“Oh, I doubt if we have any secrets from you. And maybe he’ll be a little more receptive with you at my side.”
Gracie doubted that, but she acquiesced.
As they entered the room, her heart went out to the man lying as still as a corpse in the hospital bed, gazing out the window. He didn’t bother to turn his head and acknowledge their presence. Gracie hovered near the door, but the senator moved to Dylan’s side.
The brilliant blue eyes that had been listless beneath the swath of white bandage, blazed to life. “You’re not in jail.”
“No.” The words “Not yet” hung in the air unspoken.
Chief Fleming had explained that charges would be brought, and a hearing seemed inevitable. The general public would gobble up all the scandal the senator had tried so desperately to avoid as it aired on Court TV, non-stop network news, and made the cover of newspapers and magazines from coast to coast.
But admitting his sins to the other members of his family would be the worst punishment any Bradford could face. The thing Arthur had sought most strenuously to preserve was the one thing that would be lost to him forever. He’d made his own choices, wrong, illegal, irrational though they might have been. She understood about loss, but could dredge up little sympathy for him.
Only for Dylan, who looked as if his heart had broken. And for Clay, and David, and Lana, and even Matthew, all of the innocent victims of this one man’s selfish acts.
Arthur reached out tentatively, but Dylan shrugged his hand away and looked at Gracie. “Why is he here? Did you bring him?” His voice and eyes were as cold and distant as a glacier.
She advanced toward him, lifting her chin, determined not to let him see how deeply his withdrawal hurt. “It took courage for him to come see you. If you don’t listen to him now, you’ll always wonder what he had to say.”
He gave a snort of disgust and turned his head away. “I’ve heard more than enough from him already.”
Arthur cleared his throat. “I know my actions are indefensible and unpardonable, and I’m sorry. In light of family ties and our past relationship, I hope you can forgive me.
Dylan’s facial muscles flexed, biting back a boatload of emotions Gracie could only guess. All she knew for sure was that he’d taken a bone-crushing grip on her hand. “I’m not the one who needs to forgive you. You hurt many others more severely than me. You might begin with Aunt Delia. And your sons. Both of them.”
As if on cue, the door swung open and Clay stepped in. It startled Gracie to see the three men together, their features so similar, each expression stonier than the last—Clay’s flushed. Dylan’s pale beneath his bandages. The color leeched from the senator’s face.
“Perfect timing,” Dylan said. “Arthur, I don’t believe you’ve met Clayton Harris.”
If any more color could drain from the senator’s face, it did. She’d never seen anyone so ghostly white remain standing.
He squared his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he told Clay. “I owe you an apology and an explanation.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Clay snarled. “All I ever wanted was to know who my father was, and now I know. I don’t want anything else from you. Ever.”
The senator accepted the rejection with a tight-lipped nod. “Ever is a long time. If you change your mind in the future, my door will always be open to you.”
“Too little.” Clay turned on his heel. “And a damn sight too late.” He stopped before exiting. “David’s asking to see you, Gracie.”
“I’ll be right there,” she told him, trapped for the moment in the coil of tension that spooled between Dylan and his uncle.
“I’ll leave.” The senator turned slowly toward the door. “Is there anything I can do for you before I go?” he asked his nephew.
“Tell me one thing,” Dylan said, reluctantly.
“Anything.” A few quick steps returned Arthur to his side.
“How much of Karen’s story was true?” With his expression hard and flinty, his fingers tightened around Gracie’s. “Did my father have an affair with her?”
The senator winced. “It’s best to let some things go, Dylan.”
“I asked you a question.” His voice lashed across the room like a bullwhip. “I’d appreciate an honest answer. Did my father have an affair with Karen Hammonds or not?”
“Not an affair.” The senator licked his lips and looked away. “Not really.”
Pain clouded the depths of Dylan’s eyes. “But he slept with her.”
“Once or twice. And to my knowledge, those were the only times he was unfaithful to your mother during their marriage. Karen was a relentless piranha. She pursued him until he gave in. And he regretted it.”
“Is a feeling of regret all it takes to make infidelity acceptable by Bradford standards? I’m sure that was a great consolation to my mother. And will be to Aunt Delia.” Dylan turned his head on the pillow, dismissing his uncle, but the old man persevered.
“Matt loved your mother, and he did the best he could. That’s all any of us can do.” Arthur ran his perfectly manicured hand through his professionally styled hair and turned on the heel of his expensive shoe. “I’m sorry that’s not good enough for you.”
Dylan flicked a look of disgust toward his uncle. “The best most people can do is damned better than the Bradfords’ best, isn’t it?”
Gracie watched the senator struggle for a semblance of dignity. “I sincerely hope so.” He bowed his head and exited the room.
Gracie’s heart broke during the seemingly endless ride to Liberty House with Dylan slumped in the passenger seat of the truck. Try as she might, she could not draw him into conversation about his uncle, his father, his sister, his health, Karen Hammonds, the weather, the NBA playoffs, or anything else. After a while, she let him be.
It might take him a long time to accept and deal with the information they’d uncovered. Dylan’s wounds were still too raw to be touched or examined. Experience had taught her that each person healed at his or her own pace.
He accompanied her up the stairs and into the apartment. He gave MacDuff a half-hearted greeting then headed to the bedroom to gather his luggage. Gracie thought of asking him not to go. But under the circumstances, she couldn’t see any reason for him to stay. There was no way their lives would fit together.
She was a bossy small-town girl with too many people depending on her. And a medical practice she’d be returning to shortly.
He was something else altogether, a lot of things she didn’t even like. Rich and famous party animal… daredevil… fun-seeker… risk-taker.
Wounded… despondent.
But she shook her head. She knew how to set broken bones, treat pneumonia, and cure diaper rash, not how to heal a disillusioned spirit.
Cautiously, they drifted around each other in a disjointed dance of indecision then headed downstairs.
“You can call me, you know, whenever you’re ready to deal with what’s between us,” she blurted after he’d closed the tailgate of the Navigator. She crossed her arms to keep from reaching for him.
He stayed several feet away from her. She hoped he was fighting the same impulse to close the gap. “I’d like to say that I will, that it will be soon, but I don’t know, Gracie, and I don’t want to lie to you.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I don’t want that either.”
He stuffed his hands in his pocket. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Nobody ever does.” She tried for an ironic smile, but it trembled and faded on her lips. It wasn’t like she hadn’t prepared herself for his departure.
“I’ll say good-bye to your grandparents.”
“They’ll like that.”
Gracie took a seat on the back steps and began a listless game of fetch with MacDuff. If she weren’t a glutton for punishment, she’d go up to her apartment. Or into town. Anywhere rather than watch him climb into his car.
But she’d stick it out to the last.
If these were the last moments she’d ever have with him, she wouldn’t turn away before they were over.