Chapter 37
Alyse
“Deep breath in, deep breath out,” I mumble to myself as I pace the length of my temporary apartment, waiting for security to call. I hold my hands out. They’re shaking. I haven’t been able to eat a thing all day. Beck couldn’t meet last night, which would have been ideal, but Asher called this afternoon to say he won’t be home until Wednesday morning for sure, so I feel comfortable meeting Beck here.
The intercom buzzes, making me jump. “Ma’am, there is a Beck Mercado who says you’re expecting him.”
I press the talk button with a wobbly finger and answer with an equally wobbly voice. “Yes. It’s fine, Sam. Thanks.”
The next couple of minutes tick by like hours as I wait for the knock on my door, but when it comes, I stand there, frozen, unable to turn the knob. I think I may throw up.
“Alyse, you there?” a deep, low, disembodied voice comes from the other side of the thick wood. I couldn’t make myself call him so we just texted instead and now I know why. Jesus, it’s exactly as I remember. Low and gravelly. It makes my heart hurt and my stomach churn. I can’t respond. We stand there in silence. “Alyse, I’ll leave if you want me to.”
“No,” I whisper, still not able to make my hand grip the knob and twist, but unable to tell him to leave. I have to do this. I need to do this, as gut-wrenching as it’s going to be.
“We can’t do this through the door. Please. Open up, babe.”
I. SEE. RED.
Flinging the door open so hard it bounces off the wall, I spit, “Don’t you dare call me that. You lost the right to call me anything the day you let me believe you were dead.”
His eyes drop briefly before returning to mine. “I’m sorry.”
I’m sorry. See? Wholly inadequate.
I turn and stalk into the living room, not caring if he follows, but when I hear the door close softly, I know he hasn’t left. I feel his presence as much now as the first day we met. I always thought Beck was larger than life. I think that’s why I fell in love with him so fast. He reminded me a lot of Asher in that regard.
Too bad I let myself fall for someone who was a complete enigma as well as a devious liar. That’s a mistake I haven’t made again, because I haven’t fallen for anyone in eight years until now. And Asher is neither of those things.
I stand in front of the window, watching the bright lights of Navy Pier, relishing the coolness I feel seeping into my skin and bones. I let it soak in and I store it away. I’ll need to be cold to get through this. I need to remain aloof and unaffected. But I’m about ten seconds away from a complete nuclear meltdown.
“I would offer you a drink, but since this isn’t a social call, I won’t.” In the glass’s reflection, I can see he’s taken a seat on the overstuffed chair facing me. Remorse is written over every feature, every action, the slump of his shoulders.
“That’s fine,” he mumbles.
“You have ten minutes,” I tell him, turning around to face him. I wrap my arms protectively around my middle. It physically hurts to look at him, to be this close. I want to run my fingers over his stubbly face as much as I want to slap it. I want to wrap my arms around him, holding him tight, to feel that he’s really sitting here in front of me. But I want to kick him out, telling him I never want to see his lying face again.
Jesus, he’s beautiful, and time has only made him even more so. He’s wearing a hunter-green sweater that fits his lean, muscular frame perfectly. The worn, dark denim on his lower half hugs him like a glove. His dark hair is shorter than I remember, but it looks good on him. I have to fight not to be drawn into his sparkling emerald eyes like I was from day one. And I’m a god-awful person, and girlfriend, to even think any of those things.
A fresh plunge of guilt injects itself into the toxic, roiling mixture that my emotions have now become.
“I don’t know where to start,” he begins quietly.
“Let’s see…how about we start with the fact that you tried to kill us when I told you we were going to have a baby.”
He cringes at my caustic words, but I don’t want to take them back. I’ve been in agony over this for over eight years. I thought I was over the anger and the hurt, but as I stand here looking at him, it’s fresh and raw and bleeding. I’m wrapped in it like a living, breathing entity and each second that ticks by it becomes stronger and more venomous.
“Alyse, it was an accident. I…can we not do this with you standing there, lording over me? This is hard enough.”
My bark is bitter and spiteful. “You have no idea what I’ve been through.”
I see a flash of anger, which he quickly hides. “Neither do you.” His words are slow and measured and full of secrets I’m no longer sure I want to hear.
I turn back toward the window, wishing I had poured myself a very healthy glass of bourbon before I let him in. For someone who doesn’t drink that stuff, it’s quickly become my numbness of choice this past week. I watch him rise and walk toward me with a slight limp in his step, our eyes connecting in the window.
When he stops behind me, I close my eyes, silently begging for him not to touch me, only I can’t force the words past my closed lips. If I feel the heat of his skin on mine, the cool and aloof I’m trying for will disintegrate into nothingness and all that will be left is raw emotion. I’m not sure I can get through these next few minutes with no protection.
“I’m—”
“Don’t say you’re sorry,” I interrupt softly. “Please, anything but that.”
My eyes are still tightly shut when I feel his hands on my shoulders, gently turning me toward him. Tears sting and I refuse to open my lids even when he tips my chin up gently. I nervously chew on my lip, trying desperately to hold myself together.
“Alyse,” he coaxes. “Please look at me.”
I shake my head.
“Alyse.” He says my name with reverence and love, and when my watery eyes open and fall into his, I know he still feels those things. “I never wanted it to be like this.”
“Then why?” I choke, hanging onto my emotions by the very tips of my damn fingers. A traitorous tear leaks out, running down my cheek. I want to call it back. He’s undeserving of it.
He takes my hand, leading me to the couch and I let him. When he sits too close, I push myself back into the corner, getting as much distance between us as possible.
He looks resigned, nodding once at my action.
“I’m waiting,” I whisper, arms wrapped tightly around my knees, which are drawn up to my chin. I need to get as many things in front of my heart as possible.
“Before I start, I want you to know that I loved you, Alyse. I still lo—”
“Don’t say that. I don’t want to hear any of that.”
“Okay.” He sighs deeply, looking down at his hands. I’m trying to be callous, but the fact that I hurt him guts me more than I want to admit.
He lied to you, Alyse. Be strong.
“This may be hard for you to hear.”
“Stop it already!” I yell. “Just tell me the goddamn truth!”
“Your mom is married to my dad.”
That old adage, the truth shall set you free, pops into my mind. See…this is the thing about the truth. It does not set the recipient free; it sets the teller free. They can release their guilt because they’ve finally spoken it out loud. They get to let go of their burden, but then their burden becomes someone else’s. There’s a reason people keep secrets. It’s because they’re either shameful or they’ll hurt the person you want to protect most.
This couldn’t have hurt me more than if he’d held me down and cut out my heart while I watched.
“You’re my…” Gulp. “Stepbrother?”
“Sort of.”
“Jesus, Beck. What the actual fuck?” I scream, jumping off the couch. Pacing, my hands flail as I rage. “You either are or you aren’t. Did you know that when we were dating? Fucking?”
He winces at my vulgarity. “Yes.”
I can’t breathe. I stop in front of him, pointing to the door. “You need to leave.”
“No. You need to hear the rest of the story.”
“I don’t need to hear anymore.” My ears are ringing. “I think I’m going to faint,” I whisper before my knees buckle, but Beck is there, catching me before I can hit the ground.
He settles me back on the couch and heads to the kitchen. I hear a few cupboards open as the cotton and ringing in my ears starts to recede. He returns with a glass of water, which I greedily gulp.
“He’s my stepdad, actually.”
“What?”
“Can I get the story out this time without you freaking the fuck out?”
I glare at him, knowing full well I deserved that jab. “Yes.”
“You never talked about your mom, you know. It’s like you pretended she didn’t exist,” he says softly.
“She didn’t. She left me. Left her children, her husband.”
“She didn’t leave. Your father kicked her out. She was a drug addict, Alyse. You probably don’t even know that because you were so little. He couldn’t take it anymore. Back then your mom was not a good person. She slept around to get money for drugs. She had drug dealers in your house when you were home, putting you in danger. She sold anything she could get her hands on to get her next fix. For all your father’s faults, he did the right thing making her leave. It helped her get her life back together.”
“You’re lying,” I choke, unable to believe a word he just said. “I would have known if she was a drug addict. My father would have told us instead of just telling us she just walked out.”
Sympathy oozes from him. “It’s true, Alyse. Your father was trying to protect you and your sister. He still loved Elaine.”
“By telling us she abandoned us? How the fuck does that protect us?” I snarl.
He shrugs. I can tell he doesn’t really understand it either.
“I don’t understand any of this.”
“Your mom got better,” he continues. He’s now holding my hand. I let him, needing the comfort, human touch. Gravity. “It took her a few years, but she got herself into a program and got clean, but by then your father was the one in trouble with the gambling. She tried to come back and get you girls, but he fought her. By then he was a changed man, bitter. She threatened to take him to court to get custody and he said she’d never win because of her drug history. He was probably right, but who knows.”
I swallow down the bile that’s burning my esophagus. For the second time in little more than a week, everything I’ve always thought to be true is a lie. My head is literally buzzing.
“I need a drink.” Standing on unsteady legs, I head into the kitchen, grab the Woodford Reserve sitting on the counter and pour myself a highball glass full. Leaning on the counter for support, I take a couple large gulps and several deep breaths.
But the dam that I’ve been able to successfully keep my tears behind since Beck walked through that door cracks and the first sob involuntarily breaks free as I process his words.
My mom didn’t leave me.
She was kicked out.
She tried to come back.
My father wouldn’t let her.
My entire life could have been different. It could have been happy. Carefree. Maybe I wouldn’t be this fucked-up person who was constantly afraid of getting hurt, so she kept everyone out instead.
My body heaves and shakes and suddenly I’m engulfed in Beck’s arms. He’s whispering, “It’s okay,” over and over, but it’s not okay. It’s not. And I don’t know how to make it okay. I don’t know how I’m supposed to forgive everything that’s been done to me.
After my sobs subside, he leads me back into the living room and settles me on the couch, drink in hand. I stare down into the caramel-colored liquid trying to form all I’ve heard into some sort of shape that makes sense. I fail.
“Where do you fit into this? It wasn’t a coincidence we met, was it?”
“No,” he replies softly.
I cry, not even trying to stop it now. My heart is breaking. My soul, crushed.
“My mom married Roberto Mercado when I was just nine months old, but she died of breast cancer only five years later. Roberto adopted me, raising me as his own. Your mom met my stepfather during his campaign for city councilman in Dearborn. She was a volunteer. By then she was recovering and they fell in love and were married when I was fourteen. She wanted you and Livia back, but my father’s political career was taking off. He had moved quickly from councilman to mayor and had his sights set on state senator. They were trying hard to keep Elaine’s drug addiction under wraps and your father threatened to go to the press if she pursued custody, so she didn’t.”
I listen to every word, not able to wrap my head around any of it, but I also know he’s not lying. Stuff like this happens in movies or books, not real life. Does it?
“She always looked out for you and Livia, but from then on, she did it secretly. Even my father didn’t know she kept tabs on you. She pulled me in on her clandestine stalking I think mainly so she could use me as an excuse when my father questioned what she was doing or where she was going. We would drive by your house at least once a week and occasionally we would get a glimpse of you or Livia. She told me she even snuck in at night sometimes while you were sleeping and your dad was out gambling so she could just sit there and watch you.”
A river of pain pours from my eyes as I remember back to the nights I thought I’d dreamed she was with me. I hadn’t. She was there.
I want him to stop.
I want him to continue.
I want to be anywhere else but here.
“When I was twenty, my father got the Republican nomination for state senator and won. They moved to Lansing and Elaine was distraught at not being able to make sure you were okay, especially as it seemed your father’s gambling had reached an all-time high. And since I was staying back in Dearborn…”
He stops and wets his lips, his stare intense.
“She asked you to keep an eye on me,” I supply.
He nods solemnly. “I wasn’t supposed to talk to you. I was just supposed to watch you from afar, but…you were too fucking irresistible, Alyse. I couldn’t stay away. I think I’d been in love with you for years from afar. I watched you grow up from this awkward, gangly little girl into a stunning, incredible, smart woman who had been given an unfair lot in life but made the most of it anyway. Not once did I ever think of you as my stepsister. You were simply the woman I was in love with.”
My mind is reeling with each new confession. My stomach’s now agitating like a washing machine in the spin cycle, so I set my whiskey down.
I reach up, wiping the tears away. “They found out, didn’t they?” My shaky voice is barely audible.
“Not until the accident.”
Once again, he reaches for my hand, twining it in his. I look at my small fingers engulfed by his large ones. I let myself remember the way it used to feel so long ago, skin tingling every time he touched me.
We were both put into an impossible situation, one that would never have a happy ending no matter how hard we would have tried. The bitterness and resentment slowly start melting away at that realization. My eyes lift to find him watching me attentively, waiting patiently.
“What happened after the accident?”
“My dad and your mom were called and they came to the hospital. I was in pretty bad shape. I had five broken ribs, a punctured lung, a fractured right arm in three places and my left leg was completely crushed. I needed a total of a hundred eighty stitches between my arms, head, and torso. I had swelling in my brain and was in a drug-induced coma for two weeks. I guess I went into cardiac arrest five times during those two weeks. I spent three weeks in ICU, but I was in the hospital for eight total.”
Then he releases my hand, bending over to draw up his pant leg. I almost lose my ability to breathe.
“Jesus, Beck.” I feel positively ill. Cooper’s words hit me like a sucker punch to the gut. “He’s suffered just as much as you have, if not more.” He’s right. Beck has suffered far more.
“I lost my leg right above the knee. I spent nine months in intense rehabilitation. I was in a bad way, Alyse. I went into a deep depression. I wanted to die. I thought my entire life was over. My father was furious with Elaine and me, and your father was practically homicidal, threatening to press charges. I later found out that my father paid him off to keep him quiet. Fifty grand. But part of the deal was I wasn’t to ever have contact with you again and let you believe that I’d died and…I agreed.” His voice cracks and I find myself comforting him by squeezing his hand. A smile plays on his lips before they press into a thin line.
“At the time, I thought it was for the best. I didn’t even want to live, let alone be with anyone, and I couldn’t imagine I could ever be loved by a woman—you—with part of my body missing.”
“Oh, Beck. It wouldn’t have mattered. Not to me.”
“I know that now, Alyse. But at the time I couldn’t make sense of anything. It took me years to physically and mentally get back to where I was before the accident. To actually want to live again. Depression makes you look at things very differently.”
“I know,” I reply softly.
His eyes are full of sorrow and understanding. “Jesus, I loved you so much. I wanted to marry you, and for weeks I’d been trying to figure a way out of the fucking mess I’d created. To tell you the truth, wipe the slate clean so I could be the man you deserved. But every scenario I came up with ended badly. I needed to tell you the truth to keep you, but the truth would drive you away, and I couldn’t bear the thought of that.
“And when you told me about the baby…for a split second, I can’t even describe how happy I was, but then reality crashed into me and I felt the bottom drop out. I felt like I’d lost everything before I even had it. I panicked. I drove recklessly and almost cost us our lives. I cost our baby its life and that torments me every fucking day, Alyse. Every. Fucking. Day.”
Next thing I know, Beck is beside me, my wet face in his palms. His eyes are wild with torment. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. About the accident. About the baby. About not coming back for you. About everything. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I am so very sorry, Alyse.”
“I forgive you,” I whisper. “I forgive you, Beck.”
Then his mouth is on mine, his need for me evident. His lips are soft and warm, as I remember. His kiss burns with longing and love as it always did. But this time I also taste regret.
When I saw Beck across the street last week, the feelings that washed through me were love, among so many others, but I couldn’t deny one of them was definitely love. But as I feel his mouth on mine now, I know it’s not the kind of love that forevers are made of. That kind of forever is with another man.
“Beck,” I mumble, placing my hands on his chest, pushing. “Beck, stop.”
Hands still frame my face as his forehead touches mine, chest heaving. “It’s too late, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
His sharp intake of breath cuts me to the quick. “It’s him, isn’t it? The guy at the bar?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Do you love him?”
“Very much.”
He presses his lips to my temple, letting them linger. “I feel like I’m losing you all over again.”
His pain seeps into me, battering my heart. “Beck, I—I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m sorry. I know that’s not fair. I’ll always love you, Alyse. Always.”
“So will I. Just…not in the same way as I once did.” I just didn’t fully realize that until now. Those chains I’ve had locked tightly around my heart suddenly break, each link severing permanently from the link before it. For the first time in twenty-five years, I feel whole. Repaired. Worthy.
My mom wanted me.
Beck wanted me.
Asher wants me.
“Can I hold you? Please?”
I may not be in love with Beck, but I still care about him immensely. We have a history that can never be erased. I need this for closure, even though I hope that maybe we can be friends somehow. “I’d like that.”
Beck pulls me to him, tucking me under his arm and we relax against the back of the couch.
“Jesus, I have missed you.”
“Me too.”
“I’ve thought about you every day for the last eight years, Alyse.”
“Me too,” I confess. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”
“So am I. Took me a while to get there, but…yeah.”
“How did you know about the baby?”
“I saw the marker along the side of the road.”
I tilt my head up as he bends his down. “You went to the crash site?”
His eyes soften and the agony I see churning makes me swallow back my tears again. “Many times. Going back there was part of the healing process for me and then…then I just wanted to be close to you and our baby and I didn’t know any other way.”
“Beck…” I feel immense guilt for all the bad things I’ve thought about him over the years when he’s suffered so much. We sit there in silence, neither able to break away from the other, both of us remembering.
He clears his throat. “So, this guy…”
“Asher,” I smile. “Asher Colloway.”
“Asher. You’re in love with him, huh?”
I nod and his mouth turns down slightly. It tugs hard on my heart.
“Does he know about me? Us?”
“Not yet,” I reply softly. But I need to fix that.
“You going to marry him?”
“Yes,” I answer with no hesitation. Because now I know there is none. Hesitation, I mean. I want to tell Asher everything. Everything. Barb Colloway was right. Forgiveness is freeing. Even through this horrible scenario, I feel lighter. Happier. Finally…finally ready to move on.
“I’m glad. I mean, I’m jealous as hell, but you deserve to be happy, Alyse.”
“Yes. I do.” I grin again and he laughs, squeezing me tighter. “Tell me about my mom.”
So he does. He talks and talks and talks until I can’t keep my eyes open anymore.