Rhys (Secrets Book 1) Read online

  Getting out of his truck, I toss a couple condoms his way—my way of saying thanks. He laughs, wishes me a safe flight, and pulls right back out into airport traffic. For all our name-calling, I truly love the guy like a brother.

  I’ve circled back around by the house three times now and I’ve yet to find the nerve to stop. It’s early evening, the lights are shining through the front windows, and my mother has walked by the previous two times I’ve driven past.

  It’s been a few years since I’ve seen either of them; from the looks of it, she hasn’t changed much. Her hair looks longer, but as far as I can see from the few glimpses I’ve gotten, she looks exactly as I recall, as beautiful as always.

  Stop the car, Rhys.

  At least go inside to see her. She doesn’t deserve your silence. Yes, she called Brant instead of you, but maybe it was an olive branch, her way of reaching out and leaving the next step up to me.

  The next time I drive by, I’ll stop—at least that’s what I tell myself. On the fourth time by, I do finally pull up and stop in front of the house. The car is in park but I don’t make a move to get out or turn the ignition off. Staring in the front windows is enough for me. I’m praying the slight window tint is adequate to conceal my identity from my mom in case she passes by the window again.

  It’s like crossing the bridge between us is as hard as our country becoming allies with North Korea—which is completely ridiculous. They’re my parents, and deep down, I know they both love me. This rift is not my mother’s doing; its weight rests solely on my father’s shoulders.

  He’s the one who said he never wanted to see me again.

  He’s the one who shoved me out the door.

  He’s the one who punched his own son.

  He’s the one who said I was no longer a child of his.

  He’s the one.

  He’s the one who almost died.

  Punching the steering wheel, I look up to see my mother’s sapphire blue eyes staring back at me through the windshield. Shit. Only two options are available to me now: I could throw the car into reverse and leave, or I could cut the ignition, get out, and hug my mother. I could be the man I’ve become without the aid of my father and be the bigger person here. Start to bridge the gap between us. Rebuild our shattered relationship. All it takes is one step.

  It’s like my subconscious knew by pausing in front of the house, she’d eventually get curious enough to come out and investigate. My move was made before I knew what it was.

  I turn the ignition off.

  She stays where she is, watching me from the front of the car, and I haven’t moved a muscle since turning the key. I doubt I’ve blinked. We continue to stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, but I’m guessing is actually around two minutes.

  “Get out of the car, Rhys.” It’s the first time I’ve heard her voice in years. It doesn’t come out as a demand, but more of a plea.

  Taking a deep breath, I open the car door. It’s the only move I make. My veins feel like they’re suddenly filled with lead, not blood. I can’t move. Can’t take the next step. Turning off the ignition and opening the door is as far as I can go.

  “I can’t.” The words come out as a wobble. I’m scared of my own mother—ridiculous. A grown ass man reduced to a child in the presence of his own mother. This is pathetic. I’m completely certifiable.

  “The son I raised would get out of the damn car. Besides, your father isn’t here. Get out and come visit with me. I have lasagna in the oven, and I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.” She leaves me flabbergasted in the car and walks back into the house.

  Since he’s not home, I don’t see the harm in going inside. I’m already here, and I am hungry. Screw it, I’m going inside.

  Walking in the front door, I’m hit with a feeling of nostalgia, memories of my childhood all over the walls. I may not have grown up in this house, but there are memories here nonetheless.

  “I was wondering how long it’d take you to make it inside,” she calls from the kitchen. “Would you like a drink? There’s scotch, vodka, or whiskey in the liquor cabinet, or there’s some beer in the fridge. Hurry up and get your ass in here, dinner’s done.”

  Aideen Gallhagar has never been one to mince words. She’s always spoken her mind, which is why her recent lack of communication is continuously puzzling to me. My father cut me off, but that didn’t mean she had to as well. He was angry with me; she wasn’t. It was him who was livid about my choice not to remain on active duty. I get her being his wife and taking his side on certain issues, but to cut off her own son? Understanding her actions has never been my strong suit.

  Wordlessly making my way into the kitchen, I stop at the liquor cabinet and pour myself three fingers worth of whiskey. Screw the beer; this conversation calls for hard liquor. I’ll call a cab back to my hotel if needed, or sleep off the drunk on the couch until I’m good enough to drive.

  Still silent, I pull out a chair and motion for her to take a seat. Always the gentleman. Before taking my own seat, I gulp down the contents of my glass. May as well pour another—I’m going to need it. Grabbing the bottle, I walk back to the table and finally take my seat.

  “Going to get piss drunk? At least take a few bites of your dinner, let it sop up some of the booze. I can feel the anger rolling off your shoulders. You’re entitled to it, as am I. We’ll get our issues hashed out, and maybe you’ll eventually speak to your father. If not, that’s okay too, but you will listen to me and listen to me good, Rhys. You’re not leaving my house until I’ve had my say. Now eat your damn dinner instead of drinking it.”

  Damn right I’m angry.

  Fuming.

  Irate.

  Furious.

  Enraged.

  And desperate for my mother’s love.

  “Tell me one thing: why?”

  It’s the only question I want answered. Her telling me why she chose him and continuously chooses him over me is the only thing I need to hear. If her reason is good enough, I can find it in my lonely heart to forgive her—although my heart isn’t lonely anymore, not since a certain untamed tiger walked back into my life. She is untamed—scared, yes, but still untamed, still the same fiery girl I once knew.

  “It’s complicated and you may not ever understand until you’re married. When I said my marriage vows, I swore to always be on your father’s side. Those words may not have been said out loud, but my heart spoke them. Do I think this rift between us is senseless? God yes, and it is way past time it comes to an end.”

  She stops explaining and starts eating, motioning for me to do the same. I pour another three fingers instead. Eventually her glares across the table are enough and I succumb to them, taking a bite of my dinner.

  “The more you eat, the more I’ll talk. I may have offered you a drink, but not the whole damn bottle.”

  Scrunching my lips and nose up at her, I give her a look that can only be described as childish, one I’m sure would’ve earned me a swat on the ass if I were still a child.

  “You always were a brat.” Her honeyed voice meets my ears, which turns her insults melodic. “I didn’t support your father in this fight, Rhys, and I have tried to keep in contact with you. I’ve mailed you letters, birthday cards, Christmas gifts—everything came back ‘return to sender’. Forgive me if I thought you didn’t want to speak to me. I’ve kept them all, and you’re welcome to go through them.”

  Choosing not to answer, I simply nod and continue eating. I’m not sure what to say. Words have entirely failed me. Her blue eyes stare back at me when I push my plate toward the middle of the table, signaling I’m done. I’m also done with the whiskey. Her words have struck a nerve. I’d like to see the letters she spoke of and my head should be clearer.

  “Thank you. For dinner, and for your words. I’d like to see the letters, please.”

  My words must be enough for her, at least for now. She gets up from the table and leads me back toward the back bedroom, the one that be
longs to me—or at least the one that should’ve belonged to me until after college or so. I’d only slept in the bed for a week before my father had kicked me to the curb, vowing to never speak to me again.

  “He’s sorry, you know.” It’s like she can read my thoughts.

  “Is he? I mean, is he really? If he truly is sorry, why hasn’t he tried to contact me?”

  “He has tried. There are multiple letters from him in there as well. You’ll find them. I’ll leave you to yourself. If you have any questions, I’ll be cleaning up in the kitchen.”

  She closes my bedroom door behind her on the way out, and I’m left alone with two boxes full of letters and gifts. Two boxes full of apologies.

  From the looks of it, I’ll be reading for hours. Good thing I didn’t plan on sleeping tonight anyway—my nervousness about my meeting is sure to keep me up for hours.

  Here goes nothing.

  Not knowing where to start, I dump out the entire contents of both boxes and spread them out on the bed. Maybe there’s a date stamped on them by the postmaster. If there is, I can try to at least make sense of them somehow.

  I’m slightly…off kilter.

  When I flew out here this afternoon, I had no intentions whatsoever of driving by, and I certainly wasn’t planning on stopping. Hell no.

  As far as I was concerned, the man who boarded the plane in Chicago was a man on a solitary mission: see Martinelli, quit my job as his lawyer and hired muscle, and get out from under his reign. My curiosity has landed me in way over my head. I’ve done some bad crap I can never take back, seen certain things people should never have to see, but I will redeem myself.

  I’ve made peace with Vinny’s death now. After tunneling myself in deep with his ‘family’, I’m not any closer today than I was a year ago. I’ll never know why he died, or if he truly was a snitch like his death seemed to allude to.

  Sighing, I run my fingers through my hair and start to tackle the issue at hand—the letters.

  She wasn’t kidding. There have to be at least three hundred letters, postcards, and birthday cards here. I’m not beginning to count the gifts I see.

  The anger I felt walking into this house has all but evaporated. For the first time in years, I’m starting to see more clearly. This rift, fight, whatever it is or was needs to end now. I’ll work on my father and bring him around to my way of thinking. Maybe someday I’ll tell him I used my training. He’d hate what I’ve been using it for, but who the hell knows; he’d probably be oddly proud I was using it.

  I’m a good ten letters in when my phone rings. The ringtone gives away who’s calling before I glance down at the display.

  “Hey babe, how was your day?”

  “Well, lemme see. First it started with a sexy man wrapped around me in bed. If you could’ve seen him, you’d be asking yourself why I crawled out of bed. Sadly, it went downhill from there. You?”

  “Who is this sexy man? Do I need to kick his ass?”

  “Nah, he flew to the other side of the country to get away from me.” The playful tone of her voice makes me regret not taking her up on her offer to travel with me.

  “He misses you. He’s also sorry you’ve had a bad day.”

  I’d kiss her right now if she were in this room with me. Hell, I’d let her read my letters with me. At least she’d be in it with me and I wouldn’t be falling apart every single time I see my mother profess her love or ask me to come home.

  “I miss you, too.”

  “My flight tomorrow gets to O’Hare at shortly after three. By the time I rent a car and get on the road, I should be back home around eight, maybe a bit after. We could hang out when I get home, unless you want to wait until Thursday.”

  She’s quiet for a few seconds—too quiet, like she’s plotting something. The last time she went completely quiet in a conversation, she came up with the idea to take the keys to an army-owned Humvee and take it out for a joyride. Only issue was, none of us could drive.

  “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”

  “Oh, nothing.” But I can hear the smirk in her voice; she’s most definitely up to something.

  “Rhys dear, are you staying the night?” my mother asks from the hallway as she opens my bedroom door.

  “One second, Mom, I’ll be off the phone in a few. But no, I’m checked in at a hotel downtown. Tiger Lily, speak up, baby,” I urge again. My mother is still in the doorway, listening to my side of the conversation.

  “I’mgoingtodriveMystiqueandcomepickyouup.”

  I’m unable to help the laughter rolling out, because what the hell did she just say?

  “Stop laughing, dillweed.”

  Oh shit, she’s made me laugh some more with the insult. I’m still laughing when my mom grabs the phone out of my hands and starts talking to Averill.

  Wait. What?

  “Mom, give me my phone, please.” She places one solitary finger across my lips, signaling for me to shut up.

  Great, now they’re probably plotting against me. Once she finds out it’s Averill on the other line, I’m doubly fucked. They’ll use their combined wits to keep me on my toes for the rest of my life.

  Shit.

  The two of them together used to pull off some epic pranks on Brant and myself. I should be more worried about her finding out it’s Averill than I am, but I’m not. Both of my parents have always admired her. If she ever found herself in need of anything, she knew she could find it here.

  Aideen and Frank Gallhagar were known to my friends on base as the go-to parents. Fighting with your siblings? Run to the Gallhagar’s. Did something wrong and need a place to hide from your parents’ wrath for a couple hours? The Gallhagar’s will help you out. Yet another reason I’m wounded by this moronic fight between us.

  I stop making a fuss about getting my phone back and again focus on the letters laid out before me.

  After a few minutes, I hear my mother making her way back into the bedroom.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you’re dating Averill?”

  Maybe because I’m not.

  “As of an hour ago, I didn’t know all of this”—I motion to the stacks of letters and cards surrounding me—“existed. Forgive me if during our brief conversation—which still isn’t finished, by the way—I forgot to mention Averill, whom, I may as well add, I’m not dating—though not for my lack of trying.”

  This isn’t the conversation we need to be having. In a roundabout way, we hashed crap out over dinner, but not everything. I have a ton of things to say. Yes, these letters and shit help. It helps knowing she wrote to me at least twice a week, maybe more, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s been years since we’ve spoken. It doesn’t answer why none of these letters and packages never reached me.

  She’s standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, clutching my phone to her chest as if my words hurt her, and maybe they did. Maybe it was the reality check she needed, a shock to her system, so to speak, one to let her know she knows nothing of her own son’s personal life.

  She knows nothing of my life at all.

  My life now, anyway. The Rhys she knew was a different man, a scared 22-year-old starting his life. One who had left the army behind to study law. I had been accepted into a law program in California, near home, as well as one in Michigan. Up until the day my father kicked me out, I was preparing to attend the program here, to stay in this house, at least for the first year.

  “Okay, maybe I deserved to be snapped at, and I’ll admit we’re nowhere close to being done talking our issues through. I was giving you some space to look over your letters while I cleaned up from dinner. I’m sorry for taking your phone, but you were laughing too hard to reply to whoever was on the line. If I had known it was Averill, I would’ve taken the damn phone when I first heard you talking from down the hall. If you want to hash it all out tonight, we can. I’m ready to talk about everything, or we can do it later. It’s your call, Rhys.”

  She continues to l
ean in the doorway, clenching my phone, staring at me as if I hold all the answers in the world. The only thing I know is I’m not completely ready to have this conversation. Not tonight. Not with the meeting looming over my head. And now I have all these letters… I need more time.

  “Mom, I’m going to take all of this with me and go. I’ll be back. I don’t know when, but I promise I’ll be back. I’m in town for business and leave tomorrow. Give me a few days and I’ll call you.”

  It’s the best I can offer her at the moment. I’m certainly not going to extend my trip; I have way too much crap back home to take care of. Family can wait. This misunderstanding can be repaired later. Besides, it involves three of us, not two.

  “When is Dad supposed to be out of the hospital?” It’s the first I’ve asked about him all night, and the surprise shows all over her face. She clearly didn’t expect me to ask anything about him.

  “Tomorrow, actually.”

  She doesn’t offer any other information. She wants me to ask for it.

  “He’s okay, though?” If she says no, I’ll stay. I’ll take back my vow to myself and stay, at least one extra day.

  “He’s getting there. The heart attack was brought on by a blocked artery. They performed surgery on him, a coronary angiogram, and thus far he’s been steadily improving. As long as he makes his diet more heart-friendly, he’ll stay at a low risk of any future attacks.”

  The breath I didn’t know I was holding comes out in a sudden rush. Hearing the words directly from her mouth and not in the robotic voice of a nurse like when I called the hospital impacts me more than I thought it would.

  “G-Good. I’m glad he’s going to be okay.”

  Getting up off of the floor, I start to gather the letters, placing them back into the boxes. I’m taking them all with me, and I’ll go through as many as possible back at my hotel. Whatever I don’t get through tonight, I’ll go over back home.

  She still hasn’t made an attempt to move from the doorway.