Ruth Herne - Reunited Hearts

She’d been such a coward….

The prayer resurfaced. Dear God… Please… Please.

Lame, Alyssa. And late, besides. Good try, though. She bit her lip, grabbed an old stained sweatshirt that wouldn’t be wrecked by daubs of paint, kissed Cory’s cheek and headed out the door. “I’ve got my cell phone.”

Susan’s look encompassed the short distance from the house to the two-story carriage barn at the end of the drive. “Seriously? If I need you, I’ll walk over.”

That made Alyssa smile. “Good point.” She swept the phone a look as she tucked it into her pocket. “These things get addictive.”

“Only if you let them.” Susan’s wisdom followed her out the door.

Alyssa had missed her mother’s gentle, commonsense directives. Her humor, her steadfast belief in right and wrong, good and evil. Somewhere along the way Alyssa had blurred those borders. She’d made mistakes and made excuses.

Was it too late to begin anew? She hoped not.

Did that scare her to death?

Absolutely.

Trent pounded up O’Rourke’s Hill, pushing more than usual, the thick grass beneath his feet God’s carpet, nature’s bounty.

But no matter how fast or far he ran, thoughts of Alyssa and the boy refused to be laid to rest.

His son. Half-grown. Looking more like him than he’d have thought humanly possible.

His heart clenched, or maybe it was his gut. At this pace it was hard to tell, but as he rounded the curve leading down to the motel, he saw Lyssa standing there, the evening breeze pushing her hair back, away from a face he knew as well as he knew his own.

What a pity that knowledge hadn’t gone more than skin deep.

Another clench hit, mid-stride. Stronger. Tighter. This time there was no doubt his heart was involved. He slowed his pace as she watched him approach, using the time to rein in his emotions.

She studied him, eyes narrowed, jaw tight, worry drawing her brow.

He studied her right back, masking his turmoil. The Army had trained him to show nerves of steel, flat-faced, taciturn. He had no problem employing those tactics now. Drawing near, he noticed little things without shifting his gaze.

Her hands clutched a worn purse held by a frayed strap across her shoulder. Her shoes matched the purse’s condition, a coat of polish not enough to mask the dull scuffs beneath. She wore thin blue jeans that fit loosely, not as a fashion statement, more like they were the wrong size. Her short-sleeved top wasn’t quite enough for the dropping temperatures, especially in the shadowed overhang. Goose pimples dotted her arms from the elbows down. Right now, after an eight-mile run through the hills, the shadowed cement terrace felt real good to him. He stopped just short of her, eyes locked, noting her rise of apprehension as they came face to face.

At the last minute she shifted her gaze, avoiding the intensity, a quick breath telegraphing her uneasiness.

Or guilt.

Or both.

She had good reason to feel both and he was disinclined to lighten the moment. “What do you want?”

She inhaled deeply, then brought her eyes back to his. A fresh round of goose pimples rose on her forearms, a chill coursing her.

He refused to care. He stood firm, feet braced, shoulders back, chest out. “Well?”

She mulled him a moment, her expression unreadable, her eyes pensive. “I need to know what you’re going to do.”

Trent snorted disgust and started to turn. She put a hand to his arm, her fingers soft, the grip tight. “Trent. Please.”

“Don’t ‘please’ me, Lyssa.” He swung back, shrugged her hand away and leaned forward. “You ran off twelve years ago carrying my child, then hid my son from me for over a decade. There is no excuse for what you’ve done.” He enunciated the last words slowly, pumping their intensity with pointed deliberation, then ran a hand through his hair and tried to rationalize her choices. But he couldn’t. Nothing excused that behavior. Nothing.

“I know.”

Her soft voice paused him. His heart clenched again, this time a combination of feelings and memories waging war for top billing.

He’d loved that voice once. Soft and deep, a little breathless, the raspiness making it stand out. How many times over the years had he turned, hearing a similar voice, his ears drawn to that unique combination of sweet and sensual, memories spiked by the sound of that voice? It was never her.

Now it was, but the anger and disappointment inside him made the old longing a mockery. He’d loved Lyssa, the sweet-faced, gentle girl who always listened, always smiled, always made time for the lost boy within him.

The woman standing behind him might have Lyssa’s looks and Lyssa’s voice, but the girl he knew would never have done what this one did. And that only meant one thing.

He’d never really known her at all.

He swallowed a sigh, scrubbed a hand to his face and turned back. The cool shade had offered initial respite from his run, but now his sweaty T-shirt chilled him. Or maybe it wasn’t the physical conditions making him colder. He’d been a strong-but-gentle young man, a boy who worked hard but made mistakes. He knew that. For a short while after graduating the academy, he’d made a host of them until his conscience smacked him upside the head. He’d tried to own that over the years.

Seeing Alyssa, knowing what one night had done, nipped at the heels of the man he’d become. Older. Wiser. Stronger. Right now that strength felt more like hardness.

God, I have no idea what to say, what to do right now. Anger consumes me, the thought that I gave my heart and soul years ago only to be deceived. My son, my child…

The thought of those missing years bit deeply.

Alyssa was the one person who understood the burden he’d carried, the hole in his heart over Clay’s death. She alone knew of the nightmares he had, images of Clay calling for help while Trent tried in vain to reach him. She knew what fatherhood would mean to him. While he loved and appreciated Jamison’s investment in him, their pride in his accomplishments, inwardly he longed to be just another normal kid with a mom and a dad.

She’d pushed all that aside and fled with his son. It was an unforgivable act, unbelievable in its audacity. And now she wanted to talk?

“Trent. Please.”

Again the hand. The voice.

He shrugged her off and paced away, ignoring the cold bathing his damp skin.

Suddenly he turned, realization pushing him to face her. “What’s his name?”

She looked startled, then ashamed. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d know, that you’d have checked things out today.”

He arched a brow, waiting.

“Jaden. His name is Jaden. Jaden Michael Langley.”

Jaden Michael.

Warmth curled in his belly, somewhere beneath the cold exterior.

“He’s like you, Trent. Sensitive. Good. Kind. If we don’t handle this with care, we could ruin him.”

“If by ‘we’ you mean ‘me’, then take a walk, Lyss.” Trent shook his head, meeting her gaze, keeping his expression stern. “Despite any guilt-laying trip you might want to put on me, I’m the wronged party here. Now, anyway.”

She angled her head, studying him, her appraisal disconcerting. “What would have happened if I told you, Trent? What would you have done?”

“The right thing.” He shifted forward, encroaching on her space. “Married you. Supported you. Loved you and him.”

His words pained her, he saw that right off, the shadow of sorrow making him wonder what her choices had cost. But he was too angry to delve into that. Didn’t know, didn’t care.

But you do, the inner voice chided, unbidden.

He shut it down with a quick rebuttal. Trust me. I don’t.