Chapter Eleven

Déjà vu teased Jocelyn as Will’s truck rumbled up to the causeway. She closed her eyes, giving in to the peculiar sensation of knowing this wasn’t the first time all these same internal chemicals and external forces synergized into this distinct moment.

“You okay?” Will asked, reaching over the console to put his hand over hers, his fingertips brushing her thigh.

She didn’t yank her hand out from under his, but she didn’t turn her palm to hold his hand, either. Even though she wanted to, just for the sheer pleasure and comfort of holding Will’s hand, his blunt, clean fingertips still one of her favorite things to grasp.

That was part of her déjà vu, too. A big part. After the fear and anger, there was always Will. She looked down at his fingers, the massive width and length of them, the dusting of dark hair, the power of his wrist. Will had gorgeous, masculine hands. And huge. He used to say he didn’t need a catcher’s mitt.

“Joss?”

“I was just thinking I’ve done this before.”

“Ridden over the causeway?”

Yes, with a desperate determination to escape the thunderous voice and threat of violence ringing in her ears. “Run away from him, wishing I could do something to change… him.”

“Nature did that for you.”

She shot him a look. “The old Guy is there, Will, right under the surface. You saw how he yelled at me.”

“For one little second, Joss.”

She snapped her hand away. “Don’t defend him. I can take anything but that.”

He left his hand on her leg. “This really could have waited a day or two,” he said. “I feel like we should have stayed with him instead of calling Zoe.”

“You could have.”

“As if I’d let you come over here alone. I just don’t know why we couldn’t wait a few days.”

“First of all, procrastination is for losers.” She could have sworn she saw him cringe ever so slightly, but she was too focused on making her many points. “Second, the media is going to find me. It’s only a matter of time un—”

“No, no. That’s not true. We’ll talk to Slade Garrison—he’s got a good crew of deputies—and set him straight. He needs to know you’re in town so he can divert any reporters that try to find you. And he can put an unmarked car or two at Guy’s house and you’ll be completely safe at Casa Blanca.”

She didn’t say anything, turning to look out at the water instead. Sun danced off the waves and a giant cabin cruiser cut under the bridge, leaving a bright-white wake. Bet it was nice on that boat, lost in the air and salt water. Away from it all. Alone.

Or maybe with Will.

“Can I ask you a question, Joss?”

“Mmmm.” The answer was noncommittal, but she knew him well enough to know he’d ask anyway.

“You didn’t have an affair with that guy, did you?”

Oh. She hadn’t been expecting that question—although it was natural and normal and should had been expected. Deep inside, she wanted Will to know she hadn’t. She didn’t answer.

“I wish you’d say no,” he said softly. “Real fast and vehement, too.”

“I did not have any kind of relationship with Miles Thayer. But any aspect of my client relationship with Coco is confidential, and I won’t talk about it.”

He choked softly. “She doesn’t give a shit about protecting your reputation. Why should you care about hers?”

She turned to him, a question of her own burning. “Did you think it was true?”

He hesitated long enough for her to know the answer. Damn it. Maybe she hadn’t thought this through enough. She’d sacrificed so much for Coco.

“I hadn’t seen you for more than fifteen seconds in fifteen years,” he finally said. “I didn’t know what to believe.”

That was fair, she guessed. “Do you believe it now?”

“Not if you tell me it’s a lie. I believe you. And honestly…” He captured her hand again, this time holding so tight she couldn’t let go. “You don’t like overrated skinny blond guys who can’t act their way out of a paper bag.”

She laughed softly. “True.”

“And nobody can change that much. You wouldn’t sleep with a married guy.”

“No, I would not, so thanks for that vote of confidence. I wish my clients felt the same way.” Since she’d lost two more that morning.

“They probably do, but Coco is the one they have to side with because she’s more powerful in the industry.”

She sighed. Of course Will got it; he always got it. “Yep.”

He turned his hand and threaded their fingers. “I still don’t see what it would hurt to at least make a statement.”

“It would hurt her,” she said simply.

“That’s what’s stopping you? Did you sign some kind of confidentiality agreement?” He turned as he reached a light on the mainland, his eyes flashing blue. “Because a good lawyer could—”

“No, Will, stop. Respect and professional ethics are stopping me. You need to go right at the next light, I think.”

“I know how to get there.”

“You’ve been to Autumn House?”

“I looked into a couple of places when I first got here.”

For some reason, that shocked her. Why hadn’t he told her that? “And?”

“Besides being crazy-ass expensive, they didn’t seem that great to me.”

“You’ve visited this place already?”

He shook his head. “Not this one, but others. I did call here, but reconsidered.”

“I can afford it,” she said quietly.

“Even if your business is in trouble?”

There was that. “I’ve saved a lot of money.”

“What about new business?”

She shrugged. “I’ll get it.”

“Could be challenging in L.A. after all this.”

“I’ve faced bigger challenges.”

He smiled, shaking his head a little.

“What? I have.”

“I know you have. But do you have to be so damn tough about everything? It’s like you have a hard shell around you.”

She did. “I’ve had that for so long I can’t imagine what it’s like not to have that kind of protection. I’ve had it for… since… a long time.”

He closed his eyes as if she’d punched him. She leaned forward to grab her bag so she didn’t have to look at him or feel his referred pain. Pulling out the address, she tried to read, but the words danced in front of her eyes.

“It’s not too far,” she said, forcing herself to read and think about where they were and where they were going. Literally, on this street—not emotionally, in her head.

“Jocelyn.”

She ignored the tenderness in his voice, the warmth of that big hand, the comfort it always gave her. “Two more lights,” she said, her voice tight.

“I know.”

She cleared her throat as if that could just wipe clean the conversation about protection and hurt and shells she stayed inside of. “So why didn’t you look at this place again?” she asked, grasping at small-talk straws.

“I decided he needed to be home.”

The words jolted her. The caring. The concern for a person who had threatened to ruin his life or end it.

“I can see you don’t like that.”

“Am I supposed to, Will?”

He blew out a breath, letting go of her hand to turn the wheel. “I know he’s your dad, not mine, and you resent that I take care of him.”

Was that what he thought bothered her? That he took care of her father? He didn’t even remember what took them apart. What had left a hard shell around her?

She had to remember that he didn’t know everything.

“I just couldn’t sit at my house and ignore the fact that he needed help,” he said.

Well, they had that in common. Wasn’t that the reason she was in this situation in the first place, with Coco? “You should have just picked up the phone and called me. I’d have taken care of the situation.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

He threw her a look. “Maybe because I felt like I owed you something.”

Her? What could he owe her? “Me? Why?”

“Because if it weren’t for me, that… night would have never happened. You wouldn’t have left or you would have come home.” He swallowed, his voice thick with regret and remorse. “I blame myself for what happened that night.”

“You shouldn’t,” she said simply. “You should put the blame where it belongs.”

“On you?” He sounded incredulous.

“No, Will. On Guy Bloom.” She pointed to a large white stucco building set back on a lawn, a simple sign at the parking lot’s edge. “We’re here.”

When he pulled into the lot and parked, she started to open the door, but he took her hand and pulled her closer.

“What’s it going to take?” he asked.

The question and the intense look in his eyes stunned her. “To decide he shouldn’t go into a home?”

“No.” He reached over and grazed her jaw with his knuckles, his touch fiery and unexpected and chill inducing. “To break that shell?”

“I’m sorry, Will. It’s unbreakable.”

But he just leaned in and breathed his last few words, the closest thing to a kiss without actually touching. “There’s no such thing.”

“Doesn’t your husband want to come in, too?”

Outside the director’s office door, Will turned to catch Jocelyn’s slightly surprised look and the color that rose to her cheeks. It was a natural assumption on the woman’s part. They’d never said they weren’t married during the tour, just that they were there for Jocelyn’s father.

“I’ll wait out here while you talk,” he said, gesturing toward the lobby.

Jocelyn’s dark eyes searched his, but then she nodded and stepped into the office of the admissions director. Admissions. Like it was a freaking college instead of an old folks’ home with the patently ridiculous name of Autumn House.

Should be Dead of Winter End of Days House.

Will had seen enough of their rainbows and happy-face bullshit in the past twenty minutes of walking through the special areas where visitors could go. Nothing he wanted to know would be visible during that surface skim. And the truth wasn’t going to come out behind that director’s door when Jocelyn asked more hollow questions like “How often are they fed?”

For Christ’s sake. This wasn’t a kennel.

Or was it?

But he had swallowed all those comments while Bernadette Bowers, director of admissions and patient relations, spewed the party line.

A year ago he’d visited two similar facilities. Neither one had been as upscale as this place, he had to admit as he cruised through the softly lit lobby of the main house and nodded to the receptionist hidden behind a plastic palm tree. But they were the same beasts: God’s waiting room. With fake plants.

Maybe this wasn’t the kind of place where they let someone hang in a wheelchair for eight hours, forgotten. Maybe this wasn’t where an old man could rot in bed, forgotten. Maybe this wasn’t a place where someone with virtually no training but a good heart forgot some meds and the results were dire. He got the feeling that Autumn House was better than most of these homes.

But it wasn’t Guy’s home.

He pushed open the front door and stepped out to the patio, scanning the manicured grounds, the perfectly placed hibiscus trees, the carefully situated tables and chairs.

All empty.

Okay, maybe it was too hot for old folks to come outside. Or maybe no one took them. Or maybe they were short-staffed.

The door opened behind him, and he turned, expecting Jocelyn, but another woman came out, fifty-ish, mouth drawn in sadness, eyes damp.

“’Scuse me,” she mumbled, passing him.

“Can I ask you a question?” The request was out before he gave himself time to think about it and change his mind. But wasn’t part of the “tour” talking to the customers?

The woman hesitated, inching back a bit. “Yes?”

“Do you have a…” He almost said “loved one,” but corrected himself. “A relative living here?”

She nodded, absently dabbing an eye and biting her lip.

“How is it?” he asked. “We’re considering this for my… we’re looking at the facility.”

She didn’t answer right away, clearly choosing her words and wrestling with her emotions. “It’s expensive, but one of the better facilities.”

“How’s the care?”

She shrugged. “You know.”

No, he didn’t. “Doctors?”

After a second, she let out a breath. “Some are better than others.”

“Staff?”

“Good, but no place is perfect.” She tried to sound upbeat, but he could read between the lines, especially the two drawn deep in her forehead.

“Would you make the same decision again?” he asked her, knowing he’d way overstepped the boundaries of two strangers sharing a casual conversation.

“I really had no choice,” she said. “My mother’s not able to be at home.”

He nodded, understanding.

“If she was or if I could be with her twenty-four-seven, of course that’s what I’d do. But you have to be realistic. You have to compromise.” She tilted her head and gave a smile. “Your parent?”

“No, my friend.” He wasn’t exactly sure when Guy Bloom had become his friend, but he had. And the word felt right on his lips.

Just then, the door opened and Jocelyn stepped into the sunshine, looking cool and crisp and not nearly as defeated as the sallow-skinned woman he’d been talking to.

“We’re all set,” she said quietly.

“You enrolled him?” He couldn’t think of a better word, not when a flash of white hot anger burst behind his eyes.

“Not yet. Of course I have to see another place or two, but, overall, I’m quite satisfied.”

With what? The chilly cafeteria? The dreary halls? The single room for a man who was used to living in an entire house?

Jocelyn glanced at the other woman and gave her a quick smile, not warm enough to invite conversation.

“Listen,” the lady said, turning to Will, keeping that tenuous connection they’d somehow found in a moment’s time. “I don’t know your situation, but if you have any option at all for home care, any possible way to keep from taking this step, do it.”

Jocelyn stepped forward, her back ramrod straight. “You’re right.”

Hope danced in him.

“You don’t know our situation,” Jocelyn said. “But thank you for the advice. Let’s go, Will.”

He stood stone still as she walked by and headed toward the parking lot.

“Thank you,” he said softly to the woman. “Good luck.”

Jocelyn was almost to his truck by the time he caught up with her.

“Don’t reprimand me for being a bitch to her,” she said as he reached for her door. “This isn’t your decision to make.”

“You weren’t a bitch,” he replied. “It’s a tense situation.” And, damn it, she was right, it wasn’t his decision. But that didn’t stop him from caring about the outcome.

She climbed into the truck and yanked her seat belt. “Yes, it is tense. Were you talking to her?”

“Briefly.” He closed the door and started around the back of the truck.

“Wait, sir. Wait!” The woman from the porch was jogging toward him, a hand outstretched. “I just want to tell you one thing.”

Jocelyn stayed in the car, but he knew she was watching in her side-view mirror, possibly hearing the conversation even though her door was closed.

“What’s that?”

The woman put a hand on his arm, her fingers covered with veins and age spots, making him revise his age estimate. “They’re fine with the new ones. The ones that haven’t gone too far… away. But the really bad ones?” She shook her head, eyes welling. “They are lost and forgotten.”

Forgotten. Exactly as he suspected. He patted her hand. “Your mother’s not forgotten. She has you.”

She smiled and stepped away.

He waited for a minute, then climbed behind the wheel of the truck. He shot Jocelyn a glance, his mind whirring through his options. Her father was her responsibility, that was true. He couldn’t demand that she change her mind about this, but maybe he could get her to think a little more about it.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Not in the least.”

Damn. “ ’Cause we’re not that far from Kaplan’s.”

Her eyes widened and she smiled. “Oh my God, those Reubens.”

It wouldn’t be their first trip down to Marco Island; they’d gone often after baseball games when he’d be plagued with late-night teenage boy starvation and she just wanted to get out. Especially that last summer, they’d probably driven down to the deli near the marina a dozen times.

“With extra Thousand Island and no ketchup on the fries,” he said, smiling. “The lady does not like wet fries.”

“Aww, you remember that.”

He remembered so much more than that it wasn’t funny. “So, yes?”

She considered it for a minute, then nodded. “But I have to wear this hat.” She reached into her bag for the baseball cap she’d brought. “I don’t want anyone to recognize me.”

“They won’t recognize you.”

“Don’t be so sure,” she said, tugging the cap on.

He pulled the brim a little. “I hardly recognize you, Joss.”

She paused, looking up at him, her eyes so brown and soulful it damn near cut him in half. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve changed, is all.”

“So have you,” she shot back.

“True.” He shrugged. “I’ve been through a lot.”

“Why don’t you tell me everything over Reubens?”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

That wasn’t why he wanted to go to Kaplan’s. He wanted to talk her out of rash decisions, but instead he made one himself. “’Kay.”