“More?” Her eyes widened.
“It’s difficult to calculate my exact net worth. There’s a lot of moving parts.”
“But how much are you worth?” she pressed, clearly curious. “Like, two million?”
“Last I spoke with my finance guy, he projected that my assets totaled near thirty million.”
“What?!?” She shoved me.
“Yes.” I laughed, enjoying her reaction.
“How did you do that?” She looked incredulous.
“I’ve made aggressive, highly successful investments. One after another. It’s accumulated, fast.”
“I’ll say!”
We sat in silence, enjoying the view, a bird twittering overhead. I searched for the right words. Fists and fucking, those came naturally to me. Feeling emotions and expressing them, that took work.
“It’s yours, Kara.”
“What?” she asked, turning toward me.
“Everything I have. It’s yours, whatever you want, whatever you need.”
“Declan,” she scoffed, chucking me again with her elbow, clearly not taking me seriously.
“I mean it, Kara.” I clasped her hands in mine and looked her straight in the eyes. “All of this, it’s nothing without you. I want to give it. I want to share it with you.”
She smiled at me and kissed me softly on the lips. I held back. She needed me to go slow, to give her time to recover.
She stroked my cheek and just about killed me as she said, “Declan, don’t you know that all I want is you?”
§
The next day we hung out with my property manager, Brett, his wife and their new baby. Only two and a half weeks old, she looked so tiny and pink that I was afraid to go too close, as if I might somehow break her. But Kara tucked right in, finding a comfy place on the sofa next to the new mom and holding the baby like a pro.
Kara looked up at me shyly and smiled. She looked so beautiful and natural like that, a baby in her arms. I couldn’t help but smile back. I didn’t know what was happening between us, what kind of craziness she was making me feel, but I did know it felt good.
That night Kara and I made a simple dinner in the cabin, pasta with meat sauce and red wine. Out of nowhere, she asked me about my family.
“So you really don’t have anyone?” she asked, seeming to feel the weight of it.
“Thanks for putting it like that,” I joked as I took a sip of wine. I didn’t like pity parties. I wanted to lighten things up. “Not pulling any punches, are you?”
She nearly choked on her forkful of spaghetti. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she sputtered, blushing.
“No?” I couldn’t help but tease again. It was great to see her energy returning, some of our usual banter rising again to the surface.
“I don’t mean to be insensitive about it,” she insisted.
I nearly snorted. “You don’t need to wear kid gloves with me, Kara. I’ve been on my own most of my life. I’m used to it.”
“But your father might still be alive,” she continued. My hand tensed on the stem of my wine glass. I didn’t like where she was going with this. Let sleeping dogs lie, and if anyone was a dog it was my deadbeat dad.
Not picking up on my tension, or choosing to ignore it, she went on. “You could find out who he is, at least. You’ve got the resources. If you hired a private investigator they could probably locate him. He might be living near here right this minute.”
“Kara.” I exhaled, trying not to let my anger rise to the surface. She’d just been through a severe trauma. There was no need to yell at her. I needed to calm and soothe her, not frighten and intimidate. “I’m not interested.”
“But don’t you wonder sometimes?” she persisted. “What’s he like? Maybe he looks just like you? Maybe you guys have the same—”
“Enough.” I looked at her sternly. “It may be hard for you to understand. I know your father and you were tight. But I’m not tracking down that bastard. I’m not going to call him up and beg him to take me to lunch. See if he wants to toss around a baseball in the park.”
“It doesn’t have to be like that, Declan.” She looked pained.
“It’s not going to happen.” That wound had scabbed over long ago. No good could come of picking it open.
“OK.” She sighed. “I’ve made you talk about something you don’t want to. Now I’m going to make myself.” I noticed her hand shook as she brought a napkin to her lips, dabbing away non-existent red sauce. “Have you heard anything about…” She paused, her lips trembling.
“Yes,” I answered quickly, wanting to save her the pain of having to say Lymon’s name. Shit-sucking scumbag would be more appropriate. “I haven’t wanted to bring it up.”
“I know.” She shuddered, but gave me a frail smile. “You’ve been taking such good care of me.”
I winced. She was being too generous. I was at fault. For all of it. At least I could ease her mind on one point. “You don’t have to worry about either of them again, Kara. They’re both going to go to prison for a long time.”
“Really?” She sat up, looking stronger, buoyed by the news. “Even though they didn’t…they didn’t get around to—”
“Yes,” I answered again, suppressing another wince. I couldn’t bear to think of what she’d suffered. “Turns out they were wanted for a lot of things. They were not good men.”
She grimaced and brought her hands to her face. “Do I even want to know?”
“No.” I honestly didn’t think she did. A prostitution ring, a meth lab and distribution network. Lymon had not played by the rules. Now he’d pa
y for it, year after year in a maximum security prison. I hoped they locked him up and threw away the key.
She burst out into tears and I rushed to her, gathering her in my arms.
“Kara, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Her sobs wracked her body, her ribs heaving and the anguish pouring out of her. It nearly broke me, made me wild, frantic to comfort her. “I should have gotten there sooner. You never would have been there if I’d helped you in the first place. I never should have—”
“Declan, stop,” she managed. “Just hold me.” I brought her to the couch and we stayed like that for a while, her crying onto my chest while I stroked her hair. After she fell asleep I moved us to the bed and she clung to my side, molding her body to mine.
That night she woke once, terrified, fighting off a nightmare. I held her to my chest and whispered soothing words, feeling her frantic breathing slowly regain its resting rhythm. She stilled, ear against the beating of my heart while I played with her long, silky locks.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, knowing she was asleep, wondering if I could ever say it enough. I was sorry about so many things, and I kept adding new items to the list. Like our dinner conversation. She’d tried to encourage me to find my father. I’d shut her down like a meddling nuisance. She was just trying to do what she thought was right.
We were both orphans, I realized. Neither one of us had a mother or a father. But now, we could have each other. If she’d let me.
Kara made me think crazy thoughts, the kind I’d never had before. With her, I could imagine having children, beautiful kids who looked just like her and acted just like her and maybe every now and then would tolerate their big, gruff father.
I still knew I didn’t deserve her, but I knew I wanted to try. I wanted to try like hell the rest of my life to be the right man for her. I didn’t know if she’d let me, if she’d say yes, but now that I’d almost lost her, three times over, I knew I couldn’t take that pain again. I had to have Kara by my side every day for the rest of our lives. What before had seemed impossible now seemed as necessary as breathing air. How could I hem and haw, pace and worry about whether I was the marrying kind when I felt deep in every bone of my body that we belonged together? Click, like two puzzle pieces. Done. No need to think it over, wonder why or how and whether, it just was the truth.