So Ty figured honesty was the best policy. Or maybe he just wanted to finally say it and mean it and not be afraid of the consequences. “The failure was in listening to you as long as I did.”
Ty saw it clear as day in his father’s eyes. That bone-deep desire to cause hurt and harm. But Ty was bigger than him these days, and the last time Dad had tried to hurt him—when he’d been twenty-one and doingokayin the independent league, but not good enough for dear old dad—Ty had fought back.
Bruce hadn’t tried since then. Not really. Even when he was drunk. He didn’t want the embarrassment of losing. Because at the end of the day, the only failure and quitter here was Bruce Wagner.
“Well, when you change your mind, and youwill, don’t expect my help. I’m washing my hands of you until you come to your senses.” Dad stalked away.
Ty watched him go. “I won’t change my mind. I’ve never expected your help,” he muttered, to himself since Dad was long gone.
It wasn’t the worst interaction they’d ever had. In fact, it was one of the more uneventful ones. He wanted to feel some relief, but he’d have to believe Dad was serious and wouldrememberwashing his hands of anything.
So it just left him feeling wrung out. Tapped out. Empty. Like up to this point, even though he’d promised himself he’d be done with baseball, he hadn’t been sure. There’d been some little seed of doubt he hadn’t been fully cognizant of.
Until Dad told him he’d have doubts, until Dad told him he’d change his mind, and it had squashed whatever was left. No, he’d never go back. Not now. Especially if it really meant his dad had finally washed his hands of him.
Good riddance.
Feeling a weird kind of grief over both things—or maybe the grief he hadn’t allowed himself to feel yet—Ty went back into the museum through the back door. He needed to make sure Lara was okay, but he needed to settle himself first. Put on some kind of…brave, unharmed front.
He stepped inside, moved to close the door but it…slammed. Which was weird because Ty hadn’t put that much force behind closing it. Or any. “Must be the wind,” he muttered.
Then he just stood there, staring at the door, rubbing at the pain in his chest. This was good. It wasn’t a scene, and Dad made it sound like he wouldn’t bother him again. He could just…live here in Wild Rose Point and not worry about it. He could just live his damn life and have no problems with Bruce Wagner.
He closed his eyes. It wasn’t just pain. It was too complicated for that, because there was a huge amount of relief twisted up in the feeling of loss. Acceptance.
He felt a hand move across the back of his neck in a soothing gesture. He wanted to lean into it, but he had to be strong. “Lara.” He turned.
There was no one there.
A chill swept through him as his eyes darted around the storage room. No one. Not a soul. The touch was just…a figment of his imagination. He shook his head, more than a little shaken.
Then he moved for the stairs and took them two at a time. He’d apologize to Lara, and then… Well, never go into the lower level again, maybe.
You’re being crazy. He knew it. Heknewit, but he didnotlook back. He crested the stairs on a full out jog.
He stumbled to a stop at the same time Lara came into view. She’d been pacing, but she stopped abruptly and turned away from him.
So he approached, ready to face this over anything going on downstairs. “I’m sorry. That’s on me. I knew he’d make a scene eventually. I just thought I had a few more days yet to cut it off at the pass.”
“You never have to apologize for him, Ty” Lara said, but he could hear the emotion in her voice. “He is not your fault.”
“Come on, Lara. Don’t cry on me.” It broke his heart. He reached her, turned her around by the shoulders to face him.
She tipped her chin up, defiant. “I’m not.” But her voice was squeaky and even if she’d managed to wipe away any sight of tears, her eyes were too shiny.
It killed him. She always tried to be strong for him, and he’d always felt a kind of guilt over that. Sure, his dad sucked. Okay, more than that. He was straight out abusive, but she’d lost her entire family when they’d been ineighth grade. Everything good taken away from her. Forever.
He didn’t need her to be strong for him. He just needed her to…to…something. “He said he won’t bother me again if I’m really quitting, and I am, so that should be it.”
She nodded wordlessly, but a tear trailed over onto her cheek and tracked down. He’d planned on giving her a reassuring hug, but it felt like someone was tugging his hands up to cup her face.
Which…somehow changed the tenor of things. Charged the air with something aside from sadness and pain. Her skin was soft, and the faint scent of her shampoo seemed to wrap around them. The thud of his heart a strange, echoing beat.
Her mouth was way too close to his. They shouldn’t be this close. He shouldn’t feel her breath against his mouth or watch her hair flutter at his. He shouldn’t brush away that tear with his thumb, because it meant he was still here, leaning a little closer in, so their noses actually brushed.
He shouldn’t be doing any of this, but there was the errant thought in his head that if he just knew what her lips felt like under his, he might know how to take his next breath. How to right all that failure his dad had talked about.
That there wouldn’tbefailure, because there would bethis.
