Loving You Always (10 page)

W
alsh stood on the steps of the
other
house where he had grown up. This one, a three-story townhome in TriBeCa, had stood empty since his parents’ divorce. Walsh had loved growing up in New York City, just as much, if not more than, he’d loved growing up in Rivermont.

Martin came down the stairs and into the foyer to face Walsh.

“Thanks for coming, son.”

Remembering what he was here for, Walsh reached inside his suit jacket pocket for the small bag he’d retrieved from Uncle James to pass on to his father.

“No, problem, Dad. From the estate.” Walsh extended the bag, watching his father’s features twist with pain before shuttering into the aloof mask he usually wore. “I was surprised you chose to meet here instead of the office.”

“Well, I wanted to talk to you about a few other things.” Martin almost reluctantly took the bag. “And this seemed like the best place to do it.”

Walsh considered the gleaming hardwood floors, the wide windows, the curving staircase. He had slid down that banister, much to his mother’s horror.

“I haven’t been here since…wow, since the divorce.”

“Me either, very much. I’m at the apartment most of the time. I’m considering selling.”

“Selling the house?” Walsh was surprised by the tight lurch of his stomach. “Why would you do that?”

“You just said it. You haven’t been here since the divorce, and neither have I. The better question is why haven’t I sold it yet.”

Martin glanced at the bag in his hands, denting his forehead with a frown. He turned his back to Walsh, walking over to look out the window to the street, running his index finger along the silk rope holding the ends of the velvet bag closed. Martin shook his head, clearing his throat and turning to glance at Walsh.

“I fucked up, Walsh.”

Walsh wanted to rush over and clamp his hand over his father’s mouth, stopping him from going any further, even though he longed to hear what he would disclose.

“Your mother.” Martin paused to swallow visibly. “Your mother was everything to me. I know you find that hard to believe considering that I…that I cheated on her, but she was. And I got so mixed up, so turned around. When I found out who her family was—and I know you won’t believe me, but I really didn’t know when we got married.”

“I believe you.” Walsh leaned against the wall, tracing a dent from one of his childhood misadventures.

“I worked my ass off. I had so much to prove, and all I ended up proving was what a dick I was.”

Walsh wished he could protest; wished he could tell his father not to be so hard on himself, but he’d never forget the sound of his mother’s sobs through these very walls. Walsh watched his father’s fingers tremble over the ropes that would reveal his mother’s final sentiments.

“You gonna open that?” Walsh asked. “I can, um, I can leave if you want some privacy.”

“She died in my arms, you know.” Martin ignored Walsh’s offer, still contemplating the street.

Walsh didn’t respond to his father’s comment. The intimacy he’d witnessed from the confines of his mother’s closet—those last moments in his father’s arms—was too much to speak of. He watched mutely as his father reached into the bag, pulling out a small band of gold. Simple. Unassuming. Practically tarnished, and yet his father’s hand shook as he held it.

“Shit,” his father breathed, blinking rapidly against the tears gathering in his eyes. “She really turned the knife with this one.”

Walsh hung back, feeling like such an intruder. He wanted to ask about the ring’s significance; to find out why his father seemed so undone by it, but the words seized in his throat. His father raised the ring to his lips reverently.

“It’s her wedding ring.”

Walsh remembered his mother’s ring as a huge diamond of at least a few carats, with an accompanying band of platinum. He was sure he’d never seen this one before.

“We basically eloped,” his father went on, not waiting for Walsh’s questions. “And I barely had a pot to piss in. This ring was fifty dollars. All she asked was that it not turn her finger green.”

Martin chuckled, a sound that creaked in his throat.

“Thought your Grandma Walsh would pass out when she got a load of this ring.” He gave a slow shake of his head. “I took one look at the ring on
her
finger and understood why. It was two years before I made my first million and got your mother the ring you probably remember. I hadn’t seen this one…well, not since then. Can’t believe she kept this cheap old thing.”

His father’s voice collapsed over the last word, a sob choking him. He laid his forehead against the windowpane, his face wreathed in tears. And Walsh understood. He knew what it felt like to believe the rest of your life stretched out in front of you like a barren land because the one you loved wouldn’t share it with you. Like you had missed a window you hadn’t known would close so soon, and would rue it all your life. Walsh promised himself he would not squander his second chance with Kerris.

“All those years.” Martin wiped his nose with the back of his suit jacket sleeve. “I worked so hard to prove myself to her and her family, to get all the things I thought her family expected, and she kept this. Of all the—”

He broke off again, this time burying his face in his big hands, tears sliding between his fingers. Walsh was at a loss. This was only the second time in his entire life he had seen his father unraveled, his composure completely absent. His arrogant assurance vanquished by this inconsolable grief.

Walsh touched his shoulder lightly, testing. Martin stiffened, seeming to remember that he was not alone. He pulled his face out of his hands, swiping his cheeks and struggling for a composure he just couldn’t seem to regain. His face crumpled again, his mouth opening on a soundless wail. Walsh wrapped his arms fully around his father, still prepared to straighten and pull away if necessary. But his father leaned against him, his tall, muscular frame shaking with the tears he could no longer hold back.

Martin finally pulled himself to his full height, peering at his son, searching his eyes. Was he looking for judgment? Any sign of lost respect? He wouldn’t find it. If anything, Walsh had finally found something in his father truly worthy of his respect.

“I kept this house”—Martin shoved his hands into his pockets and paced back toward the window and the now nearly darkened street—“because I thought one day we’d live here again together.”

Walsh almost laughed. Not from humor, but the dry, angry bark of a child needlessly cheated of so much. His parents had been stubborn, blind, and madly in love. And had never been able to get their shit together long enough to reconcile.

“You had a funny way of showing it,” Walsh said before he could stop himself, hating the wince his words caused on his father’s face. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

“No, you’re right. She had her charities and I had my business and we just let the years go by.”

“Was that all?” Walsh’s voice hardened without his consent. “You don’t think it had anything to do with your infidelity?”

His father looked back at Walsh, a patina of shame coating his eyes.

“I guess I have to take credit for that. That thing in you that kicks when someone’s down.”

“I’m sorry.” Walsh exhaled the anger that had dogged him for years whenever he was around his father. “I just wish things could have been different.”

“No, you’re right. It was only the one time, but she couldn’t forgive me and I couldn’t set my pride aside long enough to beg her to.” Martin pulled the small bag back out, stroking the rope. “I have to live the rest of my life knowing I could have had your mother back, that she loved me and that I loved her, and we didn’t try.”

Martin rearranged his features with efficiency back into their customary impassivity.

“So, this house has to go. I just wanted you to know.”

“It doesn’t feel right.” Walsh rubbed the toe of his shoe over a nick in the hardwood floor.

“From a purely business perspective, I’d get a massive return.” Martin ran his eyes over the expensive paneling and the high ceilings. “When we moved here, TriBeCa hadn’t exploded the way it has now. It’s gone up, down, and back up again since we bought it.”

“But it’s not purely business. You held on to this house all these years, saving it for when Mom would come back. You just cried your eyes out over a fifty-dollar ring. I know your secret now, Dad. You’re sentimental.”

“Don’t be fooled.” Martin crooked his mouth to one side, shifting his legs into his buccaneer’s stance. “I don’t have much time for sentiment right now. I have to focus on wrapping up our friend the sheikh.”

Walsh went on high alert at the mention of the account he’d abandoned to remain near Kerris after the accident.

“I thought Miller was sewing that up.”

“He missed a stitch or two.” A hint of contempt deepened Martin’s voice. “That boy. He’s brilliant, and hungry, but sometimes he’s so busy measuring his own dick he misses the little things.”

“His dick
is
a little thing.” Walsh amused himself with his own crassness, and was surprised when his father laughed aloud, slapping him on the back.

“That’s pretty good,” Martin said, still smiling. “Look, I’ll hold off on selling the house, and maybe you should come with me. You know Kassim better than all of us now, and he likes you. He asked me how your friend was doing last time I spoke to him. I didn’t know you’d hijacked his jet to fly to Rivermont.”

“Yeah, and in the middle of the night. Looking back, I can’t believe my own balls on that one.”

“Guess you get those from me, too.” Martin’s face was straight, but his eyes held a crooked twinkle.

Walsh laughed, trying to remember when he and his father had joked this much. Maybe never.

“So what do you say?” Martin persisted. “You coming to Saudi or what?”

“Why not?” Walsh shrugged one broad shoulder. “Beats moping around the city.”

“What do you have to mope about?”

“Nothing, it’s just…well, Cam and Kerris are getting a divorce.”

“Seems like that would be cause for celebration.” A puzzled frown sketched Martin’s forehead.

“I don’t feel much like celebrating since she won’t see me.” Walsh sat on a step of the staircase. “I’m giving her a year.”

“A year? She’s a beautiful girl. You think the men in Rivermont are blind, son?”

“Don’t remind me.” Walsh closed his eyes in now-familiar agony. “I keep imagining some bastard getting next to her while I sit back giving her ‘space’ like a neutered pet.”

“So what gives? It’s not like you to lay back.”

“North Carolina requires a yearlong separation, but then the divorce will be processed pretty quickly.” Walsh bounced his feet on the stair beneath him, allowing his own words to excite him. “She’s been through a lot, not just recently, but a lifetime of crap. She wants time to work on herself. And I, like a lovesick idiot, am actually giving it to her. For the last month, her friend Mama Jess has been updating me. If it weren’t for her, I’d be down there screwing this all up.”

“And you’re sure waiting is the best course of action?”

“Right now, it’s the only course of action,” Walsh said through tight lips, leaning his elbows back on the step behind him. “But I feel like a bull at a rodeo, locked behind the fence.”

“A bull, huh?” Martin laughed. “Don’t let Kassim hear that. I’m sure he’d like to put you out to stud. If we go to Saudi Arabia, he’ll have plenty of Arabian ass to flash at you.”

“I don’t want anyone else.” Walsh was sure that his father, and just about every man he’d meet on the street, wouldn’t understand. His father had loved his mother until the day she died, but Martin hadn’t been celibate for the last fifteen years.

“And you’re not frustrated?”

“Only for her.” Walsh shifted with a little discomfort, aroused by the mere memory of Kerris. Her taste. Her scent. The feel of her pressed and yielding against him. “I’ll wait a year.”

“And after that?”

“I’ll win her,” Walsh said, his natural self-assurance asserting itself.

“And if she doesn’t want to be ‘won’?”

“Remember what you told me I’d have to do if Merrist didn’t cooperate when we were negotiating that merger a while back?”

“Hostile takeover,” his father said, grinning widely.

“Exactly.”

K
erris glanced around the crowded hotel ballroom, decorated for the Walsh Foundation’s Christmas party. She couldn’t help but remember the last time she’d been in this room. She had been honored as Scholar of the Year that night. It seemed in some ways like yesterday, and in some ways like an entirely different lifetime, one in which she and Cam had been little more than friends and not quite lovers, unsuspecting of the beautiful bomb poised to drop in the middle of their little idyll.

Walsh.

She had met Walsh here. She’d thought of him as a mountain that night—physically imposing and with more presence than she’d ever encountered in one man. She’d thought him a prince, and she had been right. Her chest tightened as her mind sketched her last impression of him four months ago, stretched out so carefully and taking up most of the hospital bed. Holding her as closely as he dared with her so injured, absorbing her tears and her pain like a loving sponge. It had taken all of her willpower not to call him when Mama Jess confirmed that he had indeed come, as she had known he would.

She never allowed her mind to stray much further than the next day. That’s how she’d gotten through those first miserable weeks without Cam and without Walsh, an arm and a leg plastered, and her heart like broken glass, myriad and shattered. That’s how she’d gotten through two months of rehab once the casts were off. That’s how she got through every morning she woke up, wondering what Amalie would be doing by now.

This would have been her baby’s first Christmas. Kerris had always imagined decorating a home for the holidays. A home filled with children, gingerbread, collard greens, and mistletoe and every tradition she could cram into the holiday season.

Kerris always manned a face painting and crafts table for the kids for the holiday event. She grinned, wondering how many reindeer and Santa Claus faces she’d paint before the night was over.

An hour later, Kerris was finishing a Rudolph nose on a little brown-faced cherub when she sensed someone standing nearby. She looked up, the ready smile on her face freezing when her eyes met Jo’s. She looked just beyond Jo’s shoulder, hoping to see at least one child waiting, but unfortunately there was a lull. Kerris dropped a quick kiss on the little girl’s painted cheek before sending her on her way.

“Jo, hi.” Kerris wiped the last traces of paint from her hands. “How are you?”

“I’m good. I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”

“Haven’t missed one since junior year.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Kerris searched for neutral things they could discuss. Things that didn’t involve Walsh or Cam.

“Thanks for getting the clothes to us.”

Ms. Kris had left Déjà Vu more than half her expansive wardrobe. Jo had handed over each item like it was a treasure. Meredith had “curated” all the clothes, which were so much finer than anything else the shop carried.

“No problem.” Jo grinned and gave a subtle shake of her head. “That Meredith is something else.”

Meredith and Jo had actually become friends through the process. The incongruity of that friendship made Kerris smile.

Jo plunged into the silence Kerris wasn’t sure how to fill.

“It’s the first Christmas without Aunt Kris. Can’t believe she’s been gone almost a year now.” Jo looked around the brightly decorated room. “It’s been tough.”

“I’m sure. I miss her, and I can only imagine how hard it’s been for the family.”

Jo’s hair had grown out of the sharp bob she typically maintained. As regal as ever, she looked even more like Kristeene with the softer hairstyle. Kerris hoped Jo would discover as much of Kristeene’s likeness inside as she wore on her lovely face and tall, lithe body.

“Daddy and I don’t even want to be in the house for Christmas.” Jo twisted a ring on her middle finger that Kerris recognized as one Kristeene had often worn. “Thanksgiving was…well, it just wasn’t the same. I think we’re going to Kenya for Christmas with Walsh and Uncle Martin.”

“Your Uncle Martin is going to Kenya for Christmas?” Kerris didn’t even try to hide her surprise.

“If you can believe it, he and Walsh have been globetrotting together.” Jo shook her head, a wry smile tweaking her full mouth. “They’ve spent the last few months in Saudi Arabia and Hong Kong. It’s probably the most time they’ve spent together in…well, ever. And somehow Walsh convinced Uncle Martin to spend Christmas with him at our Kenyan orphanage.”

“That’s great.” Kerris shifted on the stool she’d been glued to for the last hour. “I like Mr. Bennett.”

“You are definitely in the minority.” Jo hesitated before pulling up one of the small red chairs the kids had been sitting in. “What exactly did you like about him?”

“That he brought Walsh home when no one else could.” Kerris braced herself for the judgment she anticipated in Jo’s eyes.

Jo looked back at her, the easy smile disappearing.

“Have you spoken to Walsh?” Jo toyed with a small pot of glitter, her tone neutral.

“No, not at all.” Kerris rose to straighten her paints and crafts materials, afraid of where this could take them.

“What about Cam?”

Kerris’s movements slowed until she stood completely still. She studied her hands, poised over the craft debris, noting the paler band of skin where her wedding ring had rested.

“No, not at all.” Kerris’s voice pitched low, diving with her heart at the thought of her last conversation with Cam. “Have you?”

“We talk every couple of weeks. He’s doing well. Loves Paris. Loves the Sorbonne.”

“He deserves this shot.” Kerris forced herself to move again, swiping a pile of glitter into her cupped palm and then into the trash. “He’s a brilliant artist.”

“Always has been. I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you two.”

Kerris raised frank eyes to Jo’s face. “Are you really?”

“Of course.” Jo sat up straighter in her little chair. “Why would you think differently?”

“It’s no secret you resented me, Jo. I know you felt like I tore up Walsh and Cam’s friendship.”

“You did.” Not a muscle in Jo’s face even twitched when she said it. Her face was as certain as her voice.

“Yeah, I did.” Kerris settled back onto the stool, forcing herself to face Jo like she was facing her mistakes. “You don’t have to condemn me. I feel guilty enough on my own.”

“Cam was crazy about you, Kerris.” Jo chewed a corner of her bottom lip. “Did you ever love him? Or was it always Walsh?”

“Those are two separate issues, Jo, believe it or not.” Kerris pulled out the elastic holding her hair back from her face, dropping her head until the hair hid her expression before looking back up. “Yes, I did love Cam. And, yes, in some ways, it was always Walsh. I loved Cam, just not the way he deserved to be loved. Not as a wife should love her husband, and it was unfair of me to use him the way I did.”

“Use him?” Jo pulled her fine brows together. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a long story. Maybe once I’ve figured it all out myself, I’ll tell you about it.”

“And Walsh? Are you sorting things out with him, too?”

Kerris stared back at Walsh’s cousin, unsure of how to answer.

“My divorce isn’t even final. I’m not thinking of romance with anyone. And you?” Kerris hoped to divert the conversation away from the sordid little triangle that had been her relationship with Walsh and Cam. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Me? No, I’ve been too busy. Aunt Kris left a huge hole in the foundation leadership, and I’ve had to step in and assume some of her responsibilities.”

“That’s wonderful, Jo. Kristeene would be so proud.”

Jo nodded, glancing down at her lap before looking back up, her face less guarded than Kerris was used to seeing it.

“You know, this is all I’ve ever known. The foundation and what we do. I wasn’t with a lot of kids my age growing up. By seven years old, I was already traveling with Aunt Kris.” A small smile played around Jo’s mouth, half pain, half humor. “One year we traveled the world together. She kept me out of school and tutored me herself. We went to Paris and Milan.”

Jo looked down at her lap, stroking Kristeene’s ring on her finger.

“We went to Uganda and Ethiopia. We held babies living in deplorable conditions in Chinese orphanages. Who cared about whatever I was missing with kids my age. I got a whole year of that. With her.” Jo glanced up at Kerris, and it was like Kristeene was alive in her eyes. “That’s who raised me. That’s who raised Walsh. And in many ways, that’s who raised Cam. She made us a family.”

The words ambushed Kerris. She hadn’t seen this coming and didn’t want to go there with Jo, but insistence firmed itself on the other woman’s face.

“They were all I had. My mother died before I knew her, but I had this incredible woman and this incredible unit. And for a while, I felt like you ruined that.”

Kerris disciplined her mouth, refusing to let it tremble, denying the tears burning in her throat.

“The first time they met at camp, Walsh and Cam fought. Aunt Kris had to break it up. I never saw them fight again.” Jo’s silvery eyes dulled. “But the last time I saw them together, they were both bloody, fighting over you.”

“They fought?”

“Yeah, they fought.” Jo glanced around the room, at the festivity that continued even while they spoke. “I wanted to hate you, but I can’t. Walsh loves you. Aunt Kris loved you.”

Pain twitched Jo’s face.

“Cam loves you.”

That look when Jo said Cam’s name was so completely different from anything else, Kerris couldn’t help but study the other woman an extra moment or two. The lines of Jo’s face, usually guarded and disciplined, softened. She bit her bottom lip and ran her palms along the silk of the skirt she wore. She closed her eyes briefly, and Kerris could see Jo clamp the emotion welling up to the surface.

“Jo, you love Cam, don’t you?”

For a moment Kerris was sure Jo would deny it, but maybe her face was too tired to hide the truth anymore.

“Yeah, I love him.” Jo stood up, the glance she ran over Kerris close to a dismissal. “And you didn’t. You promised me on your wedding day that you’d take care of him. You told me you loved him. You lied to me.”

In the face of the kind of selfless love Kerris read for Cam in Jo’s eyes, there was no defense for how she had abused the other woman’s trust. She could explain that she had never felt good enough for Walsh. Could say she had assumed he’d marry Sofie. Could even say Cam had known what he was getting into. But none of that would do any good. So she said the only thing that might.

“Jo, I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?”

Jo towered over Kerris with her height and her will. Just when Kerris thought Jo might haul off and slap her, her face conceded the kind of grin they hadn’t shared in a long time.

“Get things fixed between my boys.” Jo offered an uncharacteristic wink. “And I’ll think about it.”