After the shooting that put a bullet in my shoulder and could have cost them their lives, Peters wanted to move his pregnant wife to a gated community with restricted access, high fences, and twenty-four-hour surveillance. Ms. Peters wouldn’t hear of giving up her house. In a compromise between the spouses, I’d been tasked with upgrading the security to have the necessary safety features without it feeling like Fort Knox.
Six-five with movie-star good looks, my client climbs out of his car and walks toward me.
“Mr. Peters,” I say in greeting, although he has asked me to call him Mick.
He extends his hand, and we exchange a hearty shake. In another time, we might have been friends.
“What do you think?” I ask, indicating the gate that’s being installed to surround the property. Ms. Peters selected this one from my recommendations. Privacy panels that resemble laser-cut glass for aesthetics are made of galvanized steel and a robust bullet-proof coating. At the base of the driveway will be an entry-code system that releases the lock and retracts the front panels.
“I like the secure feel of it,” he says, getting up close to scrutinize the material. “As for how it looks, my opinion counts for about this much.” Peters laughs, making a minuscule gap between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll get some pictures for Dee since she’s in court today.”
He takes several shots, and, donning hard hats, we walk the property for him to check on the renovations. He talks to the foreman, and I see emotion grow in his eyes when he sees the progress on the nursery. I’m sure he’s thinking about how he could have lost them. I stand back and give him a moment.
Peters is among the men I truly respect. He’s decent and honest; the boatloads of money he made as a former NBA star, he gives back in spades to his community and supports causes that help homeless youth. He is protective of his family and loves his wife with the kind of passion that I have only ever seen in the way Pops loved my grandmother. I didn’t witness anything close to it with my parents. And I didn’t feel that kind of love for Lilah. The kind where your hearts and souls meld, where nothing is stronger than the silken threads binding you together.
We walk back to our cars, talking about security matters. Beyond being a businessman and philanthropist, Peters is a budding author about to release his new thriller,Dark Angel. He and Ms. Peters are hosting a book launch party next month on the rooftop of Fusion, the restaurant where Peters is an investor.
“I’ll arrange for all the coverage,” I confirm, knowing the location and layout. “Do you want drivers for your family?”
“Yes, and for Lexie and Jordyn too.”
I nod, trying not to react at the sound of her name. But I fail.
“I heard about you and Jordyn,” he says, forcing a conversation I don’t want to have.
“My intention wasn’t to hurt her.” I shift uncomfortably. “I know how much Ms. Sinclair means to you and Ms. Peters.”
“Jordyn’s family. But she said you were straight with her, and she doesn’t hold any hard feelings. Otherwise, I would have fired you after attempting to kick your ass.”
I nod again, respecting his protectiveness. “How is she?” I shouldn’t ask, but I need to.
“She’s Jordyn, tough and resilient, so she’ll be okay. But she’d rather be with you.”
His words bury the sword in deep.
“I didn’t say that to make you feel like shit. I said it because you saved Dee’s life, and I’m going to be a father. That changed my whole perspective and outlook. I’m not going to get all preachy on you, but for what it’s worth, I know a lot about guilt.”
What had Jordyn told him? Enough for Peters to think we have something in common. It’s no longer a secret that he’d battled his own demons. I’d been a witness to them. The entire world had been. But he’d come through his darkness on the other side and had gone public with the truth about his father.
“What happened wasn’t your fault,” I hear myself say.
“Guilt doesn’t always make that distinction. I thought I should have been able to save my mother, whether I could have or not. That tore me up inside until I learned to forgive myself. It doesn’t take away all the guilt, but I found a sense of peace that allowed me to move forward and embrace my life with Dee.
“I don’t know your situation, Stiles, and I wouldn’t presume to tell you what’s right for you. But ask yourself this: what is more important, hanging onto a past you can’t change or being present, here and now, and grabbing hold of life and all its possibilities?”
He’s not asking a question I haven’t asked myself a million times since the night Jordyn whispered, “I’ve fallen in love with you.”
Christ. I should never have let things get as far as they did. I shouldn’t have even let it start. No strings attached, my ass. I was tangled and knotted in her from the get-go. Jordyn evoked everything I had denied myself. She made me smile and laugh again. She made me breathe. She made me feel. She made me want.
But there’s no simple answer to that question of the past versus the present. The past is what I know. Guilt and remorse are what I understand. It glides under my skin, flows through my veins, and seeps into my bones.
It drowns me.
I love the hustle and buzz of deadlines and fast-paced activity. The Friar project is nearing completion, and I have other designs in various stages of development. But even with that, Stiles is a thought that won’t quit. It doesn’t interfere with my ability to get the job done. He’s just constantly there like a drip, drip, drip of sadness.
At least I have my friends and family to console me. Other than the colonel, who does Stiles have? He rarely speaks to his parents, and when I asked about his friends, he used work and care of his grandfather as excuses. But the more likely reason is whatever happened with the woman from his past. That seems to have tainted everything in his life. It’s the reason he left the army, the reason he’d been celibate…and the reason he’s not free to love.
I know better than to obsess over what I can’t control or to nurture any hope. That’s a fool’s game that will only lead to more hurt. Stiles has made his choice, and I’ve made mine.
