A Is for Alpha Male (32 page)

“ALL THAT EMOTIONAL damage,” Allison muttered vaguely as we were discussing all of the facts and feelings surrounding Danny/Ryan.

Allison’s comedic timing and, surprisingly, her memory were impeccable when she told me, “You said you wanted your very own version of Joe Callahan. You got him. If you didn’t want emotional damage, you should have picked a different character.”

“Wow, Allison. That was a little colder than you normally are. No mercy, huh?” I mused.

“No, I’m just being honest. I’m being what you need me to be, Haley,” she said, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear.

“Think about that man and all of the things he’s been through in his life. Living a lie after having his entire family torn away from him violently. Presumably in front of him.”

I cringed at the thought of what I knew had to have been beyond horrific, and then had to press my hand into my chest to stop the fierce ache that developed when I realized what it meant for Danny. Ryan. Whatever.

He was Danny to me.

That memory must haunt him every day of his life. He remembered everything.
Vividly
.

I couldn’t even imagine.

And then, with José free for so many years, they ripped him from everything else he knew, and placed him in witness protection. Forced him to live a whole other life as Dan Smith.

“Why didn’t he testify?” I asked my mom, trying to put the pieces together. “And why, disregarding all of this other information, would he have been with that other woman? Why would he choose her when I gave him the choice?”

She smiled a small, sad smile, cupped my cheek, and murmured, “I think those are some questions you should ask him. Don’t you?”

One tear plumped in the corner of my eye and then forced its way out as my fingers went to my nose to fight the sting.

I hadn’t given him a chance to explain. Not really.

Oh God, I was like a Nazi.

“I’m evil,” I wailed dramatically as I flopped back onto my mom’s couch and threw my arm up and over my eyes.

Allison leaned forward and squeezed my knee, a small giggle bubbling out of her throat.

“No. You’re not. You just needed time, baby girl. Your heart and your head just needed the time to work it out. That’s you. But you always get there, and I knew you would this time too.”

She squeezed my knee to get my attention again, so I pulled my arm off of my eyes and gave her my eyes.

Sliding a folded up piece of paper along the slate top of her coffee table she told me, “Go hear him out, Haley. I’m sure he’s waiting for you.”

Like always, my mom was right, but I had one more thing I needed to do first.

Working freelance for the Knoxville News Sentinel, they let me pretty much do what I wanted, writing my own column from time to time, usually based on nothing more than the musings of my own life.

I had never been more thankful for such a privilege. I needed to write. I needed to vent my feelings on paper, organizing them and finding some sense in the mess of emotions swirling through my head.

I needed a good old fashioned honesty session. One where pen meets paper, or fingers meet keys, as the case may be, and priorities get ordered.

Hearts, and the emotions they control, are filled with imperfections. Hearts with murmurs can still beat, blood pumping methodically through each and every chamber. Relationships with issues can still survive, honesty and confessions, even in the very last hour, clearing the air and offering solace in the face of open wounds.
If
circumstances are right. If the
relationship
is
right
.

I had to ask myself...was my relationship with Danny right?

...continued...

Recently my mother, Allison, and I set out on a road trip to find our perfect men. If we had taken out a personal ad, it would have read exactly as the one above does.

Both avid Romance readers, we were convinced that after years of torturous dating and failed marriages, finding men based on the qualities of our favorite book heroes was the answer.

We came up with a list, giving each letter something to stand for—a quality to bring to the table.

But sometimes when you get lost in lists and love trying to find someone to fill your heart and fill out your family, you let go of what’s most important.

A may stand for Alpha Male, but what do yoU stand for?

I stand for honesty. And sometimes, the most important person you can be honest with is yourself.

How much time do you spend using the words “I want” or “I need”?

It’s important to take care of yourself, but part of being in a relationship, any kind of relationship, is sacrifice. How do your friends feel? What do they want? What about your relatives, acquaintances, and lovers? Do they get something out of what you want and need? And if they do, is it something that enriches their lives, or does it feed them in a toxic way?

Surprisingly, giving a loved one something they need or want can be just as sustaining as feeding your own desires. That’s what makes people a good fit. Do you have what someone else needs?

Luckily for me, it turns out I do. Despite my shortcomings, I have things to offer.

Honesty and love are two of Dan Smith’s deepest, most desperate needs. A self-proclaimed spectator of life, Dan was forced to live his entire existence as a lie. Tragedy choked him at a young age, but the squeezing hands backed off of the pressure just enough to keep him alive. Each breath was a struggle, ragged and broken from inflammation, but life kept going, painful and robotic as it was.

Dan needed the freedom to purge himself of that life, and I was the only one who could give him that freedom.

If your forgiveness was the key to someone’s freedom, freedom from a life of lies, from years of going through the motions...would you give it?

MY ANSWER WAS simple. Dan Smith made me feel the kind of love I had never dreamed existed. I had never felt anything but right with Danny. It was the times when we were apart that felt all wrong.

Turning off my computer, grabbing my keys and purse, and locking up the door on the way out, I headed for the car, the folded piece of paper Allison had given me in my front pocket.

When I settled into the seat of my girl, a place I wasn’t really ready to spend an extended period of time yet, I pulled the piece of paper out of my pocket and read it.

I hadn’t been able to look at it until I got all of my feelings out and on paper.

I hadn’t known what it said, but I hadn’t wanted it to sway me. I wanted to really know how I felt deep in the very center of my heart.

When I realized it was an address in Knoxville, I just about fainted.

He was here.

He hadn’t left.

He was
here
and waiting for me.

I threw the car in drive, pushed the pedal toward the floor, pulled away from the curb, and headed straight for the address, going a wee bit faster than officers of the law would find acceptable.

I needed answers, but once I got them I wanted to move on. I wanted to start a life with Danny. And I wanted him to start a life he’d been waiting twenty-one years to live.

When I pulled up to the little bungalow style house, I noted how cute it was and then jumped out so fast that I almost forgot to put my girl in park and turn her off.

Luckily I remembered, doing just that, and then going up the sidewalk leading to the door at a near gallop.

My arm flew up, my hand tensed into a fist, and my knuckles were about an inch away from making hard contact when I noticed the sheet of paper that was folded and taped to the door.

There was no way to know it was for me. In fact, it probably wasn’t for me. But I was nosy. And this was Danny’s house. So I took the paper off of the door, opened it up and read what it said, only to be stopped in my eavesdropping tracks.

Um, what?

Digging my phone out of my purse, I scrolled down to Danny’s number and hit “call”.

He answered after one ring, and he only said one thing. “Yes, I’m really at your apartment.”

And then he hung up.

How dare he?! Didn’t he know he was still on thin ice?!

Charging down the sidewalk, I jumped back in Mustang Sally and sped all the way home, fuming the whole way and thankfully avoiding all of the PoPos again.

After parking, I thrashed my way out of the car again, making my way up the sidewalk with clipped, angry steps to a relaxed Danny, who was leaning back against my front steps with his elbows on the stair behind him, his legs stretched out in front of him, and his ankles crossed.

“What the hell, Danny? Making me drive all the way across town and back is not a good way to start this conversation.”

“Sure it is, Hales,” he replied casually.

A little growl roared out of my throat and my fists clenched at my sides.

Danny had the audacity to let one of his dimples pop out.

The big, fat jerk.

Then I realized another dilemma. Something that I needed to get straightened out before I went on to anything else. “What the hell am I supposed to call you now, anyway?” I saw a familiar sparkle creep its way into his eye, so I cut it off before it even started. “And don’t even say it! I am
not
calling you fucking Gandalf.”

“I’ve been Dan Smith for almost twenty-two years, Hales, and truthfully, for most of those years, I wished for nothing more than to be Ryan Parker again. But for the last few weeks, I’ve been Dan
Fucking
Smith, and I like that even better because that’s who I am to you. Your Dan-o, your Danny, your Dan Smith. All yours, Haley,” he explained, his hand settling on his chest as the emotion welled visibly in his hazel eyes.

I just nodded, my throat too clogged up to speak. I loved calling him Dan-o. Ryan Parker was the cooler name, but this guy, the Dan Smith in front of me, was the guy I was in love with. And despite his jerk-like ways, I missed him. So much. Seeing him like this contradictorily healed at the same time that it hurt.