In Your Embrace (19 page)

NINETEEN

All for Love

Draven stares out his bedroom window, not seeing the sunlight that peers around the spotty clouds high in the sky or the gulls that swoop low on the wind currents.  He doesn’t hear the waves crashing in the distance through his partially opened window.  Doesn’t feel the cold that settles into the recesses of his room.

He is lost in thought, just as he has been for several days.

He misses Hannah and that upsets him. He doesn’t want to miss her, to miss spending time helping her, rooting for her even though the odds are not in her favor.  The past two weeks have been empty and dark but also strangely enlightening.  His feelings for Hannah have finally become clear, though it’s probably too late now.

His stepfather came to see him the night he broke Hannah out.  The storm clouds were already well along in their development when Kevin walked in, but when he found Draven curled on top of his covers, tears rolling down his cheeks, his stepfather just sat beside him.

Neither of them spoke.  They didn’t really need to.

Draven has never been one to share his pain.  Not the pain of being abandoned by his real dad.  Of feeling neglected by his mother after she and Kevin got married and she became enraptured with her new husband, leaving Draven to fend for himself far more than a young boy should.  Nor the pain of knowing a grave secret, unable to tell anyone the truth, to lighten his load.

He has spent a year trying to forget the night of the accident.  To push it aside and move on with his life, but he can’t.  Nightmares plague him, driving him to the point where alcohol and a girl in his bed can only seek to numb the pain, but at least it is something.

Hannah took it all away.  She made him feel like he could be someone special, someone worthy of trust.  Someone who wasn’t a murderer.  A man who could still see life as half full instead of trickling out through a crack in the bottom of the cup that he can’t seal, no matter how hard he tries.

Now she is gone…and it’s all his fault.

He’s wondered countless times over the past couple of weeks if he would have still taken Hannah to that church, even knowing that he would be bombarded with guilt, and the honest answer is yes.  He would and
that’s
what scares him.

Draven excels at looking out for number one, of avoiding sensitive topics, and hiding from life when it gets in his face.  Church is certainly the last place he should have been, and yet didn’t he feel an odd longing to be there when he heard Hannah praying?

He clenches his arms tightly around his knees, rocking to his side to ease the tension on his tailbone.  The window seat may be comfortable but not for hours on end.  He’s spent an awful lot of time looking out this window recently, and he has come to the conclusion that his backyard is painfully dull.

The swimming pool is drained.  All of the beach loungers are packed away.  The once lush green grass is brown.  The small cottage-like shed at the back of the yard is padlocked for winter.  Everything looks abandoned, dreary.

I thought all I wanted was to be alone, but isn’t that what I’ve been all along?  Surrounded by a room full of people I once called friends and feeling completely on my own?

Draven presses his forehead to the cool pane of glass before him. 
It’s easier that way.  Letting people in means you care and that only leads to disappointment.

He frowns. 
Or does it?

He can count on one hand the number of true friends he’s had in his life, and even then he’d probably have a few spare fingers left over.  Hannah is the best thing that has ever happened to him and he blew it.

She probably assumes that it’s all her fault. 
This thought makes him feel lower than before.  He never wanted to cause Hannah any pain.  Knowing that he has is unforgiveable.

A knock sounds at his door but he doesn’t look away from the window.  “I told you I’m not hungry, Martha.”

“There’s someone here to see you.”

A flare of hope ripples through him as he turns toward the door. 
Could it be Hannah? Would Kevin bring her to see him?

No.  He knows that even though his stepfather has silently watched Draven’s withdrawal, he would never break hospital protocol.  It’s not in his nature to do so.  That’s what makes him the best man for his job.

“Who is it?”

“A young man.  Says he’s a friend of yours.”

Draven frowns.  None of his friends have even called to find out why he’s been missing from the meager nightlife that the Outer Banks has to offer.  “Did he give you a name?”

“Timothy, I believe he said,” she calls through the door.  His eyebrows hike high with surprise.
What could he possibly want?

“Should I send him away?”

“No.”  Draven glances down at his shirt and wrinkles his nose with disgust.  His jawline is heavily stubbled. His hair is flat against his head instead of spiked as usual.  His clothes are rumpled and a day old.  “Just give me a minute.  I’ll be down.”

He listens to Martha’s shoes squeak on the hard wood floor as she descends.  In the distance, he can hear murmuring as she speaks with his guest.  Draven is curious but hesitant about this impromptu arrival.  The last time they spoke did not go so well.  Would this time be any different?

Slipping into clean clothes, he runs his fingers through his ruffled hair and decides this is the best it’s going to get on such short notice.  He heads downstairs and discovers Timothy standing beside a window in the foyer.

“It’s not like Martha to leave a guest waiting out here,” he says.

Timothy turns.  “She offered but I politely declined.”

“Not planning on staying long?”

He watches the other man’s expression closely.  A brief tightening in the skin around his eyes.  A momentary pursing of his lips but nothing more.

“I came to apologize.”

“Apologize?”  Draven sinks down onto a wooden bench seat his mother insisted on placing near the door for this very reason.  The pillows are bold in color and stuffed near to bursting, but they are comfortable enough for him to lounge against, appearing far more comfortable than he really is.

“Yes,” Timothy nods.  He looks grave and if Draven is not mistaken, very uncomfortable.  Hannah’s friend seems unwilling to meet his gaze for longer than a few seconds.  “I know that what I said at the church the other day was upsetting for you.  I never meant to do that.  Nor did I mean to cause a problem between you and Hannah.  I know how much she…she cares for you.”

A hint of a smile tugs at Draven’s lips as he nods.  “The feeling is mutual.”

He stares at Timothy, noting the tensing of his hands at his sides.  His legs are parted nearly shoulder width apart.  He appears as tight as a newly spun coil.  “But not nearly as much as she cares for you, I suspect.”

At that, Timothy looks up.  Draven smiles as his eyes widen.  “It’s no secret that you care for her, Timothy.  Anyone can see it.”

The man swallows with great difficulty.  His lips part to speak, but he seems at a loss for words.  Draven rises and approaches to close the gap between them.  “There was a time when I was interested in Hannah, for more than just friendship.  I’ll admit that I wasn’t overly fond of hearing her stories of the times you would spend with her but I could always hear it in her voice—that awe that a girl gets when she is smitten.”

Timothy scoffs.  “I reckon you’re mistaken there.”

“Am I?”  Draven crossing his arms in front of him.  “And am I mistaken about your feelings about her as well?”

His guest glances away, effortlessly answering Draven’s question.  He takes a step forward and feels Timothy tense.  “I care deeply for Hannah, but there is nothing between us.  I promise you that.”

As Timothy stares back at him, Draven realizes that Timothy’s feelings go beyond mere infatuation.  He finds himself smiling, the first genuine smile he’s had in two weeks.  “You’re a good man, Timothy Lewis.  I’m glad she has you in her life.  I doubt she would have fared so well without your support.”

Timothy swallows again.  “And yours.”

Draven nods in agreement.  “I really enjoyed working with her.  I felt like…like I was accomplishing something.  I only wish that I could have helped her heal.”

“You did.”  Timothy smiles for the first time since he arrived.  His body eases out of his tense pose.  He shifts his weight and his shoulders slump just enough to not look so rigid.  “That’s what I came here to tell you.  Hannah moved her foot yesterday.”

“She did?”  Draven takes an involuntary step forward.  He enters Timothy’s personal space in his excitement.  “What happened after that?  Was she able to feel anything?  Did she move again?  Was she able to stand?  Art must have been thrilled.”

Timothy laughs.  “Hannah was right about you.”

He tilts his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“You really are passionate about your work.”

Draven shrugs.  “It made me feel good to help her.”

Nodding in understanding, Timothy turns as if to leave.  He pauses with his hand on the door.  “Hannah will be released any day now.  We are hoping it will be on Christmas.  I know she would love for you to join us for dinner.  Claire and Andrew are planning a little family get together.”

Draven rubs the back of his neck.  “Oh, I uh…I don’t know if that would be right.  Not after bailing on her like I did.”

“Do you honestly think Hannah would ever blame you for that?”

He pauses before he answers, snorting as he shakes his head.  “She could never hold a grudge.”

“Exactly.  The invitation stands if you are willing.  I know it will make her very happy to see you.  Drop by their house around seven on Christmas evening if you can.”

Draven sees Timothy out and watches at the window as the man backs his work truck out of the driveway and turns left. 
Probably heading toward the hospital.

He hears someone clear their throat behind him and turns to see Martha standing in the doorway.  “Were you listening?”

She nods.  “Long enough to figure out who that man is.”

“He is Hannah’s friend.”

Martha steps forward.  Draven is confused by the worry lines that are carved deeply into the corners of her eyes. She glances toward the stairs before speaking in a soft tone.  “You haven’t put it together yet, have you?”

“What are you talking about?”

She motions for him to lower his voice.  He steps closer.  “You called that man Timothy Lewis, right?”

“Sure.  That’s his name.”

Martha leans in close.  “Have you forgotten what happened a year ago today?”

How could he?  Hasn’t he been counting down the days to this horrid anniversary for the past few months? “Of course I remember.”

Kevin worked very hard to cover up the accident that changed Draven’s life forever.  Not in nearly as impactful a way as it would have been if he had been caught and charged with drunk driving.  The accident was deemed just that, an accident.  Kevin took the blame upon himself for driving late that night.  With the weather conditions as poor as they had been and Kevin’s late nights spent on rotation at the hospital, no one questioned further.  As a man of high reputation in the community, his word and a good deal of acting was enough.

Draven was sent home and told to wait long before the police arrived on the scene.  He did and waited for several endless hours as the pain from his injuries really began to set in.  When Kevin finally returned home, he never spoke a word about the accident to Draven.  It was done, dusted under the rug.  No inquiry. No conviction.  It was chocked up to icy roads.  An unfortunate act of God.

Kevin fixed up Draven’s wounds in the privacy of his own den.  He told his stepson to lay low for a few days and for the first time, Draven actually listened.

He’d been shocked at how quickly it was all forgotten.  Life moved on.  People celebrated Christmas with the same cheer as always while he stood on the sidelines, each day dying a little more inside.

“How do you know about that?”

“It doesn’t matter.” She places a hand on his arm.  “Do you remember the woman’s name?”

Draven frowns.  Isn’t that a detail he should have remembered?  He can picture seeing her trapped in the car, see the blood that dripped from her fingers.  When he closes his eyes, he can smell the rubber from the tire skids as if it had just happened, but this detail escapes him.  Kevin made sure to keep all local papers and news as far from him as possible.  Draven knows that he was trying to be helpful but after a year of wallowing in guilt, he knows the best thing would have been to fess up to the crime. Then at least he could have lived with himself.

“No,” he shakes his head.  “I don’t know that I ever heard her name.”

Martha sighs and looks toward the front door.  “Her name was Abigail Lewis, and she was the wife of the man who just walked out your front door.”

TWENTY

Christmas Tidings