Red Rose Bouquet: A Contemporary Christian Novel (Grace Revealed Book 2) Page 10

  “Would you change it, if you could go back?”

  Her eyes collided with his again. She looked like she was drowning.

  “I can’t even begin to tell you all of the things I wish I could go back and do different. But that’s not part of this game, is it?” Cheryl stood, clearly done with their conversation and with this…date?

  No. Whatever.

  Brock watched as she transformed back into the ice princess that had stormed her way onto his dock almost a week before. Pain stuck in his chest as his heart squeezed. Why did she do that? He followed her lead, pushing in both of their chairs and taking the mugs up to the counter before he traced her steps out the door. She’d nearly reached his truck when he caught up to her.

  “Sherbert.”

  She halted, turning to face him with that phony irritated mask.

  “Everyone has regrets.”

  The mask began to slip. A little.

  Brock reached for her hand, and she didn’t move away. His thumb slid over her knuckles, and he watched the hardness melt from her posture. With a small tug, he pulled her close and tucked her head under his chin.

  “Don’t let the things you wish you could take back keep you from the life God wants to give you.”

  She snickered, even though she didn’t push away. “What’s that from, some class you took for helping foster kids?”

  Ouch. She sure could fling a sharp dart of sarcasm. “No.”

  Stepping away from his embrace, she looked up with expectation.

  “Gramps.” Brock let his hands fall away from her shoulders. “He said it in a letter he left for me with his will. I read it a few weeks after Kayla left.”

  Color washed over her face, and she turned toward his truck. “I’m sorry.”

  With his index finger under her chin, he lifted her face back to his. “I told you. Everyone has regrets.”

  ~14~

  Brock moved his feet to the rhythm of some country love song. Didn’t know the name. Wasn’t a country kind of guy. But this was a wedding, after all. Why not throw a little “When I Said I Do” something or another in for good measure?

  Ethan and Brandi swayed together to his left, wrapped up in each other’s gazes like a pair of teenagers crushing. They were…cute. If a couple could be such a thing. A straight-shot love story right there. Neither one had a single doubt from their first date—which happened to be around the fire pit just off in the distance—that they were headed for a happily ever after.

  He hoped. Uncomplicated was something to be envied. And loyalty…something most missed. He’d have to remember to wish them both in his toast later.

  Continuing to sway, his attention drifted to the deck stretched above the makeshift dance floor. Nothing uncomplicated there. Total mystery, that other Thompson kid. And yet, like a child to a cornstalk maze in October, he was drawn to her.

  “She sure has you distracted.” Laughter lay under his mother’s voice.

  He redirected his gaze, focusing on Lydia Kelly, who happened to be his dance partner and who also deserved a better portion of his attention, since she and his dad had been gone for the last three weeks on a riverboat cruise in Europe. Happy fortieth anniversary to them.

  “Sorry, Mom. What was that?”

  She patted the arm he held loosely around her and grinned. “Oh, my boy. The Thompson girl. Can’t keep your eyes focused from her for more than five seconds.”

  Suppressing a smirk, Brock banished the heat prickling his ears.

  “Gone a long while, that one,” Mom probed.

  “Yeah. First time home in years.”

  She nodded, her eyes lit with a knowing smile. “All grown up and quite beautiful.”

  Brock snorted. “I noticed, Mom.”

  Her smile bordered on the mocking type, and then she turned serious. “She was a quiet one, wasn’t she?”

  “Yeah.” This was getting a little too uncomfortable. And if his mother knew Cheryl all grown up, she might not be encouraging his budding interest.

  “And now…”

  No avoiding the topic. Oh well. If there was anyone in the world he could trust to push him in the right direction, it was his parents. Even in tough places where lines had to be drawn, they’d proven themselves both wise and faithful.

  “She’s…” Sharp? Bitter? Cold? “She’s not the same.”

  Mom’s mirth faded, and she tilted her head. “Perhaps the stones life threw at her when she was younger finally found their mark.”

  “Maybe.” Seemed like more. But how was he to know?

  The song ended, and another picked up. Same basic beat, so they continued on the floor.

  “And…her wounds call to my son?”

  Brock glanced back up at Cheryl just in time to see Mr. Thompson hold his hand out to her. That should go well. He looked away but caught her scowl before he refocused on his mother.

  “I don’t know, Mom. She kind of terrifies me.”

  Mom breathed a small laugh. “Ah. King of the Slopes, the daredevil himself has finally met a woman who didn’t faint at his smile.”

  With a long breath, Brock rolled his eyes. “It’s not like that. She is my date tonight, if you didn’t notice.”

  “Oh good. I wouldn’t want your head to deflate too much.” She cackled good naturedly and then leaned in to give him a Mom hug.

  “Thanks.”

  She opened the space between them again and squeezed his hand. “Here to keep you grounded.”

  Somebody probably should. That was what went wrong before. Too much ego, not enough lead.

  They paced off a few measures in silence. Then Mom tipped her chin up to look at him.

  “Remember back in maybe third grade or so, you got suspended for fighting?”

  Great, she was serious about the keeping him humble part. “Yeah. You were some kind of mad.”

  “I was.” She nodded. “Until I found out the whole story. That you’d stood up for the little Fulton boy and wound up with a fat lip and a bruised rib because of it.”

  Brock looked away, remembering Tagg Fulton. Everyone thought he was weird. Small for his age, he barely spoke, and he always wore a long-sleeved Superman shirt. It was filthy, and the cuffs had holes worn through. Nobody understood why he refused to wear anything else.

  The other boys called him “duperman.” Tagg would turtle into his shoulders and look to the ground, but he’d never say a word. Brock had always felt a little sorry for him, but he never said anything. Then one day Brock missed his bus and had to walk home. He happened to follow Tagg. With carefully measured steps, he’d kept at a distance, because no one walked with the weirdo, and Brock didn’t want a label just when his popularity was starting to boom.

  Tagg talked to himself as he walked, and sometimes he played out some sort of fight scene he must have had going in his head, throwing punches into the air, dodging invisible fists aimed for his face, and occasionally rocking a side kick. Fairly normal ten-year-old-boy stuff. But then Tagg stopped, and Brock ducked behind a nearby trash can to spy. The boy in the Superman shirt kicked at the ground, and his voice came loud enough for Brock to make out the words.

  “Don’t ever touch her again.”

  Shivers crawled over Brock’s neck, and he held the sides of the trash bin as he leaned around to see better. Tagg’s face went toward the sky, and he reached a single, flat palm toward the air.

  “Someday, Mom. I’ll be your Superman. Just wait.”

  Even at ten years old, Brock had known he’d just witnessed something dark and heart shattering. His stomach had rolled as he crouched behind that bin, and he swore the next time someone dared to call Tagg “duperman,” he’d step between the two.

  He did. Wound up out of school for three days, and after that, he never saw Tagg again.

  The same shivers that had prickled his neck that day so long ago crept over his skin again as the memory closed. So many if onlys…

  “I wish I knew what happened to him.”

  Mom’
s eyes had gone soft and misty. “I know. I don’t know if I ever told you—even though we disciplined you for fighting, we were proud of you. And almost…sort of thankful for the whole thing because we were able to glimpse your compassionate heart. You’re gifted with it, you know?”

  Brock swallowed, trying to follow his mom’s line of thought. “Fighting?”

  She chuckled. “Well, maybe in a way. Fighting for grace. God has given you such a tender heart toward those who ache.”

  Ah. So this did relate to Cheryl. But pity and compassion, they weren’t the same thing, no matter what a thesaurus said. Pity had a way of crippling people, making them codependent and unstable. Compassion was more like love—it grew strength and courage. Right now, with Cheryl, he wasn’t sure he had the two in their proper place. And then there was that whole attraction thing…which made everything pretty much a mess.

  “Son, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be the knight.” Mom stopped moving and stepped back, placing her right palm over his heart. “You are a warrior here, and what you do is amazing. Just don’t forget whose armor you wear, and ultimately, who will truly win in the end.”

  Words wouldn’t form in his mind. She was talking about Cheryl, right? Her statement seemed…almost prophetic. And scary.

  And massively humbling. Because this warrior for grace had called the very woman his mother was championing an ice princess. Not so valiant. Or gracious.

  He pressed his lips together and searched his mother’s face for answers. She gave him a teary smile and moved to kiss his cheek. “You’ll do the right thing.”

  “What if I don’t know what that is?” The question rushed from his lips.

  “He’ll show you. Day by day.” She patted his cheek and stepped away. “Just keep listening.”

  Swallowing, Brock stood at the edge of the dance floor and watched his mother walk away, until his attention was stolen by Cheryl stalking down the dirt drive.

  He’d put money on it: the encounter with her dad hadn’t gone as her foolish father had hoped.

  Okay, God. I’m trying to listen. Now what do I do?

  ~*~

  He actually did it. Cheryl tried to wrap her mind around Ethan’s marriage. Her brother, a husband? She hoped he’d grown up. The Ethan she remembered was hardly steady-boyfriend material, let alone the kind of guy a girl would want to marry.

  Still, it’d been a pretty service. Guess they’d always have that.

  Brock’s little kids’ camp had been lit up with tiny white lights strung along the deck of the lodge and the dock at his pond. The road and pathways were illuminated by the yellow glow of paper lanterns. Not bad. For a wedding.

  Fighting the urge to rub at the sore muscles in her cheekbones from her painted-on smile, Cheryl let her gaze cast over the people swaying below. Brock danced with his mom, smiling with ease as the pair conversed. Possibly talking about her. Being reintroduced to Lydia and Jim Kelly had felt a little bit like being the new kid at a big school. They were nice, all smiles and gentle touches on the arm, as they doled out the expected “It’s so good to see you again,” and “Tell us how you’ve been,” and “Brock, you must bring her out to the house sometime soon where we can catch up properly.” Ready to meet the new girl—for the moment.

  Cheryl didn’t plan to stick around to see how they’d react if they got to know her. Thus, they’d be left with the illusion of who Brock thought she was. It was nice, actually, to think that someone would perhaps hold her in high esteem in his memory.

  As Cheryl stood at the edge of the deck, taking in the semidark view, a masculine voice touched her hearing, giving her chills.

  “Can I dance with my little girl?”

  Steel locked hard in her chest. She couldn’t believe it. Why had Ethan invited him? He hadn’t had anything more to do with either of them than a monthly check in the mail and a full guilty-parent scholarship to the school of his choosing. He didn’t deserve to be there, and he had no business asking her to dance.

  Cheryl turned to face the man who had abandoned them almost twenty years before. “You don’t have a little girl here.”

  Mitchell Thompson took a small step back. “I’m looking at her, aren’t I?”

  With a cool gaze locked on eyes shaded remarkably similar to her own, Cheryl crossed her arms. “What are you doing, Dad?”

  “Asking my daughter to dance.”

  She snorted. “You’re a little late for that.”

  “I know.” He nodded, glancing to his feet. “But we still have today.”

  “No. We don’t.”

  “Look, Cher-bear—”

  What was with these people and their cutesy nicknames? “Don’t ever call me that again.” Leveling a look of pure loathing on him, Cheryl drew in a steady breath. “I have your last name because I’m stuck with it. That’s all you and I have in common. Don’t think that you can show up and we’ll just start right off where you walked out.”

  Hurt passed through his eyes, but he tipped his head. “That’s not true. You have my eyes. We’re both lawyers. Lot’s in common…”

  “No.”

  “Come on, hon. Ethan and I, we’ve worked on some things. Can’t you and I try?”

  “Absolutely not. I don’t know what E was thinking, but I’m not game. You left us, and you can’t undo that.”

  “I thought at the time I was doing what you’d want. What teenage kid wants to move from the only home they’d ever known? And with a new stepmother? It made sense to leave you with Grace.”

  Cheryl stared at him, dumbfounded by his idiotic logic, even after all the years. “You know what, Dad? Just keep saying that. Over and over and over. It almost sounds like you believe it.” With a quick pivot on her booted foot, Cheryl stalked away, heading toward the darkness beyond the small cabins.

  Gravel crunched beneath her boots as she continued down the road. Parking had been assigned at the elbow in Brock’s long drive so that the area nearest the lodge was clear for the wedding. That gave her a half mile of cool mountain air to steady her shaking hands before she’d reach her car.

  Nana. Her escape cut short. She was supposed to take Nana home. Exhaling, she let her shoulders sag as her chin fell forward.

  “Can’t be as bad as all that.” Brock’s voice drifted from a few feet behind her.

  She lifted her head and turned. “Are you stalking me?”

  “Nah.” He closed the few feet between them, stopping close enough she could smell the crispness of his cologne. He’d jammed his hands into the pockets of his good jeans and leaned to nudge her shoulder.

  He was always showing up.

  “You are, aren’t you?”

  He chuckled. “Honestly, I’m not. I saw you talking to your dad. Was worried about my date, is all.”

  He paused, letting the breeze dance in the small space between them, and then reached for her arm. “You okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “That a standard deflection answer?”

  She scowled. “You’re a pest. Do you always pry like this?”

  He shrugged. “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “If I think the question needs answering.”

  She sensed a circular conversation in the near future. Better to just drop it. “I’m fine, Brock.”

  His hand still rested just above her elbow, and he gently squeezed the spot. She liked the warmth, but it provoked a shiver. He didn’t miss it.

  “You’re cold.”

  The least of her problems. She tugged on the hem of her lightweight cardigan. “Maybe. I forgot how quickly it cools up here.”

  “But that’s not why you were leaving.”

  Mashing her lips together, she looked back over the enchanted scene behind Brock. It suddenly struck her how odd her inability to enjoy beauty was. She could see it, but to soak it in… let it fill her being? She couldn’t. Had she always been that way?

  She shivered again.

  “You need something hot to drink.” Brock
tugged her toward him and then wrapped his arm around her. He began rubbing her other arm as if she were in danger of hypothermia. “And a warmer jacket. Come on.”

  He moved, and she followed. Back to the wedding scene they went, keeping to the dark edge of the road as they strolled.

  “Cheryl, I really do want to know if you’re okay. A real answer.”

  Fine sat on the tip of her tongue. It was the standard answer. She had no idea if she was okay. She only felt…cold. “I can’t believe my dad showed up.”

  “Ethan invited him.”

  “Why?”

  Brock pulled in a long breath and let it go slowly. “He’s been working through some stuff. I think reconciling with your dad was important to him, and having him here was a big step in that process.”

  “So twenty years of neglect is wiped away, just like that?”

  He stopped moving and turned to face her. “You know it isn’t.”

  She held his gaze in the semidarkness for a few breaths and then looked away. “I wish E had warned me.”

  “He probably should have. I’m sorry.”

  “Does Ethan know what he’s getting himself into with this marriage?” Cheryl paused, rubbing her arms as the chill sank deeper. “No, I mean does Brandi know? People like Ethan and me…”

  He waited for her to finish. She couldn’t. Didn’t really know where she was going with that. The silence extended, and her shivering returned. After a long, intense look, Brock closed the small space between them and wrapped her in his arms. He said nothing as he held her.

  The steady rhythm of his heart tapped against her cheek as his warmth enveloped her, seeping into her skin and bringing a foreign sense of comfort. Cheryl let her eyes slide shut as she snuggled into the safety of his embrace. For a moment she could pretend that this place of safety would last, that this wasn’t what it always was…a preliminary negotiation for a trade agreement: his limited-time offer of care in exchange for the satisfaction of her body in the not-very-distant future. They’d play the exchange out until it was no longer new and thrilling, and then the deal would be off.

  But that inevitable end wasn’t in this moment. She pushed the looming ache away.

  For now, she felt warm.