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Kate felt strangely melancholy, lying in her old bed, in her old room, with its decorations still left over from her childhood. She didn’t want to think that this was the last time she’d be sleeping here, a door away from Garrett. She didn’t want to think it’d be the last birthday she spent with him and that some other guy she’d meet in Florida, a cabana boy or whatever, would be the one she’d settle down with.
She’d been barely seven when she buried her dad, and in that strange reflective moment when a grieving child gains the maturity of an old person, Kate had realized that her chance to be loved, to belong to something and someone, was now buried six feet under, in a smooth wood coffin.
She’d never blamed Garrett for anything, at least not at first.
She hadn’t been told what had happened in the beginning. She’d only learned that two men had been murdered and the killers had been caught and would spend their lives behind bars. Which had seemed like such an easy punishment, compared to how her father and Garrett’s had lost their lives. Garrett and his brothers had grieved their father, and Kate and Molly had quietly grieved their own. But then she had overheard a conversation Garrett’s mother had had with the police, and Kate had found out what really happened. She had felt betrayed, kept from the truth by their whispers. Garrett’s betrayal had hurt most of all.
She’d always had a soft spot for that dark-haired boy, and she’d felt like he hadn’t even cared enough for her to tell her the truth. That her father had not died to save his dad. He had died to save Garrett. She’d rushed up to him one day and told him he should be ashamed of himself. She’d asked him how he could stand there with that poker face, and laugh, and try to pretend nothing had happened, when it had been his fault! Her father had died protecting Garrett from the gunshots. All because Garrett hadn’t run for cover when he should have. She’d been angry because they’d all lied to her, to her and poor innocent Molly, who was merely three and lonely. But she had been especially angry at Garrett.
She’d regretted the words instantly, though, when she’d seen the way his neck had gone red, and his fisted hands had trembled at his sides, and his eyes had gone dead like she’d just delivered the last blow that he’d needed to join the two men down under.
The death wish the boy had developed afterward had alarmed the family to such an extent that the Gage matron had asked Kate to please talk to him. Horribly remorseful, Kate had approached him one day and apologized. She’d realized that her father would have done that for anyone, which was true. No matter how painful it had been to speak, she’d said that it had been his job, and he had done it well. He was a hero. Her hero, and now he was gone.
Garrett had listened gravely, said nothing for long moments, and Kate had felt a new, piercing sense of loss when she realized in fear that she and Garrett would never be friends again. They would never be able to cope with this huge loss and guilt again.
“I wish it had been me.”
“No! No!” She’d suddenly hated herself for having planted this in his head, for not coping well with this strange anger and neediness inside her. Maybe she’d been so angry because all she’d wanted was for someone to put his arms around her and Molly and say it would be okay, even if it was a lie and it would never be okay.
But Garrett had tossed a small twig aside, and gazed down at her hand like he’d wanted to take it. She hadn’t known i
f she wanted him to hold it or not, but when he had, a current had rushed up her arm as if the tips of her fingers where he touched her had been struck by lightning.
“I’m gonna be your hero now,” he’d said.
And he was.
He’d protected her his entire life, from anything and everything. He’d become not only her hero...but the only man she’d ever wanted.
* * *
He could feel Kate in the house somehow.
Of course his mother wouldn’t let her drive so late back to her apartment alone. Garrett also had an apartment of his own in a newer neighborhood, but tonight he’d also planned to stay in his old room so he could get blissfully inebriated without having to drive. And yet even after all the wine he’d drunk, he didn’t feel so high.
The news of Kate’s plans to move had sobered him.
Now he lay in bed with just a little buzz to scramble his brain, not enough to numb his thoughts. He couldn’t stop thinking about her.
He might as well have been eighteen again, staring at the ceiling, sleepless with the knowledge that Kate slept nearby. Except now, Molly no longer slept in Kate’s same room, and Kate wasn’t a teenager anymore. Neither was Garrett.
With the vivid imagination of a man, he imagined her red hair fanning out against the white pillow, and the mere thought of her in bed caused his muscles to tighten.
His chest became heavy as he grappled with the same feelings of guilt and solitude that he always did when he thought of her.
Garrett had also denied little Molly of a father. But Molly had never looked at him with resentment. She had never really looked at him like she wanted something from him, like Kate did.
Sometimes, when he got drunk and reflective, he wondered if that night had never happened, would things have been different for him? He might have been happier, like his younger brother. He could have also waited until Kate was the right age, and then, if there had been any hint of her having any special feelings for him, he might have let himself feel them back for her. But it was pointless to imagine it. Pointless torture and torment. Because that night had happened, and Garrett could still feel the dank air, hear the gunshots and remember it as if it had happened less than twenty-four hours ago.
Yeah, he remembered exactly how those gunshots had exploded so close to him, how they’d burst between the buildings of downtown San Antonio like an echo. He remembered his father’s grip—which had been firm on Garrett as he guided him into the concert entrance—and how suddenly he’d jerked at his side and his fingers had let go. His father had crashed like a deadweight to the asphalt.
“Dad?” Garrett had said, paralyzed in confusion for a second, only to be instantly shoved aside by Dave Devaney, whose expression clearly told Garrett he’d already figured out what was going on.
“Get down—run!” the man had shouted, reaching for the weapon Garrett knew he carried inside his jacket. But Garrett could hear his father sputtering, struggling to breathe, and he had been paralyzed for a stunned moment. The world could have been crashing over him. As far as he’d known, it had been. But all he had been conscious of was his father. In the middle of the street, clutching his chest, where blood spurted through his open fingers like a fountain.
