Face Off (The Baltimore Banners Book 10) Page 16

  Should she go down? Or just head up the short flight of steps and disappear into her own room?

  She wanted to disappear, even took a step forward to do just that. But something made her stop. Yes, she could disappear. Just curl up with a book or sit in front of her computer and stare at the screen and try to forget the last few hours.

  Try to forget the look of hurt in Ethan’s eyes. Try to forget the words. Try to forget the pain she felt when her heart ripped in two.

  Not because of Ethan. No, this was all on her.

  As much as she wanted to disappear, she couldn’t. She had to talk to her mother, had to ask her questions. She needed answers. But would her mother give them to her? Or would she just watch her with sadness in her eyes?

  She took a deep breath and descended the short flight of stairs. The basement was divided into three large rooms, with a full bath tucked into the corner. The largest, the one Cindy was in now, was nothing more than a large living area, complete with an old sectional and entertainment center.

  It was where Cindy had spent most of her time, hiding as the blackness swirled around her, pulling her under. This was the first time she had been down here in months. She wasn’t sure why, unless it was because of the cold hazy memories. Or maybe it was nothing more than the irrational fear that being down here would allow the darkness to suck her in again.

  She glanced around the room, waiting for her heart to speed up, waiting for her body to break out in a cold sweat. Nothing happened. Of course not: it was just a room.

  Cindy gave herself a small shake and headed to the back. Her mother’s craft room was there, off to the left. The television was a little louder now, the sounds bringing to mind a popular police drama. Cindy felt the first hint of a smile as other memories came back, of her and her mom on the sofa upstairs, watching the popular show whenever it came on—either in its normal slot, or as a rerun on the various cable channels.

  Was her mother watching it now, or was it merely background noise?

  Cindy stopped in front of the partially-closed door, suddenly nervous. More nervous than made sense. This was her mother. And in spite of the sadness and worry Cindy sensed coming from her, in spite of some of the arguments they’d had the last month or two, her mother loved her. She knew that.

  So why was she so afraid to go in?

  She took a fortifying breath and raised her hand, knocked it against the six-panel door then poked her head in—just a little. Her mom was curled up on the small loveseat, her legs tucked under her as she worked on a cross-stitch project. She raised her head and hazel eyes, so different from Cindy’s, glanced at her from above the rims of her reading glasses.

  She lowered the linen square she was stitching into her lap then reached up and pulled off her glasses. “I didn’t expect you back so early.”

  “Yeah. Neither did I.” Cindy shifted her weight, not quite meeting her mother’s gaze. She pulled on her lower lip, wondering what prompted her to come down here. This wasn’t a good idea, despite what she thought minutes ago. How could she ask her mother all the questions spinning through her mind? She couldn’t, didn’t have the courage to, not when she was afraid of the answers.

  She took a step back, ready to say goodnight and disappear upstairs. Her mother leaned forward and placed the folded glasses on the small table, her gaze never leaving Cindy’s.

  “Is something wrong, sweetheart? Did you and Ethan get into an argument?”

  Cindy frowned, surprised to hear her mother use his name. She’d never met Ethan before and Cindy couldn’t remember talking about him, at least not in any depth. “How do you know about Ethan?”

  Her mother was quiet for several long seconds. Then she sighed and patted the cushion next to her, silently inviting Cindy to sit. She hesitated, then slowly made her way over to the loveseat. But she sat in the other corner, on the edge.

  Afraid to get comfortable. Afraid of staying.

  Sadness flashed in her mother’s eyes but she blinked it away so quickly, Cindy wondered if she had only imagined it. She folded the stitched linen into a loose square and placed it to the side, then turned her gaze to Cindy.

  “You’ve talked about him. Not much, but enough.”

  “Enough?”

  “Enough for me to figure out you’re more than just friends. Or am I wrong about that?”

  “No. I mean yes.” Cindy shrugged and stared at the clasped hands in her lap. “I’m not…I’m not sure.”

  “Did you want to talk about it?”

  Did she? No, she didn’t. Not with her mother. Not now. She shook her head and took a deep breath, her gaze briefly meeting her mom’s before darting away.

  “Can I ask you a question, Mom?”

  “Of course you can. You know that.”

  “No, I don’t.” The words left her before she could stop them. “You’ve been so…I feel like I’ve let you down. Like you don’t know what to do with me. These past few months, with…with everything…I see you look at me and you look so sad. So disappointed. And so—so scared.”

  Silence, heavy and suffocating, greeted her words. The room filled with it, weighing her down, filling her lungs with air so thick, it hurt to breathe. She wanted to look at her mother, wanted to see what was in her eyes, but she couldn’t. She was afraid to.

  And then her mother was leaning forward, placing one slender hand on top of Cindy’s clasped ones. She squeezed, the touch gentle and almost reassuring.

  “I’m your mother, Cindy. Of course I’m scared. And of course I’m worried and sad. I see what you’re going through and it hurts because there’s nothing I can do for you, except be here for you.”

  “But—you said I was just like Dad.”

  “Because you are.”

  “So you think I’m crazy? Just like him?”

  “Oh. Cindy. That’s not what I meant, not at all. How could you think that?”

  “Because—these last few months. I see how you look at me. I feel how tense things are between us, how we always seem to argue. And you keep saying—keep telling me I’m just like Dad.” Cindy finally looked up, doing her best to blink back the tears. “I don’t want to be crazy, Mom. I don’t want to be like him.”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Slender arms wrapped around Cindy and suddenly she was crying, her mother’s soft words of reassurance nothing more than gentle whispers in her ears. She was no longer an adult, fighting on her own: she was a young child, being comforted by her mother, being told that the monsters under the bed weren’t real.

  Her mother’s arms tightened around her for one last squeeze then she sat back, her hazel eyes filled with tears. She reached behind her and grabbed the box of tissues that always seemed to be within reach. She yanked several out and handed them to Cindy, then pulled several more to blot her own eyes.

  “You’re not crazy, Cindy. Not at all. And when I say that you’re like your father, it’s because you are. Just like him. But I never meant it like that.”

  “Then what did you mean?”

  “You have his eyes. And his stubbornness. And his irritating way of shutting people out. And…and you have his strength.”

  Cindy sat back, the words a physical blow of pain and confusion. “His strength? How can you say that? After what he did? He wasn’t strong, he was—”

  Her mouth snapped shut before the word came out, an utterance of betrayal that horrified her. Had she really been about to call her father weak? No, she couldn’t have been.

  “He wasn’t weak, Cindy. Don’t ever think that.”

  “But he…” Cindy dropped her gaze, unable to finish.

  “He was sick, Cindy. And in the end, he made the only decision he knew to make. I think…I think you were really too young to understand how hard he fought. How hard he tried.”

  “Do you…I mean, did you hate him for that? For leaving that way?”

  Her mother leaned against the arm of the loveseat, her eyes taking on a faraway look. A sad smile hovered on her mouth but minutes wen
t by before she said anything. And when she did, her voice was quiet, hesitant. “I think for a little while, I did. Not because of what he did, though. Because he left. Because I was alone.”

  “So you really did love him?” Why was she asking this, when she knew the answer? Of course her mother loved her father. Hadn’t she told Ethan that much, earlier tonight?

  But what if she had been wrong? What if her memories weren’t really memories? What if it was nothing more than wishful thinking?

  “Of course I loved him. With all my heart. Your father was one of the best men I ever knew. Even now.”

  “Even though…even though he was sick? Weren’t you afraid of what might happen?”

  Her mother looked over, watching her with a shrewdness that surprised her. What was she seeing? Too much, Cindy thought. She looked away from the probing hazel gaze, trying to hide whatever it was her mother was seeing.

  “There are no guarantees in life, Cindy. Was I worried? Yes. A little. But it was a natural worry, the same kind of worry everyone has for their loved ones.” She leaned forward and grabbed Cindy’s hands again, squeezing. “Your father was the one who worried, who was afraid to get too close at first. That’s another way you’re like him. I can see you pushing people away, even more than before. And yes, that worries me. You can’t close yourself off, Cindy.”

  “But I don’t—” She stopped, took a deep breath and wiped a hand across her face. “I remember how it felt when he died. I don’t want to do that to anyone. I don’t want to be responsible for making anyone feel that way.”

  “So you’d rather live your life alone? Shut yourself off from everyone?”

  “No. But—” But what? It was there, the fear, lurking just beneath the surface, ready to sink its claws into her soul and rip her to shreds.

  “Life if full of risks, Cindy. It doesn’t come with guarantees. It never has. And if you really want to live, and love, you have to take those risks.”

  “Maggie said the same thing. And so did Ethan, in a way.”

  “Is that what this is about? Does it have something to do with Ethan?”

  “Yeah. Maybe.”

  Her mother sat back again, the weight of her gaze making Cindy look up. Yes, her mother saw too much. And there was no way for Cindy to hide it, none at all.

  “Do you like him?”

  “Of course. He’s a friend.”

  “Not more than a friend?”

  “I’m not sure. I think…yeah, we could be. He wants to be. I’d like to be. But I’m so afraid of…of everything.”

  “Then you have to decide if you want the fear to rule your life, or if you want to live instead.”

  “That’s what Dad did, isn’t it? Not let the fear rule him?”

  “As much as he could, yes. And it helped that he had me. You. His friends. It helped that he wasn’t alone.” Her mother smiled, the edges still tinged with sadness.

  “So you’re saying I should stop worrying? That I shouldn’t be afraid?”

  “I think you’re always going to worry. And I think there’s always going to be a part of you that’s afraid—but it’s the same for everyone else. It’s how you choose to deal with it that makes the difference.”

  Cindy nodded. She heard the words, even understood them to a certain extent. But understanding was totally different than acting on them—and that’s what she was afraid of the most. Could she take the chance? Could she afford to take the risk, knowing what might happen down the road?

  Could she afford not to?

  “Ethan asked me to go away this weekend. They—a bunch of his teammates—are going back to St. Thomas for a few days.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “No. At first. That I was afraid. Then he said we could just go as friends. Nothing more.” She pulled the airline ticket from the pocket of her coat and looked down at it, the black ink blurring in front of her.

  “So are you going to go?”

  “I think so. Maybe. Maggie will be there so…” She shrugged and let the words fade into the silence.

  “You don’t sound too sure of yourself.”

  “I just—” Cindy shrugged again and looked over at her mom. “What if I really do want to be more than friends with Ethan? What if I really blew it?”

  “Then I think you have all weekend to change things.”

  Cindy lowered her gaze and studied the ticket without really seeing it. Yes, she’d have all weekend to change things.

  If she went.

  And if she did, would that be enough? Or was it already too late?

  Did she want to let fear run her life? No. But she wasn’t sure she had the strength or courage to take that first step, to take that chance, not when there were so many unknowns.

  She closed her eyes, imagining a pair of deep, smoky blue eyes fringed in long, dark lashes. Strength. Encouragement. Friendship.

  Love.

  She’d seen all of that and more in the depths of Ethan’s eyes. From the very beginning.

  How could she not take that chance? Could she really give up without even trying?

  She couldn’t answer that, not just yet. Not with the fear still so close to the surface.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ethan sat on the edge of the seat, his leg bouncing up and down, moving faster with each passing minute. He glanced at his watch, frowned, looked back up and searched the waiting area. The crowd had grown in the last fifteen minutes. Each seat by the gate was taken, most of the occupants busy reading magazines or looking at their phones or even working on their laptops. And who the fuck took a laptop to the Caribbean?

  Even more people stood around, clustered in small groups, talking in low tones or looking around impatiently. Ethan’s eyes drifted past the crowd. He leaned forward, stretching, looking past the people waiting and searching the faces of those walking the concourse.

  He sighed and leaned back, his leg bouncing again.

  A large hand clamped down his knee, holding his leg still. Ethan scowled at Dillon and brushed his hand away. “What the hell is your problem?”

  “You are. You’re acting like a damn two-year-old with ants in his pants. Relax. There’s still plenty of time.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Ethan muttered. He looked around again, his gaze catching Brad’s. The goalie was staring at him, the paper he’d been reading now resting in his lap. Ethan scowled and sat back. “What?”

  “Nothing. Just wondering if you were thinking about pedaling the plane there, that’s all.”

  “Just…shut up. I don’t need to hear it.”

  “You need to hear something because I swear to fu—” Brad stopped, looked around, then cleared his throat. “I swear to Christ, if you act like this when we get down there, I’m going to drown your ass.”

  “Act like what? I’m not doing anything. I’m just ready to get going, that’s all.”

  “You are so full of shit.”

  “Yeah?” Ethan looked over at Dillon. “And you’re not nervous at all? Not afraid they won’t make it?”

  “No, I’m not. I know my wife will make it.”

  “Really? Because we’re supposed to start boarding in fifteen minutes and I don’t see her.”

  “She’ll be here.”

  Ethan had no problem hearing the words Dillon didn’t say. Yeah, Maggie would make it. But would Cindy be with her? Maybe.

  Maybe not.

  Cindy had sent him a text last night, just a quick one: was it still okay with him if she joined them? Them, not him. He stared at it a few minutes, trying to read into it, trying to figure out if it meant anything other than what it said. Then he typed back a quick reply: sure, no problem.

  Cindy’s only response had been a stupid fucking thumbs-up emoticon. Yeah, great. What the fuck was he supposed to make of that?

  Nothing, that was what. Absolutely nothing.

  Then Dillon had called and asked if Ethan could pick them up. Except, when Ethan got there this morning, it was just Dillon—beca
use Maggie was over at Cindy’s and would meet them there.

  Did that mean Maggie was bringing Cindy? Or had Cindy changed her mind and Maggie had gone over there to change it back? Ethan didn’t know, was almost afraid of the answer.

  He shifted and grabbed his phone from the back pocket of his jeans, frowning as he looked down at it. No messages. No missed calls. Should he text Cindy? Or just wait? No, he should text her, find out now—

  Dillon pulled the phone from his hand and shoved it into the side pocket of his cargo shorts.

  “What the hell?”

  “Leave it alone. Unless you’re planning on playing games like Corbin over there.”

  Corbin looked up when he heard his name, then quickly looked away, trying to hide his phone. Brad laughed as Corbin’s face filled with color.

  “Trust me, he’s not playing games. He’s trying to get his ass kicked.”

  Corbin muttered something in French, the words too soft and low—and too fast—for Ethan to catch. But Brad must have understood because he tossed his head back and laughed, the sound catching the attention of the people around him.

  “Yeah, you talk real big, lover boy. You just better hope Ian doesn’t catch you. Or that it’s not actually Ian you’re texting. For all you know, he could have swiped his niece’s phone.”

  The color drained from Corbin’s face as he stared at the phone, holding it out at arm’s length like he was afraid it might reach out and bite him. Then he frowned and gave Brad a look that was surprisingly ferocious.

  “Non. I know I am speaking with Lori. She would not let him do that.”

  “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”

  “Are you seriously texting Ian’s niece? After that last talk you and Ian had?” Dillon rolled his eyes in disbelief. “You need your head examined.”

  “We are only friends.”

  Brad nudged Corbin in the side, hard enough that Corbin jerked back in surprise. “Yeah, right. Uh-huh. Sure you are.”

  Ethan watched the byplay, saw the emotion that crossed Corbin’s face. He shot the young goalie a sympathetic look, knowing exactly how he felt.

  Just friends, when he wanted more.