Fears and Scars (3 page)

T
his can’t be right
is
the only thought that has occupied my mind for the past couple of hours that I’ve been aimlessly walking the streets.

The cold wind bites into my cheeks, and I slip my hands into the pockets of my warm, wool coat.

Noticing the park to my right, I consider going there. Walking without direction doesn’t give me the peace I crave, maybe sitting will help me think. I quickly cross the street and go straight to the nearest bench. My mind is hazy yet completely clear. I pull my scarf closer to my neck and try to process everything that happened back in the apartment.

David was talking crazy and I slapped him. Shit, I slapped him across the face so hard my hand still stings. Why did I do that? Because he was a jerk! He deserved it after he … No. No time to think about David right now. I need to concentrate.

I remember seeing Ryan ready to beat my ex to death, but I was too busy to care. Everything in me screamed for me to run, to go somewhere far way.

Well, that didn’t help, did it?

It’s cold and lonely here, and I’m not any closer to understanding what happened. Maybe I’m in shock. Is this how it feels to be in shock? But I’m calm. I’m super calm, actually.

I know what my problem is—I can’t concentrate. I’m missing something important, something crucial.

This is about your parents. They adopted you, Ellie.

David’s words make me shiver, or maybe it’s the cold wind. Either way, this can’t be right. I would’ve known. I may be naïve in a lot things, but how does a person miss something like that?

No way in hell this is right. I look like my dad, for Christ’s sake. I have his dark blond hair. I search my brain but no other similarities come to mind. Not every kid is a carbon copy of their parents.

My blood type is O-positive just like my mom. Then again, that’s the most common blood type.

Have I ever seen a picture of Mom pregnant? No. But I remember Mom telling me I kicked like a madman in her belly all the time. There must be some kind of mistake. But David said Ryan knew, and Ryan confirmed it, so maybe … ? Even in the worst case scenario—if I didn’t come out of my mom’s womb—nothing should change for me. It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. If my parents didn’t tell me, it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t …

I want Ryan. I know he’s nearby. He would never let me walk alone at night in this neighborhood. I look around, and sure enough, he’s less than twelve feet away, looking my way. I stand up and start walking in his direction.

“Liz,” falls from his lips when I’m a few steps away from him. His eyes trace my face, searching. He seems anxious, afraid even, not sure how to treat me, and I don’t like it. I don’t want to be treated like a China doll.

“Just … just hug me, Ryan.”

Within a heartbeat, he pulls me to him. His strong arms wrapped around me, his chin resting on my head, and my cheek settled on his firm chest makes everything better. I nuzzle my face into his coat and hold on tight, grateful he’s here.

There’s no one else I’d rather face this new struggle with.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he murmurs into my hair and blows out a deep breath.

“I’m okay. I just needed some time. I don’t know how to digest everything,” I mumble into his chest, not ready to leave his arms yet.

“I know I should have told you a long time ago. I didn’t know how. All this time I looked for some answers for you. Last week I called Samuel Young to ask if your parents left behind anything related to your adoption. I thought some kind of letter from them might soften the blow, but he didn’t have anything like that. The truth is, I couldn’t confess without hurting you, and you know that’s the last thing I ever want to do.”

No wonder I fall in love with this man more and more daily. Am I angry with him for hiding this from me? No. At least, not now. I must be in shock after all.

I put my hand on his cheek and try to reassure him. “I know. It’s okay.”

“You aren’t mad at me?” He sounds as surprised at my reaction as I am.

“No. I get it. I really do. Can you take me home?”

“Of course.”

While he’s busy calling the driver, I regard the park again. It’s dark and cold, and all I want is to feel warm.

When Ryan takes my hand in his and we head toward the street, I feel a tug in my chest. “There was this park back in Seattle where I liked to go to think or to shoot some pictures. Anyway, I guess I came here looking for some peace.”

“But it’s not the same, is it?”

I exhale. “It’s not.”

Nothing is the same.

“I’m so sorry, baby.”

I squeeze his hand and we walk in silence to the car. With every step, I try to chase away the feeling that nothing will ever be the same again after tonight.

A
s soon as
we get inside the car, I gather Liz to me and wrap my arms around her. I have no idea how to act or what to do to make her feel better.

It should feel like a hundred-pound weight has been lifted from my chest, but I don’t feel freed. I failed her again. She’s had enough pain for a lifetime; I didn’t protect her from experiencing more.

“This is my peace.” Liz’s words are so quiet I barely hear them. She raises her head from my chest and stares into my eyes. “You’re my peace, Ryan. I don’t need to go looking for some place. I just need you,” she says, loud and sure.

God, she’s just too much. Too good to me. I’ve been hiding things from her this whole time, yet here she is forgiving me, loving me, always so damn selfless.

I need to become the man she deserves, and soon.

“Liz, I love you so much. I’m here. Whatever, whenever you need. I’m here. And I planned to tell you, please, believe me. I really did, but I just knew you would be hurt … maybe I was subconsciously postponing that moment.”

She nods, lays her head back on my chest, and stays quiet for the rest of our trip to the hotel. I don’t think returning to the apartment would be good for her right now, plus I don’t know where that bastard David is. His days are so fucking numbered.

As soon as we step inside our suite, Snow greets us with happy meows. Liz picks him up and smooches him. My girl is glad to see the cat she found in Paris. Snow is now no longer an abandoned kitten fighting for his life. No, he is a well-fed pain in my ass who both Liz and I love to pieces.

When Liz refused to move into my hotel suite last fall, we tried taking Snow with us whenever we alternated between the two places, but after a few weeks, we agreed he needed a permanent place. And since I work from home, the choice was a no-brainer.

As I walk farther into the room, I notice a lamp shade lying on the floor near the couch and the body of the lamp a few feet away. It’s Snow’s third victim this month. For some reason he hates those things.

“You were right to tell me to remove the light bulb,” I tell Liz, picking up the pieces of the poor lamp from the floor.

“You didn’t like that one either, did you?” she asks him. “I think he has a particular taste in décor that we can’t crack.”

“Ah,” I mumble. If it were up to me, I would have taught him manners a long time ago. Shit, who am I kidding? This cat has me wrapped around his little paw. “Sweetheart, you’ve spent hours in the cold, let me start you a bath.”

She gives me one of those soft smiles I love so much. “Always so sweet and eager to take care of me, but I’d better just take a shower.” Seeing my frown, she adds, “A hot shower. Together?”

Not a good idea since my dick immediately stirs in my pants volunteering to warm her up, but she seems hopeful and I don’t want to ruin it.

W
e don’t speak much
in the bathroom; rushing water is the only sound.

It’s as if I can feel all the bothersome thoughts and questions swirling in Liz’s head pressing in on us. She must be hurt, angry, and confused, and I need to make sure those feelings won’t taint the memories she has of her parents.

Lily and Garret were amazing people from what Liz has told me. Their only mistake was hiding the adoption from their daughter, but they must have had their reasons. I know better than anyone what lengths we’re willing to go for the people we love. Since childhood, I’ve done everything I could to keep my younger brother safe.

When I’m done undressing, I enter the large marble shower where Liz is standing beneath the streaming water. Her head is tipped back, and the water cascades down her face and the long column of her neck. God, she’s so beautiful.

I wrap my arms around her waist, drawing her closer. Nothing calms me more than having her close.

The warm water pours down over both of us for some time, and I hold her like this in silence.

She looks up at me, eyes full of confusion. “How can this even be possible? I just can’t wrap my mind around it. It must be some kind of mistake.”

“I wish it was, but I’m sure, Liz.”

She exhales loudly and reaches past me to grab the shampoo. I take it from her hand and squeeze some into my palm before setting it aside.

“But how? There are pictures, Ryan, of me at just a day or so old. I remember seeing them.”

God, I knew it would be hard to tell her, but this is even harder than I imagined. “Are you sure you want to talk about this now?”

She nods before turning away from me.

I try my best to come up the easiest way to explain things as my fingers comb through her hair. I massage her scalp for long moments, trying to take away some of the stress that is palpable in her tense muscles.

“Distracting me won’t work. Let’s just get over with it, please.”

“Okay.” I choose my words carefully, fearful of offending the memory of her parents. “From what my PI gathered, the woman who gave birth to you, Grace Hamilton, was one of your mom’s student.”

“In high school?” Without waiting for my answer, she adds, “Holy shit, how old was she?”

“Barely sixteen when she got pregnant. Her father was running for mayor that year and her parents sent her from Chicago to stay with an aunt in Seattle. Far from prying eyes, I guess. Your mom was Grace’s English teacher while she attended high school before giving birth to you. That’s the only connection I found between them. One nurse from the hospital where you were born also told Clayton, the investigator, that your mom was present during your birth. Grace must have really liked her.” Liz nods, so I keep talking and running my fingers through her long hair allowing the lather to stream down her back, “Your parents took you home right from the hospital, so that explains the pictures.”

She stays silent as I softly guide her head back under the stream of water and rinse the soap out of her hair.

While I wait for other questions, I lather her up from head to toe with her vanilla-scented soap, rubbing bubbles into her smooth skin before washing them away.

I’m not sure what else I can do to let her know I’m here for her.

“What about … the other parent?” she asks in a voice that has grown small. Her eyes are downcast, and she’s staring at the floor where the soap is frothing around our feet.

“There was no one listed on your birth certificate except for Grace, and her signature was the only one on the adoption papers. She must have claimed she had no idea who the father was or something like that.” Maybe Grace didn’t want him to know or she knew he wouldn’t want anything to do with the baby.

“Oh.” Liz turns to meet my eyes. “I get that she was young, and I guess she did the right thing back then. But I don’t get why my parents never told me.”

“Samuel told me it was one of the adoption requirements. Your biological mother asked them not to. She wanted to be the one to tell you one day.”

“Great,” she snaps, her eyes narrowed in sudden anger. “So, she’s just waiting for the day
she’s
ready? What about me? Doesn’t sound like mother material to me.”

Shit, telling the entire truth will be even harder than I thought. I’ve only touched the tip of the iceberg.

“Give me a second to wash up, and then let’s get out of here,” I suggest.

She stays immobile and looks into my eyes, trying to read me. The crease that forms on her forehead from her furrowed eyebrows tells me she sees something she doesn’t like. She knows there’s more and that it isn’t good.

Before I can say a word, Liz steps out from the shower and shuts the door. The same warm water suddenly feels ice cold, sending chills racing over my skin.

I expected her to be furious with me, but her calm reaction is a surprise and a relief. It must be shock, but what happens when it wears off? Pushing back the swell of anxiety, I wash quickly, grab a towel, and run it through my hair before wrapping it around my waist.

When I enter our bedroom, Liz is dressed in her black silk nightgown and staring out at the city lights. I put on my boxers and walk up behind her. When I put my arms around her, she leans back into me, her muscles tight and tense.

I sense her hurt and pain, and it kills me that I can do nothing to erase it.

“I need to hear everything, Ryan. Now.”

“Okay, sweetheart.”

She slips from my arms and sits at the foot of the bed.

“She has children now, doesn’t she?” A tear forms, but Liz swipes it away before it can fall.

The truth needs to come out. I can’t hide it from her anymore, nor can I change the past.

I kneel at her feet and clasp her small hands in mine.

“After your birth, Grace moved to Florida. A couple of years later she met a military guy and got married. In 1999, Grace gave birth to a son, Jacob Evans. Six years later her husband died in Afghanistan.”

My insides twist as I see silent tears streak down Liz’s face. I run my thumbs through their fresh trails, swiping the shimmering lines of sadness from her cheeks.

“So I have a brother?” Her voice breaks and her chin wobbles.

“You do.”

“They still live in Florida?”

I take a deep breath. “Grace died from breast cancer three years ago.”

A small gasp escapes Liz’s mouth as she struggles to keep it together. She stares at me with eyes full of agony. Every part of her body shakes.

I have no idea what to do, so I place a kiss on each trembling palm before threading our fingers together again. “Jacob’s been living with his uncle—his father’s brother—ever since. I have every piece of information about them that my investigator could gather, Liz, including medical records and a lot of photos.”

She blinks rapidly and swallows several times as she tries to hold back more tears. Her voice is weak and forlorn when she asks, “What else do you know?”

“Grace’s parents are no longer alive, and it seems they had no contact with their daughter all these years. I also looked for your possible birth father. Clayton talked to some people who attended school with Grace back in Chicago. They knew nothing about her having a boyfriend. Now I’m trying to find him through DNA databases, which also looks like a dead end, but I’ll find him. If that’s something you want … I’ll leave no stone unturned to do that.”

She becomes as white as a ghost. “DNA? How do you … you took my blood?” Her big eyes get even bigger.

I swallow hard before answering, “No. I took the cup you drank from. When we returned from France I knew for sure you had no idea you were adopted and … well, my father wasn’t faithful, so I wanted to be one hundred percent sure we weren’t related.”

An “Oh” falls from her lips. “We aren’t, right?”

“Of course we aren’t, Liz. Then I thought you might want to know your birth father one day. He may have no idea you even exist,” I say, hoping this is the right thing to do. I want to believe he doesn’t know, because if he did and never tried contacting her, that’d be another blow.

She nods and bites her lip so hard I worry she’ll draw blood. Tears trickle silently from the corners of her eyes and run down her cheeks. She doesn’t scrub them away. Instead she slips her hands from mine and folds her arms around her middle as if trying to shield herself from the pain that’s threatening to tear her apart. The most tortured expression I’ve ever seen mars her beautiful face—her brows and lips are all twisted, her chin trembles uncontrollably, but her eyes … God, what I see in her eyes is like a sledgehammer to the chest. Pain so bare, so raw, so endless.

Seeing her like this is a torture like I’ve never experienced. Every cell in my body hurts for her, and there’s nothing I can do to ease her suffering. There’s nothing else to say because no words will ever be adequate, so I stay beside her and give her the time she needs. I’m not sure why, but I don’t attempt to hold her.

After several long minutes, Liz breaks the silence. “I don’t think I want to hear anything else tonight. I want to sleep.” Her voice cracks at the end.

I nod, still not finding any words that’ll make this situation better. She slides under the covers on her side of the bed. When I lie down beside her, she rests her cheek on my chest and tucks her head beneath my chin. I wrap my arms tight around her, expecting her to break down, to cry her sorrow out, but she just lays there limp against me. Eventually, her breaths become deeper, and she falls asleep.

I stay awake until sunrise, wanting to be alert in case she wakes and needs me. She doesn’t, but before the dawn, she reaches for my hand, takes it in hers and holds it between us like she needs to hang on to something.

“I’m here for you,” I murmur, kissing the top of her head. “I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”