Grace (The Family Simon Book 5) Page 18

  A small lamp near the bed threw eerie shadows across the prone body and after a few seconds, Matt had to force himself to move. He did it—one step at a time—and stopped near the bed. He couldn’t look at him—not yet—and his eyes moved to the table there.

  Several framed photos were on display and Matt frowned, reaching for the one closest to the bed—the one easiest for his father to see. He stared at the image for so long his eyes blurred and he had to scrub at them. He hadn’t thought about that day in a long, long time.

  “Mattie. Hold that darn fish up so your mother can get it in the shot.”

  “I’m trying, Dad.” But the fish was slippery and wanted back into the water. Matt held onto his fishing rod, nearly lost it, and bit his tongue in an effort to keep the slippery fish in the boat. It wasn’t that big, a little old sunfish, but he’d caught it on his own.

  “I got it, Dad!”

  His father leaned in close, arm around Matt as the two of them beamed at his mother. She was on the dock with their lunch unpacked and ready to go.

  Her hair blew in the wind and her dress billowed around her legs. She was laughing, trying to keep the hair from her eyes so that she could take the picture.

  “Get closer, Mommy,” Matt shouted.

  He held up the fish and puffed out his chest.

  “Closer!” He laughed, watching his mom take another step forward. She snapped the photo and then, with a yelp, went flying head over heels into the water.

  For one second Matt and his father froze, but when his mother broke the water, they fell down laughing, nearly capsizing their boat.

  Of course his mom hadn’t found it funny until much later. But she’d managed to make a memory and had the good smarts to toss the camera onto the dock before her epic fall.

  HIS EYES SMARTED and Matt set the photo back onto the table. There were a few others there. One of Matt as a teen, arms folded and leaning against his dad’s custom ride, looking sullen and full of attitude. And two of another young boy. The resemblance was uncanny. It had to be Justin.

  Shit. He couldn’t go there yet. He needed to get through this first.

  Matt shoved his hands into his pockets and looked up at the ceiling. What was he doing here? He couldn’t even look at the man in the bed. A man who was dying. A man who was his father. A man who surrounded himself with pictures of a son he’d not talked to in nearly twenty years. A man who had hurt him more deeply than any other human being on the planet.

  “Didn’t think you’d come.”

  The voice came from his right. It was gravelly. Weak. Hesitant.

  Matt’s fists tightened and he turned to look at his father. He thought he’d be prepared. Hell, he’d seen sickly folks before. But even so it was a shock. His father had been over six foot and built like a Mack truck. He’d had a full head of dark wavy hair and a five o’clock shadow that never left him.

  The man in the bed was unrecognizable. His body was decimated from cancer—he was nothing but skin and bones. And even though the eyes were Ben’s, they were too electric—too intense. Matt had to look away.

  Now that he was here, all the anger and the words full of hurt and pain he’d wanted to throw at Ben—those words disappeared like water down the drain. He had nothing.

  He looked at his father and found his voice. “I know how you like surprises so…”

  Benjamin’s breaths were shallow and harsh. He moved his mouth, but at first no words came out. It took a bit and Matt had to lean closer to hear him. It was as if each word took a little bit more of whatever strength he had left.

  “You always were a smart ass.” His father wheezed. “You look good.”

  “You look like shit.”

  His father smiled, or at least tried to. He thought he mumbled, smart ass, again. Benjamin’s eyes fluttered and then closed. Matt waited for something more, but other than the strained sounds of his breathing, Ben Hawkins didn’t move.

  Unsure and more than a little anxious, Matt paced the room, his eyes moving from the photos on the beside table to the prone man smothered by pillows and blankets. As the minutes dragged by, the tension inside him multiplied and then tripled. His chest was tight, his jaw, his shoulders….

  He felt as if his head was going to explode and thought that maybe he should leave. Maybe this was a bad idea with a steep curve and that curve sure as hell wasn’t headed up. Matt was riding a slippery slope that could only go down.

  Mind made up, Matt started for the door.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He stopped dead in his tracks and glanced over to his father. Those frenetic, glossy eyes were focused on Matt with an intensity that was unnerving.

  Matt didn’t say a word because he couldn’t speak. I’m sorry. Two little words that carried some heavy weight. Two little words that were the pebbles at the bottom of a mountain of rock. Two little words that started a landslide of emotion. Hatred. Anger. Sadness. Bewilderment. Anguish.

  Matt felt as if he’d just run a damn marathon and yanked on the collar of his Henley, as if it could somehow free him from the tightness that encased his body. But it didn’t work. The walls felt as if they were closing in, and the images, the memories were like a collage that ran the gamut of everything he was feeling.

  The boat, his dad, and that fish.

  His mother’s tearstained face when she’d said goodbye.

  Delilah and her seductive, glossy, lips.

  His broken and bruised body, lying on a sterile bed not unlike the one Benjamin was in now.

  So many bad things between the two of them. So much pain. It was too much for I’m sorry, and yet it was all they had. The old Matt would have shoved that fact down his father’s throat, told him to rot in hell and leave.

  But he wasn’t the same man and his first thought was, Grace would be proud of him. Matt’s eyes slammed shut. Grace. What he wouldn’t give to take her into his arms and let her warmth and goodness seep into his soul. He was good when she was with him. He was a better man.

  And yet this was something he didn’t want her to ever see. Not this. Not now.

  His father was still watching him, those eyes of his now filled with tears. Matt crossed the room and pulled out the chair beside the bed.

  I’m sorry, his father had said.

  Matt reached for the outstretched bony hand. He grasped it hard and cleared his throat. He looked at this broken, dying man, whose eyes were filled with fear and regret. He looked at him and knew that the father in the picture was still there inside him. It had probably been there all along. But Benjamin had been weak. He’d made some bad choices.

  But then so had Matt.

  I’m sorry. Matt decided to accept those words. He squeezed his father’s hand and settled into the chair.

  I’m sorry.

  “I know, Dad.”

  29

  Grace and Betty Jo caught a flight out of Detroit. They barely made it, had maybe ten minutes to spare, and both of them pretty much collapsed once on board. They’d driven through snow, several accidents, and one roadblock in order to get there, and Grace felt as if she’d won some kind of race when they did.

  Her sister-in-law had pulled her hair back into a tight bun. With no makeup and heavy leopard-print glasses, Betty Jo was able to breeze through security without being recognized. Grace drew a few second glances, but she wasn’t as high profile as any of her brothers. Thank God. It made for a quiet flight and, though Grace would have loved some shut-eye, that wasn’t happening anytime soon. Her mind was racing and her heart was trying to keep up.

  She pressed her head against the cool window.

  “You okay?” Betty Jo secured her seatbelt and looked at Grace.

  “I will be once we get to Matt. He just looked so lost and upset.”

  “His life has always been complicated and his relationship with his father and Delilah is something I’ve never really figured out. Thing is, I know Matt. He needs more time to process all of this. I’m sorry Grace, but don’t expect hi
m to be happy to see us.”

  Grace’s stomach churned at the thought. She shivered and broke out into a cold sweat. She wouldn’t think about that, at least not right now. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered.

  Betty Jo squeezed her hand as the plane began to taxi down the runway. “I love him too.”

  They landed at 1:30 a.m. Arizona time and a car was waiting. Grace called Matt’s number, but he didn’t pick up so she left a simple message. She wanted to say more but the words wouldn’t come. I’m here, was all she had and it would have to do.

  Traffic was sparse this time of night and they reached Compassionate Care Hospice in less than twenty minutes. Betty Jo had managed to located Matt’s father and Grace instructed the driver to wait for them. There weren’t many vehicles in the parking lot, and it was quiet as the exited the car.

  A woman stepped from the shadows as they neared the front door. Cigarette smoke swirled above her head and Grace knew who it was before she stepped out of the darkness. Delilah. She took one last puff from her smoke and tossed it onto the pavement without bothering to extinguish it.

  Betty Jo walked over and stubbed it out with her toe. “Really, Delilah?”

  Delilah didn’t seem surprised to see them. “Knock yourself out.” She dismissed Betty Jo and focused on Grace. “So you decided to come after Matt, did ya? Wasted trip, if you ask me.”

  “No one’s asking for your two cents,” Betty Jo snapped.

  Grace watched the woman closely. Her eyes were puffy and the lines around her mouth were more pronounced than she remembered.

  “I know who you are,” she said to Grace.

  Grace didn’t skip a beat. “And I know who you are. Guess we’re even.”

  Delilah burst out laughing. “You really are something else, aren’t you?” She took a step toward Grace. “You have no idea what you’re walking into. You think Matt’s gonna give a goddamn that you’re here? Shit. You’re just another notch on his bedpost. You’re no different than all the other women who throw themselves at him.”

  Delilah made a sound of disgust. “They all think they’re going to be the one to change him. The one who’ll finally get him to settle down and start a family.”

  Delilah pointed to Betty Jo. “She’s about as close as it got. But even that didn’t work out, and do you know why?”

  Grace didn’t really care to hear this woman’s ramblings but she knew she didn’t have a choice.

  “He doesn’t want to change and as far as I’m concerned, he’s perfectly fine the way he is.”

  “How the hell would you know anything about Matt? He hasn’t given you the time of day in years.” Betty Jo was livid. She snatched off her glasses and pointed them at Delilah. “And I think it’s pathetic to use Ben’s passing as a last ditch effort to get Matt to come to you.”

  “You don’t know anything about Matt and me,” Delilah sneered.

  “Oh I know more than you think.”

  “Enough.” Grace didn’t have time for Betty and Delilah’s crap. “You’re right Delilah.” She stepped between the two women and shut it down as they both looked at her in surprise. “Matt doesn’t need to change. He is perfect. He’s a complicated perfect, with a hell of a lot of layers. His perfect is that he’s flawed and he’s broken.” She paused and thought of Dory and Rosie. “He’s loving and compassionate and stubborn. He’s also loyal and arrogant and…” She smiled. “He’s tender. There’s nothing I would change about Matt Hawkins. I love every layer of his perfect being.”

  Grace looked into the woman’s glittery eyes. “Every. Single. Layer.” She turned and headed for the front door.

  “You’re not allowed inside.” Delilah shouted. “Only family is.”

  “Grace is his family now.” Betty Jo crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Matt loves me. Always has.” Delilah shouted.

  Grace had a hand on the door but took the time to look over her shoulder. The look on Delilah’s face made her blood boil. It was one of triumph. As if she’d just won something. Grace stared at her for a good five seconds, until her heart slowed a bit and she was able to speak.

  “If you think what Matt feels for you is love, then you’re more delusional than I thought.”

  The woman opened her mouth and if she said something, Grace didn’t know. She pushed on the door and walked inside. Grace headed for the elevators, armed with a room number and the urgent need to see the man she loved.

  Once on the second floor, she quickly found room 211. She didn’t stop. She needed to see him and gently pushed open the door. She slipped inside and quietly closed it behind her. She stood still, a little unsure of how to proceed. Matt sat in a chair beside the bed, his back to her, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, his face in his palms.

  She couldn’t really see his father, but by the labored breaths, she knew he was not doing well. It was heartbreaking for Grace to hear. She couldn’t imagine what it was like for Matt.

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  Grace jumped, startled at the sound of his voice. She swallowed that stupid lump that never seemed to go away, and tried not think about the fact that Matt didn’t sound happy to see her. She could do this. She had to do this.

  “I had to come,” she said quietly, taking a few steps forward.

  He turned slightly, giving her enough of his profile to know he was exhausted. He swore, said something she couldn’t make out and then got to his feet. Matt turned to her and the fear that had been twisting inside her since Gravenhurst, ramped up something fierce.

  He looked so damn cold and closed off. It scared her.

  “I don’t want you here Grace. Not now. I can’t do this with you.”

  “But why not?” The words fell from her lips before she could stop them.

  Matt’s eyes flashed, and his mouth curved into a cruel line. “Why not? Do you want me to give you the entire fucking list?”

  More than a little shocked at the depth of his anger, Grace took a moment, her mind scrambling for the right words.

  “I want you to let me help you.”

  “Why?” he shot back, taking a step toward her.

  It was crunch time and there was no more hiding for Grace.

  “Because I love you.”

  He didn’t hesitate. “You don’t love me. You don’t know me, Grace. Not really.” His face darkened and he shook his head. “If you knew the shit that haunts my head, you’d be running as far away as you could.” His hands fisted, he hunched his shoulders, and he looked so angry that Grace’s courage slipped. This wasn’t going at all like she’d hoped.

  “You’re wrong,” she whispered. “Let me in, Matt.”

  His gaze swung back to his still laboring father and when he finally turned to Grace, his eyes were dull, his expression wooden. When he spoke there was no emotion. There were simply words.

  “When I was sixteen my father beat me so badly, I ended up in the hospital for weeks.”

  Chest heaving, heart aching at his words she took a step toward him. But Matt shook his head and she froze.

  “He beat me because he found me in bed with Delilah. She cried rape and he snapped. He never thought to question the fact that she was in my bedroom. He just started throwing punches and that was it. I was done. Didn’t have a chance.”

  Grace watched him closely. Afraid. So afraid for him.

  “If he had asked, I would have told him that when I was fifteen, she walked in on me in the shower. Said it was an accident. Said she thought my dad was in there. It happened again a few weeks later, but this time I knew it wasn’t an accident because she stripped off all of her clothes and climbed in with me. After that we had sex whenever we could. My dad would be out mowing the lawn and I’d be in the house banging his wife.” He laughed, a colorless, harsh sound. “I thought I was in love with her. Hell, maybe I was. It’s hard to keep things straight in my head.”

  “You were a child,” she said slowly, horrified.

  Matt looke
d away. “After my dad caught us—after the hospital—I had nowhere to go. I crashed at friends houses and in the summer spent a lot of nights at the lake, sleeping in an old ratty comforter I found at the dump.”

  Grace didn’t know what to say.

  “He didn’t want me back, and I guess I can’t blame him. I disappeared into a world of booze, drugs, and women. I banged anything that moved because I could. I treated women like crap and I didn’t give a damn. I got high and hoped like hell I would stay that way for the rest of my life. I’d pop any pill, smoke any drug I could get my hands on and then I’d chase it down with a bottle of Jack.”

  He looked up suddenly and Grace’s breath caught. He didn’t look anything like her Matt. This man was hard and angry.

  “That went on for a few years, and truthfully it’s a damn miracle I survived. Betty Jo had a hand in that, and I guess we saved each other.”

  He was silent for a few more moments, his eyes back on his slumbering father. “A few years passed and I found out about Justin. That they’d had a kid together. I scraped together enough cash to fly to Phoenix. I found their place. I don’t know what it was that I thought I’d accomplish by heading out there. I was high, pumped full of pills when I got to the house. My dad came to the door and told me if I ever showed my face there again he’d kill me.”

  Grace’s eyes moved to the prone body on the bed. How could a man treat his child like that?

  “He would have. I saw it in his eyes.” Matt followed her gaze. “And now he’s dying and I’m here with him and I have no idea how long this is going to take.” Matt went quiet for a few moments. “You need to go back to your family, Grace.”

  “Don’t tell me what I need.” Anger sparked a small flame inside her, and she lifted her chin defiantly.

  “We’re not a couple, Grace. We played house for a few weeks. That’s about it.”

  His words hurt her as much as if he’d taken a blade to her skin. Played house. That’s how he saw their time together?