Tyler O’Neill’s Redemption (18 page)

He loved her.

Watching her, his heart so big it felt as though it might beat right out of his chest, he loved her so much it hurt.

He set the box of Girl Scout cookies he’d grabbed from his car on her bedside table along with a note that she should call him as soon as she woke up.

According to his watch, he had about five hours before a morning meeting with some roofing suppliers for the build. Juliette sighed and shifted in her sleep, rolling slightly to reveal her breasts.

Man, responsibility really sucked.

“Tyler?” she whispered. “What are you doing?”

“I need to go,” he said. “I have a meeting in a few hours. I should maybe get a few minutes of sleep.”

She pulled hair out of her eyes and pouted. “You want to sleep?” she asked, twisting in the sheets. “Really?”

It required no thought.

“No,” he said, and threw off his clothes.

He found them in the kitchen. Richard and Miguel, sitting at the table, cards in their hands, as if it was all no big deal. As if they’d been doing it every night he went out to Remy’s.

Little clues started coming together and it occurred to him that they probably had.

“When you’ve got a queen in the flop—” his father was saying, as if he was some kind of gambling professor.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tyler demanded.

Miguel had the good sense to put down the cards and look ashamed. But not Dad. No, not Richard Bonavie.

“Hey, son, come on in. We’re just playing a little Texas hold ’em.”

“I can see what you’re doing,” Tyler spat.

“Don’t be mad at your dad,” Miguel said, standing up. “It was my idea.”

“I told you I wasn’t going to teach you cards!” Tyler said.

“And you’re not.” Richard stepped in, all smiles. Tyler’s hands clenched and he nearly embraced the overwhelming desire to smash his father’s nose. “I am.”

Tyler had to look away, take a step back. A deep breath.

Do not punch your father. Do not punch your father.

“I wanted something more for you,” Tyler said, turning to Miguel. “I wanted you to have some skills. Something besides cards.”

“I know,” Miguel said, looking at his shoes.

“Clearly you don’t!”

“Hey,” Richard said. He stood and clapped a hand on Tyler’s shoulder, which Tyler threw off with so much force Richard was knocked back slightly.

“I don’t understand what the big deal is!” Richard said.

“You never do, Dad!” he yelled. “You don’t see the big deal about walking away from your family. You don’t see the big deal about mooching off your son. About vanishing for months at a time. About credit-card fraud—”

“I told you I had nothing to do with that,” Richard said, his chin suddenly hard, as though his pride had been offended.

“Did Miguel tell you that I didn’t want him to learn how to play cards?”

“Yeah, but—”

“And you did it anyway?”

Richard’s eyes narrowed. “Last I checked,
I
was
your
father. Not the other way around.”

Tyler laughed. He laughed so hard it hurt. It hurt from his toes to his heart, his gut and his throat. His father was never going to understand what was wrong. Never.

“Get out of my house,” he said.

Miguel crouched to grab his coat. “I’m sorry, Tyler. I am. It’s not—”

“Not you,” Tyler said, stopping the boy. This moment had been a long time coming, years and years of pretending that what passed between them was working. Was worth it.

Tyler pointed at his father. “Get out of my house.”

For a second Richard looked at a loss and Tyler felt a moment’s pity. But then he laughed again, the sound colored with desperation.

“Good one, son. You nearly had me going there.” Richard crouched in front of the kitchen liquor cabinet to pull out a bottle of Jack. “Come on, why don’t we all have a drink and—”

Tyler slammed the door shut and had to force himself not to do more. Not to do worse. Years of letting this man steer him into waters he had no desire to visit—waters he thought he deserved because of his blood, because of the people he’d hurt and left behind. All those years coalesced into something so dark, so damning, he couldn’t turn away from this path.

His anger wouldn’t let him.

“I’m done with you, Dad.”

“Ty, come on.”

Just then, Richard looked every moment of his age, his belly curving over the edge of his belt, silver chest hair fighting its way out of his collar. A con man at the end of his days, and Tyler could see where the old man would end up. Some bachelor apartment off the strip with sagging furniture and water stains on the ceiling, waiting for his luck to turn around.

Tyler felt bad, he truly did, but he didn’t want to end up there with him.

And Richard would have no second thoughts about dragging Tyler down to his level.

“Pack your stuff,” he said to Richard’s stunned face.

“You’ll regret this,” Richard said, finally stumbling into action.

“I won’t,” Tyler said, thinking of Juliette. Of what his life could be without Richard around his neck like a stone. Something in him was swimming toward the surface, pulling him toward a future that had no Richard in it, and he was happy. Hopeful.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I am. But you have to go.”

Tyler followed his father into the living room, where Richard had been keeping his stuff.

“Don’t come looking for me when your money runs out,” Richard said, tossing golf shirts into his bag.

Tyler felt a twinge of guilt and pulled out his wallet. “How much do you need, Dad?”

Richard spun around. “I won’t take a penny of your—”

“You have no cash, Dad. You can’t even get a bus ticket.” He unfolded some bills, enough for a bus to New Orleans and a first-class ticket to Las Vegas.

“You don’t know what I have,” Richard said, his voice mean and snide. Richard Bonavie with his back against the wall—Tyler had seen it a million times.

He pressed the money into his dad’s fist and when Richard looked as if he was going to toss it in Tyler’s face, he closed his fist around his father’s as hard as he could, putting every empty moment they’d spent together into his grip.

Pain bracketed Richard’s lips but he said nothing.

“This is the last money you’ll see from me,” Tyler said.

Cowed, Richard took it.

Tyler watched, his heart hard, thoughts of Juliette a bright light guiding him to safer waters.

Tyler opened the door for his father, the night and the unknown and the next big con waiting for Richard like an old lover.

Richard paused at the threshold. “I tried,” he whispered. “I know you don’t believe that, but I did the best I could.”

Tyler did believe it, and for a moment he felt this resolve waiver. He felt like he was kicking a puppy that didn’t know any better.

“But the kid is good,” his father whispered. “The three of us, we could—”

“Go,” Tyler said. “Just go.”

He watched his father walk off into the night, toward town and the bus station, and wondered if this was how snakes felt when they got rid of that skin.

He felt new. Fresh. Capable of anything.

“I’m sorry, Tyler,” Miguel whispered. “I came to him with the idea.”

“It’s okay,” he said, watching his father walk away.

“He was pretty decent to me,” Miguel said. “He didn’t drink when I was here.”

There was nothing to say to that. Tyler felt regret bite hard into his throat, not that he’d kicked his father out, but that his father couldn’t manage to string those moments of decency together. That he couldn’t rise above the worst of himself.

“He taught me a lot about cards,” Miguel said.

“But cards are nothing to pin a future on, do you get that?”

“But the money—”

“Money runs out, Miguel,” Tyler said. “When I found my dad ten years ago, he had so much money he couldn’t spend it fast enough. But he did. Look at him.”

Miguel looked out into the night. Richard, once the big man, was walking away with borrowed money in his pocket, about to take a bus.

“You’re starting this job after school in a week,” Tyler said. “A real job. And I bet in time, you’ll be a foreman on that job. And you’ll have skills you can take anywhere. You’ll have a way to take care of your sister for good, not just for a while.”

Miguel licked his lips and nodded. “I guess,” he said.

“You guess?” Tyler laughed. “I think it’s a whole lot better than I guess, considering you tried to steal Suzy.”

Miguel rolled his eyes. “Dude! You are so weird.”

“Keep that up and I won’t teach you how to drive her.”

“Did I say weird?” Miguel asked. “I meant awesome.”

“I know you did, kid. I know you did.”

She was here to show Tyler and herself—and Priscilla, if the old lady cared—that she was ready to love all of Tyler. Even the bad stuff. And that meant getting to know his father.

The door swung open, revealing Tyler holding a steaming cup of coffee. A long slow smile that was better than a kiss crossed his face.

“Well, now,” he said, leaning against the door and making her want to giggle with nerves and lust. “To what do I owe this honor?”

“Here,” she said, thrusting the small white box at him. Nerves made her awkward, ungracious.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Muffins.”

“You baked?”

She snorted and then tried very hard to pretend she hadn’t. “No. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I wasn’t,” he said, stepping aside so she could walk in. “I was being hopeful. Juliette Tremblant at my door in a skirt carrying muffins? Where’s the porno music?”

She laughed, helpless against this man’s humor. His charm. This was why she loved him, because he brought light to her darkest days, turned her gray life into Technicolor.

“I’m here to meet your father,” she said, turning to face him in time to see his expression go hard. Cold. “Is that a problem?”

“I’m guessing by the skirt and muffins you’re not here as police chief?”

She shook her head. “I want to know all of you, Tyler,” she said. “Good, bad and otherwise. And that means your father.”

Tyler put down the mug and box on the table in the foyer and stepped close to Juliette, his warmth embracing her, his smell enveloping her.

“I hate to disappoint you,” he said, his fingers toying with the hem of the gauzy white shirt she wore. Desire seeped into her and she watched his fingers unbutton the bottom button. And the next one up. “Since you’re all dressed up in your Sunday best, bringing gifts, but I kicked him out Friday night.”

“What?” she asked, rallying her brain function. “Why?”

His fingers kept climbing the buttons on her shirt, until he slipped it off her shoulders, revealing a thin camisole.

“Can I tell you later?” he asked, kissing her shoulder, her collarbone. “I get so turned on by a woman bearing baked goods.”

“These are great,” he said, finishing off his third muffin.

“I’ll be sure to tell Cindy down at The Sunrise.” She picked the last blueberry out of hers and handed the rest of it to Tyler. Suddenly, she wanted to take care of him. Make sure he slept. Was fed. The boy needed a keeper. “You want to tell me about your father?”

“Not really.”

“Please, Ty. No more secrets.”

He glanced heavenward and then brushed off his hands and sat up against the headboard, the sheet pooling low on his hips.

She kept her eyes on his face, refusing to be distracted by the muscles ribbing his stomach. The bite mark on his neck.

“Why’d you kick him out, Ty?”

“Don’t get mad,” he said.

“Uh-oh.”

“Friday night, I came home from your house and found Miguel here. Richard was teaching him how to play cards.”

“What?”

“From what I gathered, Miguel left his backpack here one night when I was gone, and when he came here to pick it up he found Dad, bored and willing to teach him how to play cards.”

Tyler told her about how Miguel had first approached Tyler to teach him, but how instead, he’d put Miguel to work cleaning up the house.

“That little sneak,” she said.

“Right, well. It was time for Dad to go, and that just gave me an excuse to make it happen.”

“Was your father here looking for the gems?” she asked, and Tyler’s eyes sharpened.

“Why would you think that?”

She blinked. “Why wouldn’t I? Your mother broke into the house twice because she was convinced they were here.”

“Dad didn’t find any gems,” he finally said, pulling the sheet up higher on his lap.

“I don’t hold your parents’ sins against you,” she said, wondering why he looked so uncomfortable.

“That’s a relief,” he said, his voice snide. “I’ve got enough of my own.”

This was not going the way she had hoped. She was just trying to get some answers and he was acting as if he was hiding something.

“Did you know your parents were involved in the gem theft seven years ago?”

“Are you interrogating me?” he asked, and she sat back, wounded by his tone.

“No,” she said, but inwardly she winced. Maybe she was. A little. “Why would you—”

“Because you’re the police chief,” he said. “And my parents are crooks.”

“I’m just trying to figure out why everyone thinks the gems are here.”

“I didn’t know. I was living in Vegas at the time but…I was occupied.”

“With what?”

“A performer with Cirque du Soleil.”

Oh. She tried not to be jealous, but she couldn’t help it, and his attitude wasn’t helping.

She’d come here, damn it, to show him she was serious. That she was ready to put aside the past and their differences and try to make it work. And he was treating her as though she was the bad guy.

Angry, she stood, dropping the quilt and pulling on her skirt and tank top. “You know, I’m your sister’s best friend,” she snapped. “And I was looking after this house before you came along as a favor to Margot, who is like family to me.”

“I know,” he muttered, reaching out for her hand, but she slapped it away.

“I just want to help, Tyler, that’s all. I’m not the enemy. And I won’t be treated like I am.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I am.”

She shook back her hair, watching him carefully, the difference between them suddenly seeming bigger than ever.