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“But that’s the thing—he wasn’t. At least, not then. I was on a bad path. All three of us were, but Ash and Zak had get-out-of-jail-free cards because of their last names. They had more chances to get right than I did. That night, sitting by myself in a jail cell, I realized if I stayed in town after graduation, the sheriff’s words would come true. Like a self-fulfilling prophecy. I’d end up hitting the revolving doors of county lock-up just because of who I was and where I came from and because nobody expected anything more from me. So, I stopped talking to Ash and Zak and enlisted in the Marines.”
“And then Darcy,” Sasha said. It was a matter-of-fact statement, not a question.
“Yeah, and then Darcy disappeared, and I thought, fuck, I’m too late.” He gave a rough laugh and shook his head. “The sheriff eyed me right from the beginning and I was sure he was going to railroad me into a life sentence. But he never made the arrest. I graduated, went off to join the Marines, and never planned to look back.”
“So why did you come back?”
Grief clamped a hand around his windpipe and made speech impossible for a long moment. “My mom. She had breast cancer and needed help. I was a mess myself, but—I came home for her. I started going to therapy for her. Got right for her and took care of her until the end.”
“Did she pass recently?”
He sucked in a sharp breath and wondered if it would always hurt to think about his mom. “March. She, uh, actually went into remission for a bit after I came home and was doing great—and then she fell and broke her wrist, and they found that sneaky shit had come back and spread to her bones. She was gone less than three weeks later. She was only fifty. She should’ve had so much life left.”
“I’m so sorry.” She picked up a napkin and tore off a small piece of it, then another and another until she had a little pile in front of her. “I lost my dad when I was seventeen, days before my eighteenth birthday.”
“Does it still hurt? Because I can’t think of Mom without my chest seizing up.” He thumped a fist to his chest. “Even the good memories hurt.”
Sasha reached for another napkin and started shredding it, too. “I know what you mean. My dad used to take me fishing with him every summer, and I loved it. But now, every time I see a fishing pole or a crab pot, all I feel is sad. It does get better, and the good memories become a little more sweet than bitter, but it never goes away. I still miss Dad every day.”
Donovan caught her hands mid-rip and set the napkin aside, then turned his palm toward hers and laced their fingers together. “Tell me about him. What was he like?”
“Oh.” She laughed softly. “He was larger than life, you know? He had an infectious laugh and really kind eyes, all wrinkled at the corners. His hair was all white—I never remember it any other color—and he wore it long, in a ponytail down his back, but when he woke up in the morning, it stood up every which way, like he’d been shocked in his sleep.”
“He sounds like a good man.”
“He was, but he had his demons, too. Like so many of the fishermen around here, he drank too much and partied too hard when he was on shore. But he never neglected me. I always came first when he was home, and he showered me with affection—I think because he felt guilty for being away for weeks at a time and leaving me with a nanny.”
It was similar to his and Darcy’s childhoods, he realized with a start. But also so very different because Sasha probably always looked forward to her dad’s return from the sea, while he and Darcy had always dreaded theirs. “Where was your mom?”
Sasha shrugged. “Who knows? She left when I was five or six. Dad was quite a bit older than her, and he made a good living—had his own fleet of boats—so she probably had visions of being a trophy wife when they got married and didn’t realize what she’d actually signed up for. He served in Vietnam and struggled with depression, PTSD, and suicidal thoughts. Eventually, Mom couldn’t take it anymore and moved to LA, chasing dreams of stardom, I guess. She just left and forgot she had a husband and daughter. Not that I think life would’ve been better with her there. She was young and didn’t want the responsibility. So, it was just Dad and me against the world.”
“That sounds nice.”
“It was for a while. He always told me I was his rock. I was what kept him going…” She trailed off and stared out the window at the parking lot. He felt her drifting too far away from him, back into dark memories, and squeezed her hand.
She looked at him and gave a sad smile. “But, in the end, even I wasn’t enough. He shot himself, and I’ve always felt guilty because I wasn’t there. I was supposed to have been there. He was on shore, and we’d made plans for the weekend, but I canceled at the last minute to go to San Francisco with a friend.”
Now he was starting to understand her obsessive need to plan everything. She thought she could mitigate heartache with a checklist.
“Angel,” he whispered and waited until she looked at him again. “If he was in that dark of a place, it would’ve happened whether you were there or not. You hit that edge, and it’s almost impossible to pull back from it.”
Her eyes swam with tears. “Have you ever been at that edge?”
He should lie. He knew he should, but found he couldn’t. Not to her. “Yeah. I was right there, staring over.”
“But you pulled back.”
Shit, he shouldn’t have said anything. He sighed heavily and stared hard at the table between them, unable to meet her eyes. “No, I didn’t. The gun misfired. I reloaded to try again, but the phone rang—Mom calling to tell me she was sick. Her cancer is the only reason I’m alive right now.”
“Donovan,” she said softly and tightened her grip on his hand. “Promise me, if you ever get to that edge again, you’ll talk to me. Or if not me, then Zak. Or Sawyer. Pierce. Veronica. Dr. Firestone. Even Ash—just someone. Promise me.”
He stared into her eyes and gratitude overwhelmed him in a rush. This woman, who had suffered so much herself, was offering him a lifeline.
“I promise,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I won’t keep it inside again.”
She studied him with a mix of concern and tenderness, then finally nodded. “Good. I believe you.”
Jesus, he loved her. He wanted to pull her across the table and kiss her, to feel her soft lips against his, to forget everything else in the world. But he knew if he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop, so he settled for raising her hand to his lips and kissing her knuckles instead.
