Swept Away (51 page)

She sat up, leaving his embrace, and in that moment, he knew she knew. The very thing he’d
just been thinking of. Hell, he’d been surprised Brock wasn’t here when he’d arrived. But he
wasn’t surprised that Brock had found occasion to tell her the rotten truth about her father.

“I know,” she said, “what you did to Brock.”

He nodded shortly, and his voice came out small. “Believe it or not, it felt like the right thing at
the time. I wanted to protect you—can you understand that?”

“Yes, but I’m afraid I don’t understand the lengths you went to. You made him leave his
grandpa when he was dying, for God’s sake. Brock was all his grandfather had, and he still

feels guilty about it. Even though you’re the one who should feel guilty. And I’ve been so
screwed up the past couple of days that I haven’t really let myself think through this until now,
but how could you, Dad? How could you do that to him?”

Clark leaned over, putting his head in his hands. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about it
often, either. He’d told himself back then, whenever a sliver of guilt embedded itself, that it was Brock’s fault, that he shouldn’t have been messing around with a young girl, that he’d had the choice of staying and facing the music and would have if he’d been more of a man—but deep
inside, Clark had always known he’d put the boy in an untenable position. “That’s what I
mean,” he finally said, lifting his head, “when I tell you I love you too much.”

Next to him, Kat appeared resolute. “You’ve got to stop, you know. You’ve got to stop it right
now. I’m an adult—almost twenty-eight years old. And I know my mind far better than you’ve
ever given me credit for. For the last six months, I allowed myself to be deluded, but prior to
that, and from this moment forward, I’ve known and will know exactly what I want, and I need
you to promise me, right now, that you’ll respect that and never interfere again. Can you do
that, Daddy?”

Again, Daddy. Ironic, since clearly, she wasn’t his little girl anymore and apparently hadn’t
been for a long time. And he had no other choice but to respect the hell out of her. “Yes, Kat, I
can. I will. I promise.”

He swallowed. He usually felt so strong—money made him strong, and even the pursuit of it
had kept him strong these past couple of not-so-great years. But right now he felt weak. And it
wasn’t because he no longer had the promise of Ian’s financial backing. It was because she was so strong, and he’d been so foolish. “Can you forgive your dad for being an idiot,
sweetheart?”

She nodded without hesitation, and he loved her all the more. But then instantly tried not to feel
it quite so much. He had to learn to love his daughter in a more distant, respectful way, and
he had to start right now.

“So about you and Brock,” he began, unable to help it—he had to ask. He had no idea where
Brock had ended up in life, had no reason to wish him ill—yet old habits made him want to
shove the guy right back out of their lives. He’d been stunned to see Brock Denton on that
island when they’d floated up, and wished he’d been more surprised to see him today, helping
Kat escape her own wedding.

Kat sniffed, and he realized she was on the verge of getting weepy. “You don’t have to concern
yourself with Brock. I don’t expect to ever see him again.”

A rush of relief washed through Clark’s body—but he still forced himself to say the right thing. “Well, if your answer had been different, I would have accepted it. For you.”

She nodded. “Good.”

“Where’d he get that car, anyway? What does he do now?” Sheer curiosity made him ask. Ten
years ago, the kid hadn’t had two nickels to rub together.

Kat’s eyebrows knitted slightly. “I’m not sure what he does. He wasn’t clear on it.”

Clark nodded. Wheels like that and no education? Drug dealing, he’d bet.

But he couldn’t feel guilty about that, too. Nope, he’d given the boy enough money to get a
good start on a new life, and if Brock hadn’t capitalized on that in a positive way, that was his
problem. This just made him all the more relieved Kat was shed of him—hopefully once and for all.

Just then a small knock came on the door, and he remembered. “I left your mother and Nina in
the car.”

“Oh,” Kat said, leaping up to answer.

A moment later, the ladies paraded in, Nina still in her yellow dress, his wife looking lovely in
a warm shade of coral brocade. To stall any further questions, since he thought Kat had probably endured enough interrogation, he said, “Kat doesn’t love Ian. So the wedding is, indeed, off. And that’s all right.” He glanced to Kat, who was plopping back down on the
couch. “I’ve told her we’ll all support her in whatever she wants to do.”

Debra rushed to Kat’s side, dropped Kat’s forgotten purse on the sofa, and pulled her into a
wordless hug before finally saying, “You should come for dinner tonight. We’ll make
whatever you like, just name it. Or we’ll go out somewhere. Whatever you want.”

But Kat was shaking her head and Clark realized he wasn’t the only one who coddled Kat, and
that she looked well tired of it. “I don’t think so. I just want to stay in tonight and veg.”

“What about me?” Nina asked. “Am I banished from your life tonight, too?”

“No. You may come over. And you may bring pizza and ice cream. And DVDs of
Thelma and Louise
and
Chocolat
.”

“Got it,” Nina said.

“And frankly,” Clark said, pushing to his feet, “if you’re really all right here, your mother and I
should probably go back to the church and tend to things there.”

Guilt he’d not intended to inflict flashed across Kat’s face. “I’m so sorry. About that part of it.
Maybe I should—”

“No,” he said. “At some point, you should talk to Ian, but we’ll take care of everything else.”
She bit her lip. “He’s crushed, I guess.”

Clark tilted his head. “Of course. But I’ll talk to him. He’ll be all right. And so will you. We’ll
get through this, sweetheart.”

At this, she got to her feet and gave him a hug, warming his heart deeply. They would get
through this. As for the money issues, well he’d have to rethink the situation, see how certain
things washed out. But for today, he refused to care about anything but Kat and what was best for her. What was really best for her—not just what he thought was best for her.

And as he, Debra, and Nina piled back in the car, he realized that it felt bizarrely liberating to
suddenly let go of control over his daughter’s choices.
His heart felt strangely lighter than it had in years.

Brock lay in his old bed at his grandfather’s house, staring at a water stain on the ceiling.
Driving out here this afternoon after leaving Kat had felt surreal, and the truth was, the closer
he’d gotten to the swamp, the more tempted he’d been to turn back—but this was at least one
of the reasons he’d crossed the state today, and it was high time he faced those demons.

The house had been empty for ten years—although he’d kept the taxes paid on it and had even
hired the nearest neighbor lady, half a mile up the dirt road, to come in once every few months
and give the place a light cleaning. But then she’d moved away a few years ago, and he hadn’t
bothered making new arrangements.

He’d been pleased to find that the house had remained locked—and glad he’d always saved the key, always kept it on his ring, more as a keepsake than a practical object, but it was practical
today. Upon stepping inside, he’d found the furniture neatly covered with sheets, which helped
cut down on the dust when he went around uncloaking it all.

The place, he’d discovered, was like a museum to his life ten years ago. Same cheap dishes in
the cabinets. Same rust ring around the drain in the kitchen sink. Same old couch with the rip
Bruno had managed to put in it with a pocketknife, and same faded curtains framing the small
windows.

In the room he’d once shared with Bruno, the same two twin beds sat parked against opposite
walls, the same ancient chest of drawers stood in between. Clothes he hadn’t taken then— mostly black T-shirts sporting the names of rock bands—lay folded inside.

The only thing different had been his grandfather’s bedroom. A big-screen TV—now outdated,
but then state-of-the-art—filled the wall that faced a hospital bed.

The place had smelled musty as hell, so he’d opened the windows. Even the hot, humid south Florida air was an improvement. Then he’d reached for his cell phone, dialed information, and
called to have the electricity turned back on, after which he’d let all the faucets run until the well
water went from brown to crystal clear. Later, he’d go out and buy some cleaning supplies, a
fan or two, and maybe a little food.

He hadn’t come here exactly planning to stay, but now that he was here, he found himself not really wanting to leave. There was something comforting here. Time. Another time—when life
had been far from great, but his grandpa had loved him, and this had been home.

So very different, he couldn’t help being reminded, from Kat’s home. Such vast differences were the main thing that had separated them ten years ago. Spencer could say it had been age,
and Brock was sure that was part of it, but this was most of it. Water stains on the ceiling. Rust
rings in the sink.

When Kat had come back down that aisle today, a huge weight had lifted from Brock’s chest.
That’s my girl, he’d thought. Maybe without realizing, or letting himself remember, until they were back at her apartment, just how much she still wanted to be his girl. She’d looked so

beautiful riding next to him in that gown that maybe he’d been tempted, just for a second, to
keep on driving, somewhere far away, maybe over some imaginary bridge right back to their island where the rest of the world didn’t matter. Her family, his job, all gone—just the two of them making love in a hammock, or in the surf, or in the sand, everywhere, natural and hot and
free.

But just as quickly, seeing her with her cat, being so instinctively loving and sweet and pure,
had reminded him that Kat was the whole package, more than just the hot girl who made his
head spin when she was pleasuring him, more than just the sweet girl who rescued cats from
shelters and taught troubled kids to make bowls. She was a little bit of everything, and that
turned him inside out. She was truly a kitten, but also a tigress.

I wish I could be what you want me to be, kitten. A boyfriend. A husband?

Yet the very idea made him shiver. He couldn’t be a husband, ever. Why couldn’t she get that?
Why couldn’t she get that he just didn’t have what it took?

He knew he’d hurt her, and he felt like a jerk for following his instincts in her apartment. Bad timing on his part. But at least now maybe he understood how much she really felt for him. So
much that the passion didn’t make up for what he couldn’t give her. Her passion was
boundless, and that meant her feelings for him were even more powerful. A notion that gave
him chills despite the stifling heat.