Let Me Love You Again (An Echoes of the Heart Novel Book 2) (19 page)

Travis’s expression evened out into the kind of calm that only a dimwit would believe meant he was about to reasonable.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, “but I’ve got my own reasons for thinking that you and Selena dealing with your issues is the best thing for everyone. And as far as me not calling you the last few years about anything going on here, while you’ve been gallivanting all over the country and half the globe . . . you’ve got a lot of nerve throwing us being brothers in my face after everything I’ve put up with.”

“From me?”

“
You
call
me
, remember? I don’t get to call you up and chat about current events. Emergencies only, right? Because being close to any of us again isn’t what you wanted. At least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself. So us being brothers or family or whatever else you’re feeling indignant about right now seems to be a convenience that only you get to indulge in, and only when it suits you.”

The bitterness curling at the edges of Travis’s Southern drawl doused Oliver temper like a bucket of ice water. “That’s not true. I—”

“Called me out of the blue five years ago. I get a call from you from God knows where saying you just want to be sure things are okay with the family. Did Mom and Dad need any help? Because you were finally in a position to start paying them back. Was there anything anyone needed money for? So, sure, I came up with something—I can’t even remember what now—and the folks were happy enough when the dough started pouring in like clockwork. And they’ve been real sports, haven’t they? About keeping their distance, just like you wanted. Of course you don’t have to see how worried they are, or how much it hurts when nothing ever comes their way except your next deposit. No note. No pictures. No way for them to know that you give a damn whether you ever make a personal appearance here again. All anyone in Chandlerville needs from you is money, evidently, satisfying whatever responsibility you feel minus the hassle of you actually letting yourself care about what it’s being spent on.”

“You think I didn’t want to come home? You think it wasn’t driving me crazy, needing to be here and knowing that—”

“If you came back, it wouldn’t be so easy to ignore how people here have always wanted more of you than you’ve been comfortable giving them?”

Oliver swallowed, feeling like slime. Except for loving Selena, he’d never known how to be close, to dig in, to belong—not since
losing his birth mother. Not even to his foster family. Especially not to them.

He dropped into one of the chairs beside the couch, his anger fizzling. Teddy’s head and soft, fuzzy baby hair nuzzled in. It was like having a sweet-smelling, living blanket soothing away the confusion and frustration and excuses.

“I’ve been doing what I thought everyone needed,” Oliver said.

“How’s that working out for you?” Travis propped his ankle on his knee.

“Lousy.” Oliver checked Teddy. He couldn’t contain his grin at how cute the toddler looked, back asleep and drooling on one of Oliver’s last clean shirts. “I’m making a mess of everything except being a human baby cushion. But you’re not helping, stirring things up with Selena.”

“I talked to Selena this morning,” his brother said, “for the same reason I’ve always taken your calls, and Mom and Dad would have taken your money even if they hadn’t needed it. The same reason Mom tried to get you to deal with Brad and Selena yesterday. We’re trying to keep you close the only way we know how, you jerk. And not because it feels so spectacular to be an afterthought you’ve been plotting to get away from again, from the moment you rocked into town. I want my brother back—pain in the ass that you are. I want you home for good. So do Mom and Dad, even if they’d never pressure you about it. Not the way I’m going to. Because, damn it, when are you going to get it?”

“What?”

“Having family in your life is a good thing, even when bad things happen. Even when we screw up. We care about each other and take care of each other through it all, the way no one else will. That’s what Mom and Dad taught us. That’s why I called you when Dad got sick, because I knew you’d want to be here. And
now even though it’s driving you nuts, and you’re driving
me
nuts, you’re staying. And what about you asking me to help you find a place to rehab when you needed it? Or you squatting in Atlanta since then? Or going next door today to face Selena?”

“What about it?”

“Are you telling me you haven’t had a serious case of wanting to be in Chandlerville, and back with
her
, for a good long while?”

Before Oliver could formulate an answer that consisted of more than a string of four-letter words, Travis stood and lifted Teddy away, laying the baby in his playpen with practiced ease. He turned back. Oliver had gotten to his feet, too.

A large thud overhead made the ceiling shake to the accompaniment of gales of muted laughter. The rhythmic sound of Teddy sucking on his pacifier paused for a second or two before the baby got back to soothing himself and dreaming in slobbery bliss. Whatever had happened upstairs settled down, leaving Oliver and his brother squared off across the living room, their hands jammed in the pockets of their respective jeans.

Oliver didn’t want to get into how much sense Travis was making. Or how Oliver would be lying awake tonight stewing over every word, once the rest of the house was asleep and he couldn’t close his eyes or drive to the hospital to check on Joe or slip next door to beg Selena for another chance to come to some kind of compromise. Or even work. He hadn’t gotten a damn bit of work done since he’d come home.

What the hell did Oliver really know about family? And now he was supposed to be a hands-on son, a brother, maybe even a father himself. Maybe more—if Selena could let herself want more with him again.

He stared at Travis, who had been there every step of the way, since Oliver’s first phone call five years ago, since he’d walked in
the door at thirteen. He had to talk to someone. Someone neutral who could help him chart a course through the minefield of options facing him. All of them threatening to blow up in his family’s face.

“Do you need to get to work?” he finally asked.

Travis checked his watch. “I’ve got a few more minutes. Why?”

Oliver sank back into his chair. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Chapter Thirteen

Oliver dragged himself into the Dream Whip at nine the next morning. He pulled up short.

“Bethany?” Shocked, thrilled to find her there—he hadn’t had a chance yet to hunt her down—he pulled her close, feeling clumsy. Feeling her surprise and confusion.

He’d come to see Dru. Brad had called the house late last night, saying he’d broken the news to his fiancée about Selena and Camille, after Oliver flubbed things so badly at Belinda’s place. Travis was pitching in at the house again this morning. He’d been one hundred percent behind Oliver making sure their sister was okay.

Oliver had promised to cut his brother loose within the hour. But he couldn’t just brush past Bethany. Not like this. Only a year younger than Dru, she’d always seemed so much more fragile.

“I didn’t know . . .” he said.

“That I still existed?” Bethany finished.

She had no clue how much he’d kept up with her since she’d aged out of Marsha and Joe’s house. Because, as Travis had pointed out, that’s exactly the way Oliver had wanted things. He
cleared his throat, hating how much he’d hurt her. Refusing to make lame excuses.

“I didn’t know you worked for Dru and Brad,” he said.

Petite, bordering on sprite-like, she’d streaked her shoulder-length auburn hair with waves of deep purple. A diamond chip winked on the left side of her nose. She’d thrown on cowboy boots with her denim shorts and a Whip It Good T-shirt that from the looks of it she’d cropped and shredded herself. Possibly with a pair of gardening shears.

“The Whip’s something to do.” She finished wiping down the red leather booth by the door. “Somewhere to be, whenever Dru needs me. When I’m not doing my thing. And since Dru and Brad are giving me a place to stay at Old Lady Douglas’s house, it works. For now. You know about
for now
, right. The way you told Dru and me you’d be back that night Mom and Dad moved you out. You said leaving was just for now. No worries. You wouldn’t forget about us.”

He nodded, promising himself he’d make it up to her somehow. Then he noticed the stains under the nails of one of her hands, a smudge on the back of the other.

“You’re painting?” He smiled, surprised after the choice she’d made about her scholarship.

She shrugged. “When I’m not working or taking classes at the community college.”

She’d enrolled in general business courses mostly. It was nowhere near what she should be doing with her talents. But at least she’d stayed close to home while she tried to figure out what all foster kids had to at too young an age—what their life would become after the system said they were grown.

Last he’d heard, Bethany hadn’t painted in years. It looked like her passion to create had finally trumped her fear of never
being good enough. She glanced to the framed painting on the wall beside them. He needed only a second to understand why.

“It’s beautiful,” he praised.

The landscape was of a field just outside of town. He remembered the place vividly. The scenery and the tree at the center of the painting—he was guessing it was a watercolor, but what did he know?—was an old oak with sprawling, ancient limbs that he and Selena used to sneak away to. Their senior year, they’d hung out under it for hours at a time after ditching Brad and Travis and Dru. Selena would bring an ancient quilt to lie on, and they’d stare up at puffy white clouds and bright sunlight, or at stars and a soft, winking moon. They’d talk and make love and drink . . . and then make love some more, keeping the rest of the world out for as long as they could.

He turned back to his sister. “You’ve gotten really good.”

She stared at the floor.

“Bethie?”

“Don’t call me that.” She slung the rag she’d been using over her shoulder. “My big brother called me that. The guy who would have e-mailed or written or sent up smoke signals, so we’d know he was still alive.

“I’m sorry.”

He’d let his work keep him from his family. He’d told himself that was okay. Like he’d believed letting Selena go free and clear was the right thing to do. He hadn’t needed Travis to tell him he’d blown it on both accounts. But talking it through with his brother last night had solidified a few things in Oliver’s mind.

“I really am sorry for how long it’s been,” he said. “I wish I’d gotten to see you finish growing up. You’re even more beautiful than before.”

Bethany wrinkled her nose, doubting him and herself.

“I wish . . .” She studied him through choppy bangs the color of grape soda, as if he were a detail for one of her paintings. “I wish it hadn’t been so long, too.”

“Yeah . . .” And he had no idea how long he could stay this time. Or how many more chances he’d have to make things right. “I’ve screwed up a lot, Bethie. But I wanted to become something more than another statistic—another kid who washed out of foster care and then trashed his life. I owed Marsha and Joe better than that.”

“You were never trouble to me, even after you stayed gone for so long. I . . . I always hoped you’d come back.”

“I never forgot you. Any of the family. I was just . . .” How did Oliver say it without saying too much? His beautiful, talented sister deserved her own second chance, as many chances as he could give her, without thinking she owed him anything because of whatever part of it he’d bankrolled. “I was needed . . . elsewhere.”

He stalled out at the sadness on her face.

Bethany glanced down at her paint-splattered boots. “Dru seemed a little freaked this morning. It isn’t just about Dad, is it?”

“No.”

“She won’t tell me what’s was going on.”

“I can’t either yet.” He’d give anything to not be keeping even more secrets from her.

Bethany eased away, freshly wounded. “I’m pretty much finished out there. I guess I better get.”

And before he could stop her, she raced out the Dream Whip’s front door.