Until Curtis had come back from a trip early one day and found Nic and Garrett twined beneath the cypress trees, arms around each other, lips locked as they shared a dance in the warm spring afternoon.
Things had gone downhill from there. Victoria had taken the blame because God forbid Curtis Price’s son have been the one who seduced the boy. Who loved Garrett. She’d taken a hit intended for Nic, taken the slurs and the emotional abuse and blame Curtis heaped on her, and when Curtis had moved to hit her again on Nic’s graduation day—because she’d packed their bags, including Nic’s, daringly intending to take him with her—Nic had taken the hit instead. He’d stood between them and Curtis, shouting at his father that he was gay, had always been gay, and would always be gay. He’d threatened that if Curtis laid another hand on them, Nic would kill him.
His stand against Curtis, together with Mary’s threat to call the cops, had been enough to allow Victoria and Garrett to escape.
To disappear.
Having been fleeced by his prior wife, Curtis was happy to have dodged a potential bullet. He hadn’t even looked for them. If he had, he wouldn’t have found them. Victoria and Garrett Scott had ceased to exist. Nic could find no legal record of the woman who had almost become his stepmother or of her son. Nic’s first and only love.
Until Cam.
“You got them out,” Mary said, squeezing his arm. “You saved them.”
“After I put them in a position where they had to leave. I shouldn’t have gotten attached to Victoria, I shouldn’t have gotten involved with Garrett, and I sure as hell shouldn’t have been fooling around with him here where we could be caught. Where Dad did catch us. But I couldn’t help myself. I loved them too much.”
“No such thing, Dominic.” She shook her head, smiling sadly. “I didn’t know your mother, but she’d be proud of you. For what it’s worth, so am I.”
He covered her hand, working the knot back down his throat. “It’s worth more than you know.” He finished his stew, and she moved to take the bowl. He stood instead, taking it to the sink and washing it out himself. He turned and rested back against the counter, looking at one of the three women who’d raised him. “Who saved you, Mary? Why did you stay?”
“For you.” Said simply, like a truth he didn’t deserve.
He’d expected as much, but he hung his head, humbled. Grateful. “I can’t thank you enough for that, but I’ve been gone twenty-seven years.”
“Same answer, for you.” She spread her knobby hands over the wood table, then lifted them, indicating the roof over their head. “To save this, for you. And to save him, for you. Otherwise, you’d feel guilty.”
“But how, when he’s run everyone else off? I’m worried, with him becoming more desperate . . .”
“He won’t hurt me,” she said, correctly reading his fears. “He tried once and then my husband laid him out.” Nic’s jaw hit the floor. Laughing, she stood and crossed over to him, grabbing a hand towel to dry the dishes. “You remember that spur-of-the-moment retreat he took to Palm Springs when you were ten? He was having the bones in his arm reset.”
The backs of his eyes stung, and he didn’t dare look outside. Not at the cypresses. Not when his father could walk in at any minute. “You didn’t have to stay for me.”
Mary finished drying the dishes, tossed the towel aside, and wrapped him in her arms, her head barely reaching his shoulder. “I love you like my own, Dominic. I’d do anything for you.” She pulled back smiling and patted his cheek. “And working for your father paid for three of my own kids to go to college. One’s a teacher, one’s a doctor, and the other’s a software engineer. Plus, I almost have enough saved up for me and my husband to retire someplace warmer.”
He clutched her arms, not too tight but serious enough to make his point. “Please hear me, Mary. One, I’m not sure how much longer he can pay you. Two, more importantly, I’m worried for your safety, and I don’t just mean from my father. He’s not made the best decisions lately, and the people he’s pissed off won’t care who’s in their way.”
Her wrinkled skin blanched, and by the widening of her eyes, Nic thought maybe he’d finally gotten through to her.
“Thank you for trying to save this for me, but I’d rather you save yourself. You need to leave for that someplace warmer as soon as you can.”
“Who’s leaving?”
Nic spun to find his dad standing next to the table. He looked even more haggard than he had several months ago. More weight and blond hair lost, the bags under his eyes purple, and the briefcase in his hand empty, for show, if the way it hollowly thudded on the floor was any indication.
“I’m leaving,” Nic said, covering because his father would not want him discussing family business with “the help,” even though Mary had been privy to most of it over the years. “To Boston for work.”
“Weren’t you just in San Diego?”
“Yes, and now I’m needed in Boston.” He turned back to Mary. “Would you give us a few minutes?”
She lifted on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “You go take care of your man.”
His dad at least waited until she was out of the room before snidely mumbling, “Your man?”
“Yes, the man I’m involved with needs my help on a case, so I’m going to Boston to help him.”
“You sure do have a type.” Curtis threw his coat at the chair, missing it by a mile. He didn’t bother picking it up off the floor, no doubt assuming Mary would do that. “You like to play hero, don’t you?”
Every muscle in Nic coiled to attack, the insult cutting to the heart of him. He didn’t play hero; he was someone who protected others. That was the man he’d become, the life he’d made, and his father wasn’t going to take that away from him or bait him into tarnishing it by hitting a spiteful, defenseless old man. He curled his fingers around the counter and breathed through his nose, calming himself and getting to the conversation he wanted to have. He was in control here. “You mortgaged the house.”
