Chapter 14
I watch Lily’s back retreating towards the house, her long red ponytail swaying against her narrow back. Her shoulders are slumped and even from the back, I can tell how sad she is. My hands grip the leather steering wheel. She doesn’t look back at the car, not once. She just goes into the house and closes the door behind her.
I stay there for a few minutes. I think about rushing in after her, forcing her to listen to me — that no matter how this started, my feelings for her are real. That it was never my intention for her to get hurt. That her father and I are both shitty bastards, and we both let her down, and neither of us deserve her forgiveness. Then I’d go ahead and beg for it anyway.
Because seeing her walk away from me like this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Bar none.
I almost do get out of the car and go after her. But then, through the curtains, I see a larger figure pass in front of the window. Her father.
I don’t trust myself not to pummel the shit out of the guy, and I know that’s the last thing Lily needs right now.
So instead I sit there until my hands feel steady enough to drive, and then I head back to my penthouse.
Once I’m there, though, I do nothing but wander listlessly through the apartment. I pour myself a glass of scotch, but even that does nothing to calm my frazzled nerves. My entire chest feels like a clenched fist, and it shows no signs of loosening.
I think about going to the gym and pounding the shit out of a punching bag, but instead I go to my office, crack open my laptop, and torture myself for a few hours. First, I look at Lily’s profile again. She’s still got the same picture up, of her reading on the couch, and it twists a knife through my heart to see it. She looks beautiful in that picture — so fucking beautiful. She looks like the innocent girl she is, someone who had no business getting mixed up with someone like me.
When I’m done torturing myself with her photos, I google Charissa Prescott, Lily’s mother. I’d only met her a few times, but I recognize her as soon as I see the photo. The obituary photo. Just like Lily said, she’d died about six months after my prison term started. No wonder I’d never heard of it.
Why had Richard never said anything though? He was always very private at work — we both were — but a sick wife was something you make an exception for. Hell, if I’d known she was sick, I would have given him every penny I could.
Would you? A voice in my head asks.
I don’t know. Would I? Back then I was all about business. About the bottom line. Richard didn’t talk about his wife at the office because he knew I didn’t care. I was young and single and I thought family was nothing more than an unwelcome distraction. Love was a liability. So, what would have I done if I’d found out his wife was sick?
Probably take it as proof that I was right. That love was more trouble than it was worth. I might have made a token donation to help out, but would I have done more?
I honest don’t know.
And that thought makes me sick.
I think about Lily and what I would do if I found out she had cancer. I’d fucking move heaven and earth, is what I would do. I’d beg, borrow, and steal if it meant a chance at helping her.
Richard hadn’t begged. He hadn’t borrowed. But he’d stolen.
And for the first time, I can understand his motivations. I don’t necessarily agree with them, but I understand them.
Because I know what love is now. And I know how much the thought of losing it hurts.
I don’t know if I would do exactly what Richard had done, but a man who thinks he’s about to lose the love of his life makes all kinds of irrational decisions. Could I really fault him for that?
I sigh and sip my scotch. I hate him for what he did. And I hate the part of myself that empathizes with what he did, the choice he felt he had to make.
I catch a glimpse of my phone sitting on the corner of my desk. I hadn’t spoken to Richard in over three years, but maybe it was time.
I down the rest of my scotch and jam the button for Richard’s contact info before I can change my mind. It rings only twice before he picks up.
“Hello?” His voice is as familiar as the last time I heard it.
“Richard.”
The silence on the other end of the line says he knows exactly who I am. Finally, Richard sighs.
“Hello Jacob.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” It’s the only thing I can think of to say. “About Charissa, I mean.”
He doesn’t answer right away. I wonder if he’s trying to come up with a line.
“Just the truth, Richard. After all this time — the truth.”
He sighs again. “I was embarrassed,” he finally says.
“Embarrassed?” That was not at all what I was expecting. “She had cancer — what in the hell did you have to be embarrassed about?”
“I know it sounds stupid now,” he admits. “But at the time, it felt like… it felt like I was failing at taking care of her. I couldn’t fix what was wrong with her, at least not medically speaking. So to admit that I couldn’t afford the treatments that might save her? It was fucking humiliating.”
I don’t say anything to that. I’ve always known Richard to be a proud man, it’s true. And he always kept his private life quiet. I shake my head.
“I heard you’ve been seeing Lily,” he says finally.
I tense. I wonder how much she told him. “Yes,” I say carefully. “But I don’t believe you have anything to worry about. I’m pretty sure we won’t be seeing each other again.”
To my surprise, Richard doesn’t sound relieved. Instead he sounds… disappointed. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
I laugh ruefully. “You going to tell me you want someone like me dating your daughter?”
“Would it be so wrong if I did?”
I lean forward. “Wrong?”
“To trust her with you. Have you hurt her?”
“No!” Then I sit back again. Let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. “Well, at least not intentionally.”
“You’re a good man, Jacob,” he says. “Better than you ever gave yourself credit for.”
I use my free hand to rub my temples. I suddenly have a killer headache, and a matching pain in my chest.
“How’s she doing?” I force myself to ask. All I can picture is her walking away from my car yesterday, the sad slump of her shoulders as she closed the door of her house behind her.
“She’s hurting,” Richard says.
“She doesn’t understand any of this.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” he says thoughtfully. “I think that’s what’s hurting her the most. If she could be mad at us, it would be easier. A girl who’s watched her mother die, who’s watched her father lose it the way I did — a girl like that understands that the world isn’t always black and white.”
The pain in my head — and my chest — intensifies.
“I’ve got to go, Richard.”
“Sure, Jacob. Thanks for the call.”
“Yeah, sure.”
I click off the phone and then, in a fit of anger, throw it at the wall. It hits hard and then clatters to the floor.
I have to fix this. I have to make things right with Lily — if not for us, then at least for her. I don’t want to make the mistake Richard did — being too proud to be honest. I’ve got to put it on the line, even if it means she never wants to see me again.