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Frustration steamed out of her ears. She opened her mouth, shut it, shook her head, and tried again. "Your brother had a bad experience with a specific woman--not everyone in the cosmetology world. How would you feel if I told you a rocket scientist--"
"Aerospace engineer."
"--aerospace engineer cheated on me and now I'd never even speak with anyone involved in the industry? Or anyone who taught physics? How would that make you feel to be judged right away without being assessed on your individual ethics?"
She pictured his mind completing a series of clicks as he processed the information. "I wouldn't like it."
"Exactly. A whole group shouldn't be punished for one person's wrong deeds."
"Agreed. It's just--" He broke off and sipped his tea. She waited, sensing something bigger beyond the unsaid words.
"What?"
"I don't want to hurt my brother. If I came home with a cosmetologis
t, it may bring up bad memories."
"Maybe he needs to work through it. You can't let your brother's issues keep you from opportunities that may work for you. That's not fair to anyone."
"I guess."
He drank his tea and grew pensive. She studied the graceful planes of his face and serious eyes while he pondered the liquid in his mug. It was a good time to back off, partly to keep her resolution to put some distance between them. She'd discovered his true motives, and though it didn't make what he had done right, she understood more now. The man needed major socialization, and she knew exactly what to do about it. But for now, the best thing was to leave. Pay for the coffee, wish him good night, and go home. They'd meet for the next round in the clear day with barriers resurrected.
Ah, hell. There was pain in his eyes, and her heart couldn't take it. "How old were you when your mom left?" she asked.
Most people wouldn't respond. Nate just told the truth. "Ten. I knew she was unhappy, because she cried a lot, and fought with my dad. My father worked construction like my brother, so we didn't have much. Mom liked pretty things. Clothes, jewelry, parties. She tried to drag Dad out a lot, but he only wanted to stay home in front of the television." He shrugged as if it didn't matter. Kennedy knew different. "I got up in the morning and she had her bags packed. Made me breakfast, and told me she was going on a trip for a while. Kissed my forehead. I was in a mood so I grumbled something at her and left for school. I never saw her again."
Her stomach tightened. She never understood why there was so much cruelty in the world, and why so many bad things happened to good people. "You don't blame yourself, do you?"
"Nah, she had one foot out the door a long time ago. I just regret not saying anything heartfelt or meaningful when I had the chance. My last memory of her is bacon and eggs frying, her black suitcase on the floor, and my own pissed-off resentment of having to go through another crappy school day while she goes off having fun."
"Your father didn't handle it well, I take it?"
"He had some sort of breakdown. Just withdrew into himself, became bitter, and forgot he had two sons left. We rarely saw him."
"Yeah," she said softly. "That pretty much sucks."
His lips quirked upward. "Good thing Arilyn is the counselor."
"Good thing. Did you ever think of trying to find your mom?"
"Don't want to. Connor and I don't need anyone else. That's why he warns me not to fall long term for a beautiful woman. Get in and get out, he says. He's afraid I'll get played and end up with someone like Mom."
The loose ends suddenly came together and created an intricate pattern that made sense. She swallowed past the tightness in her throat and the sudden urge to share. His loneliness emanated from him in waves, but the strength of his core touched her deep. Almost as if her soul-mate sat right across from her, waiting for her to reach across, take his hands, and tell him it would all be okay.
Fear slammed into her gut like a sucker punch, stealing her breath. What was she thinking? What was she doing? He was right: this was Arilyn's territory, and she had no right to strip him bare with no intention of helping or soothing his pain. Panic nipped at her like a puppy at her ankles. The air in the diner grew thick and stifling.
She had to go.
"Nate, I'm so sorry, I forgot I have to meet Kate tonight and I'm late."
"That's okay. Go ahead." Nate stayed sitting at the table, staring down unseeingly at his hands gripping his steaming mug.
She stood up, grabbed her Dooney & Bourke purse, and hesitated. "You deserve someone beautiful inside and out. And I promise you, I'm going to find her."
Kennedy rushed out the door. The word screamed in her mind like a mantra, roaring in her ears.
Coward.
NATE PAUSED AND RELISHED the moment. The first strong sign of spring had finally rolled in, and the air was ripe with promise. The mad sounds of chirping birds drifted in the breeze, and the trees sprouted rich and green from the bare bones of the nasty March madness. The west course of Westchester Country Club was one of his all-time favorites. Designed by Walter Travis, the 71 par course held an array of courses that varied in difficulty. Blind spots amid the wooded areas challenged a golfer in all ways, and four of the holes were rated most difficult on the PGA tours.
The rolling hills spread out in front of him in perfect manicured beauty. A few scattered golf carts were parked, but since it was a midweek morning, everyone was pretty much at work, stuck behind desks, and staring out the window, wishing for freedom.
When he took the job at Sector Space X, he insisted on Wednesday mornings off for this purpose. He wasn't a clock puncher, since depending on the project or where his head was, he could go for endless hours without a bathroom break or even getting up from his seat. It all balanced out in the end, and the company agreed with no problem. Wednesday mornings belonged to him.
And golf.
Nate didn't remember the first time he discovered his deep love and respect for the game. Connor was always into more physical sports, and it wasn't as if he knew anyone who golfed who could show him the game. He'd watched a few tournaments on television, and in college, he followed some guys to a par 3 to hit some balls and learn basic mechanics. Before long, he was hooked, and dedicated his spare time to reading up on the art of the swing and discovering how his knowledge of physics could be used to create the perfect swing. He spent hours with computer simulations using exacting formulas to match his body type to the ultimate efficient swing. He was a bit obsessed and enjoyed figuring out the unique dynamics of a person's motion in order to hit the sweet spot and natural stance to create an almost professional-level game.
It was a game of science, luck, and skill. It was elegant in all ways, from the beauty and grace of the ball soaring through the air to the gorgeous vivid scenery in the background. It honored discipline, practice, and precision. Each time he played, he found a new element to learn, tweak, or admire.
He couldn't wait to get Kennedy here.
Her image drifted in front of him. She knew science. Didn't seem bored and actually understood the basic philosophies. There was a depth behind her gorgeous face he wished he had permission to excavate.
It had taken the willpower of Peter the Apostle not to kiss her the other night. Her face reflected an open, happy, beautiful woman who twisted his insides and challenged his brain. For one sweet second, she had actually seemed interested in their conversation, and, more important, in him. Her lips had parted, her breath escaped in a rush, and her entire body softened. He smelled her excitement, that delicious musky, spicy scent that roared in his blood and made him crazed to drag her into his bedroom and explore every naked, wet, hot inch of her. Nate was afraid he might die if he didn't get another chance to slide his tongue between her lips and drink her essence. Instead, he held back, aware she wasn't interested in him for longer than a stolen kiss, and he needed his head in the game.
He told her things about himself last night he'd never confessed to anyone. Funny, each time he saw her they seemed to grow closer, like an invisible bond wrapping them in a delicate spider web. But he doubted he'd get another opportunity. She had run out like a politician scenting a photo op and never glanced back. He needed to focus. Because he believed that his brother was right about one thing.
Beautiful women like Kennedy Ashe would never be satisfied with him. Not long term.
Nate bit back a wimpy sigh and turned his attention to his game. He missed his normal group, but they had moved their game to Tuesday afternoons, and he had to quit. Still, he enjoyed the meditative silence of the air, the sun, and the smack of the ball. He set up at the tee box, took some practice swings, computed the angle of the hill, the tilt of ground, and analyzed the distance. He used the eight iron for his approach shot, and the slice of the iron whipped clean and true. The ball flew in a perfect trajectory and landed on the green a few inches from the hole. One perfect putt later and he sank the sucker.
Nate had refused a caddy toda
y, so he gathered his clubs and headed to the second tee. Lost in his thoughts, he suddenly realized a golf ball was winging through the air toward his head. The voice came a few seconds too late.
"Fuck! Three! I mean, fore. Ah, forget it, just get out of the way, man!"
Nate ducked just in time. A young man jogged over and stopped short. His face reflected a combination of disgust and confusion while he watched the ball roll drunkenly into one of the hazards and plop in the sand pit completely separate from the goal.
Nate shook his head. "Bad luck. Sorry."
The man gazed over the hill toward the sunken ball. "Hope I didn't mess up your game. Umm, is that a decent shot, though? It's kind of close to the hole."
Nate laughed and then realized the guy wasn't joking. "Oh, no that's a terrible shot. You went completely off the green to a different fairway. You're on the first hole, right? So you were aiming for over there." He pointed in the opposite direction.
The man's shoulders dropped. "Yeah, this is never gonna happen in this lifetime. Thanks a lot." He trudged away, but something about his frustration called to Nate. An interesting tattoo snaked up the man's neck and curled around his ear. The guy seemed like someone he imagined Kennedy would go for--cool and edgy in a way that could never be taught. Just owned.
Nate fought off the temporary depression. "Hey. Do you need some help? You can join me for a few holes, and I can give you some pointers."
The guy stopped and turned. "Nah, one thing I learned is that the people here take golf seriously. I don't want to mess up your day with my pre-K education. I meant to take some lessons, but my schedule's insane. Figured I'd try the immersion method, but that's not working."
Nate smiled. He liked this guy's confidence and willingness to look like an idiot in pursuit of knowledge. Most men had too big of an ego to just walk on a golf course without proper training. Especially the West course, which was obviously way out of his league. "Nah, it's slow today and I'm just playing around. I don't mind."
His blue eyes were startling direct. Nate sensed he was being carefully assessed on a whole new level. "Okay. If you're sure."
"Grab your clubs and I'll wait here for you."
"What clubs? I only brought this one."
A deep belly laugh burst from Nate's lips. He hoped the guy didn't think he was laughing at him, but as if he sensed the ridiculousness of the answer, his lips curved upward and he joined in. "Yeah, I know. Lame, huh?"
