his empty cereal bowl to the sink, then gave his mother a look of disdain that she’d never seen before. She wanted to hold him, to remind him how much she loved him and that they didn’t need anyone else.

  Instead, she let him leave the room, and fought down a wave of anger and, yes, jealousy. She and Greg had always been so close, a family of two. Troy had no right to take that away from her.

  By the time they went out to the car Marlee had begun blaming herself for Greg’s fascination with Troy. She’d kept Greg too sheltered, too much in her company, when he clearly needed some male attention. Greg wouldn’t be so fascinated with Troy if he weren’t the first man who’d spent any time with him.

  “There’s a program called Big Brothers,” she said as she drove toward Greg’s school. “It matches boys like you with a man who’ll take you to the movies or play ball and do guy stuff. What do you think? Would you like to sign up for that?”

  “I could play ball and do guy stuff with Troy.”

  “Troy might be too busy,” she said.

  “Let’s ask him.”

  “But the man from this program would be specially matched to you—to be your big brother.”

  “I want to ask Troy first.”

  She ground her teeth together in frustration. Apparently no unknown “big brother” could compete with the man who’d come roaring into their lives on a motorcycle.

  BY THE TIME Marlee arrived at work, she was determined not to think about Troy for the rest of the day. That resolution was dashed when she entered the break room and found Trish waiting for her.

  The newest staff member at the hotel, Trish was only a couple of years younger than Marlee. She had a friendly, outgoing personality that was perfect for dealing with the public and was a marked contrast to the dour young man who’d held the desk clerk position previously. Though the two women were still getting to know each other, they were on their way to being friends—or as friendly as Marlee’s carefully cultivated reserve would allow.

  “See any more of Mr. Dark and Dangerous?” the clerk asked.

  “Mister who?” Marlee moved past the younger woman to the coffeepot.

  “That good-looking guy with the motorcycle who came by here the other day,” Trish said. “I thought maybe the two of you were dating.”

  “Why would you think that?” Marlee asked. “The only time you saw him, we were arguing.”

  Trish shrugged. “I figured, you know, lovers’ quarrel. There was just something about the way you two looked at each other.”

  “Well, you were wrong.”

  She wasn’t sure how to explain her relationship with Troy. She couldn’t call him just a friend, but they definitely weren’t dating.

  “Too bad. I could really go for a guy like that.” Trish sat at the small table by the refrigerator and stirred sugar into her cup.

  Trish could go for any guy. She was an admitted flirt. Marlee took the chair across from her. “His name’s Troy. Mr. Morgenroth thought he looked rough.”

  “I like a guy who’s a little rough around the edges.”

  “Why is that?” Marlee asked.

  “Well…” Trish tapped the plastic stir stick against the side of her cup. “It’s sexy. And I guess a guy like that—who hasn’t lived an easy life—seems like the kind of man you could depend on to protect you if things got really rough.”

  “I don’t need a man to protect me,” Marlee countered.

  “Maybe not. But it’s nice to think he would, isn’t it? It doesn’t make us weak to want that, does it?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it does.”

  “That’s because you’re a single mom,” Trish said. “You can’t afford to ever let your guard down. Me—sometimes I want to be taken care of.” She laughed. “Too bad I haven’t found a guy who’ll pamper me in the style I deserve.”

  “Better to work hard so you can pamper yourself,” Marlee said.

  “Yeah. I guess that way at least you know you’ll get what you want.” A blast of tinny hip-hop music jolted Trish upright. “Sorry. Got to take this call,” she said, and slipped her phone out of her pocket.

  Marlee returned to the open office space she shared wi
th Mr. Morgenroth, her mind racing. She wondered what kind of life Trish had lived, that she was concerned about protection.

  Would it surprise her to know how familiar Marlee was with violence and trouble?

  Mr. M. thought Troy looked rough, but he had nothing on Marlee’s father. When she was six years old, she’d been awakened in the middle of the night by shouts from the living room. She’d crept down the hall and watched as her father fought another man, pounding him with punch after punch until the other guy crumpled at his feet. Her father, one eye already swollen shut, blood running from his mouth and nose, looked up and saw Marlee standing there. “Go back to bed, pumpkin,” he said as calmly as if she’d interrupted him making a sandwich. “Everything’s all right.”

  When Marlee was ten, a stranger with a gun had come to their house. He’d held Marlee and her mother hostage in their kitchen for twelve hours, waiting for her father to come home and pay some money the man was owed. Marlee’s mother cooked dinner for the stranger and slipped something in the food that made him sick, so that he finally left them alone.

  Marlee had both worshipped her father and feared him. In rare peaceful interludes she idolized him. But Frank knew too many dangerous people, and lived a dangerous life that couldn’t help but touch her.

  And yet, her mother had stayed with him, visiting him faithfully when he was in prison, celebrating when he returned home.

  “Why don’t you divorce him?” a thirteen-year-old Marlee had asked after her father had landed in jail yet again. “How can you stand to live this way?”

  “He’s my husband,” her mother had said, as if this explained everything. “I love him.”

  “How can you love a man who’s never there for you? Who’s never there for us?” How can you love him when he always hurts us? she wanted to shout. How can you love him more than you love me?