Sunday Kind of Love (20 page)

“You told the police that you did it,” she said, putting the final pieces of the puzzle together. “You said that you were driving.”

Hank nodded. Outside, another bolt of lightning flashed.

“You could have gone to jail.”

“I did, for a while.” Thunder grumbled. The storm was coming closer.

“It could have been forever.”

“I know.”

Gwen's head spun. There were details that nagged at her, that made the writer in her sit up and take notice.

“What about the bartender?” she asked.

“Rex? What about him?”

“He talked to you on the phone. Wouldn't he have known you hadn't been drinking?”

“Maybe, but I only said a couple of words to him,” Hank explained. “For all he knew, I was every bit as sloshed as my old man. After I hung up with Rex, I got in the car, dragged Pete along, and headed for town, just like he'd suggested, but we never made it. I was too drunk to drive and got in an accident.”

“That still doesn't explain how Myron got home. If you didn't pick him up, then how did he get here?”

“The same way he made it to the bar in the first place,” he answered. “He either walked or hitched a ride.”

“What about when you reported the accident?” Gwen continued. “Who did the police think made the call?”

Hank shook his head. “You're acting like there were questions about who caused the accident, but there weren't. I was standing there in the road, covered in blood and alcohol, and I never once claimed that I didn't do it. As far as the police and everyone else in Buckton was concerned, I was as guilty as sin.”

“Didn't the police want to know what happened?”

“Of course they did. I told them I had no idea. I also said that I'd been drinking.”

“You lied.”

“What choice did I have?” Hank asked. “I couldn't tell them the truth.”

“You took the blame so your father wouldn't have to.”

Hank nodded. “I had to make a quick decision,” he explained. “Maybe if I'd had more time, I would've done things differently, but once I picked up the phone and reported the accident, there was no turning back.” He sighed deeply. “All I wanted was to protect my dad. After everything he'd already lost, I was convinced that if he had to accept responsibility for Pete's death, it would've been too much for him. I was afraid that he'd grab his gun and take his own life. I reckoned he couldn't live with what he'd done.”

“Does he know what happened?”

“At first, I wasn't sure. Once in a while, when he'd get good and drunk, he'd black out and wouldn't remember anything. For a time after the accident, he didn't speak to me. I thought he was just angry, blaming me for Pete's death. But then, about a week after the funeral, and right after the judge had decided not to charge me with anything, he came up behind me in the workshop…”

When Hank fell silent, Gwen wanted to press, but didn't.

“He told me that even though I hadn't been driving that night,” Hank eventually said, “it was still my fault that Pete was dead.”

O
UTSIDE, THE STORM
had let loose its fury. Wind gusted, swinging tree branches back and forth, some to their breaking point. Thunder followed lightning, one after the other in their heavenly dance. Rain lashed against the windows and drummed on the roof in a frenzied cadence, though it couldn't keep up with the furious beating of Hank's heart.

Telling Gwen the truth had been, in some ways, easier than he had anticipated. Letting go of his secret, especially to someone he genuinely cared for, eased much of the burden he'd been carrying. But now, remembering all the terrible words his father had spoken brought the pain rushing back.

“Myron said…he said that
you
were to blame?” Gwen asked in stunned disbelief. “
He
was driving! It was
his
fault!”

Hank shook his head. “That's not what my father meant.”

“What else could he mean?”

“Pete's death was on me because I let my brother go get him that night. My father said that if I'd been the one to pick him up, he never would've been able to take the keys from me. He told me that Pete wasn't as strong as I was, physically or otherwise, and I could have stopped him.” Hank paused, listening to another clap of thunder. “In some ways, he's right.”

Tears filled Gwen's eyes. “You couldn't have known.”

But I should've…

Hank didn't give his thought voice. He didn't confess that he'd turned that night over again and again ever since: tossing his keys across the workshop, Pete saying that he'd be fine, watching him walk toward the car…

“Even if your father truly believed that,” Gwen told him, “why would he say it to you? It's so cruel.”

“He only said it because he was drunk,” Hank explained, then sighed deeply. “The worst part about that night, about deciding to take the blame for what happened to Pete, was that I did it in the hopes that it would straighten my father out. I figured that even if he thought I had been the one driving, that I was drunk, it would scare him into giving up the booze. But it only made things worse. He drank more than ever. Each time I found a bottle around the house, I'd throw it away or hide it, but he always managed to get his hands on more. My becoming the most hated man in Buckton didn't heal my father. It ripped his wound open that much wider. He might be alive and out of jail, but I've lost him all the same.”

Lightning flashed, another fork shooting toward the ground.

“Do you want to hear something crazy?” Hank asked.

“What?”

“I dream about that night.”

Gwen nodded. “That's perfectly understandable.”

“No, not like that,” he said. “In my dreams, I'm behind the wheel, drunk as a skunk, screaming at my terrified brother. Pete's scared out of his wits, but nothing he says makes me slow down. Sometimes I even hit him.” Hank clenched his fists, shaking, fighting his demons. “I wake up right as the car crashes, drenched in sweat, shouting, convinced that that's how it actually happened. Maybe it's because of the guilt my father made me feel. Or maybe I actually blame myself.”

Hank felt the familiar anger welling up inside him. Talking about Pete's death hadn't completely rid him of the months of hurtful, bitter frustration. But then, just as he feared he might boil over, Gwen reached out and took his hand in her own. Though her palm was much smaller than his, it felt as if she was enveloping him, her warm, soft touch the perfect antidote for his rage. Just having her near, listening without judging, made all the difference. She soothed him.

“You can choose to believe the nonsense your father said,” Gwen told him, tenderly rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand. “You can beat yourself up, wondering whether you should've done something differently. Or you can consider what Pete would say.” Hank had been looking away from her, but at the mention of his brother's name, his eyes found hers. She gave him a gentle smile. “He wouldn't blame you for what happened. Not a chance.”

Tears began to well in Hank's eyes, but he held them back. “I miss him so much.”

“I know you do.”

“He was just such a damned great guy.”

“Yeah, he was.”

“Some brothers and sisters can be jealous of each other.”

“So I've heard,” Gwen said.

“In Pete and my case, it would've been easy to hold his success against him. He was so smart. So funny. Everything I struggled to do was a piece of cake for him. But I never held it against him. I was always so damned proud. Everyone he met might have loved him, but no one more than me.”

Gwen moved closer, her body brushing against his. “Pete's not the only one who lost something that night,” she told him. “So did you. You just need to understand that it will take time to heal.”

“I wish it was that easy,” he answered.

“It isn't,” she agreed. “But that doesn't mean it's impossible, either.”

Hank stared into Gwen's eyes, mesmerized by her beauty. That she was even a part of his life was miraculous, but he never would've imagined that she'd touch him the way she had, making him feel things he'd thought lost for good. She was a lighthouse, he a ship lost at sea. Because of her, he'd made his way safely to shore.

He may have let Kent and her father rant and rave. He'd even allowed himself to be struck. But for Gwen Foster, he would fight like hell.

This time, when the thunder rumbled, it made the house shake.

“There's something I want to ask you,” she said.

“What is it?”

Gwen paused, as if weighing whether to voice her request. “You told me the truth about what happened,” she said softly. “Why? Why me?”

Hank smiled. The answer to her question was simple. It welled up inside him, something that had been steadily building from the moment he had recognized her on the bank of the river. It was there in the sound of her voice. The tender touch of her lips. The curve of her smile. He supposed that he'd known it for a while but hadn't yet been able to put it into words. But now, after finally unburdening his deepest secret, he had his chance. Thinking about telling her didn't make him nervous but filled him with happiness.

“Because I love you.”

Gwen's head spun. Hearing what had really happened the night Pete died had been a lot like being back in the swollen river. She'd been tossed this way and that, helpless to choose where she was going. Every twist and turn threatened to pull her under. But in the end, Hank came through again. Gwen
believed
him. She believed that he hadn't been driving. She believed that he'd been willing to take responsibility for his brother's death in order to protect his father. Without question, she knew that he was telling the truth.

Just like when he told her he loved her.

It wasn't the first time Gwen had heard those three simple yet powerful words. Kent had said them many times, but the way she'd reacted then was a far cry from the feelings Hank elicited. Her eyes grew wide. Her mouth fell open. Her pulse quickened. She felt as if she was floating on air and weak in the knees, both at the same time. Gwen realized that she'd been waiting and hoping for this moment, the seeds of which stretched all the way back to their ride to Mansfield. All that had happened since, including ice cream, baseball, kisses, and even the obstacles placed in their way, was part of a journey she was happy to have traveled.

With him.

And that was why she had to put a stop to the lie his life had become.

“You have to tell people the truth,” Gwen said.

Hank shook his head. “I can't.”

“You'd rather let everyone in Buckton continue to think that you're to blame for Pete's death?” she asked incredulously.

“I have to protect my father. Nothing's changed.”

“But you said it yourself. It hasn't worked.” Her hand swept over the floor where they'd found Myron only hours before. “He's still drinking.”

“It's too late,” Hank insisted. “I made my choice.”

“But what about—”

“Stop it, Gwen,” he interrupted. “Even if I agreed with you, it's pointless to consider it because no one would believe me. Not now. Too much time has passed. Everyone would think I was lying. Would your parents look at me any differently if I claimed that what happened to Pete wasn't my fault?” He laughed a humorless chuckle. “If anything, it would make it that much worse.”

Gwen suspected that Hank was probably right. Her mother and father would likely make the same assumption she had, that he was trying to make it easier for them to be together.

“Besides,” Hank continued, “how would I do it? Go door-to-door and tell people that I'm innocent? Put an ad on the radio? No, this is the hand fate dealt me. Heck, I pulled these cards out of the deck myself. Hard as it is to accept, I can't change this.”

She shook her head. “I don't like people thinking the worst of you.”

“Not everyone does,” he said, stepping closer. “There's Skip,” he explained, placing his hand against her cheek. “And there's you…”

And there's me…

It hadn't taken Gwen long to realize that Hank wasn't the person everyone in town made him out to be. Every moment they spent together revealed something new. Hank was charming, kind, and funny. He was considerate and hardworking. He was even supportive of her dream to become a writer. And just then, staring up into his eyes in the dimly lit kitchen, as the storm's fury continued to rise outside, she found him to be incredibly handsome.

Hank was everything she'd ever wanted in a man.

So when he leaned down to kiss her, Gwen willingly surrendered to him and his touch.

At first, their kiss resembled those they'd shared before; soft yet full of emotion, restrained yet holding the promise of more. But then something changed. Their lips parted to allow their tongues to touch, igniting a hunger inside Gwen that demanded to be sated. With every passing second, she found herself wanting more, needing it. She didn't know whether this new desire came from herself, Hank, or the both of them, but she quickly decided it didn't matter. Whatever its origin, she didn't resist.

Their lips weren't the only parts of their bodies that wanted more. Gwen's hands slid up his arms, crossed the muscular peaks of his shoulders, and became entwined around his neck, pulling him close. Hank's found her waist before starting to slowly slide up the front of her blouse. Gwen understood that he was going to touch her breasts, but she made no move to stop him. She nearly trembled with anticipation as he inched upward…

But then Mother Nature interrupted.

Lightning lit up the stormy sky, almost immediately followed by a deafening boom. A second later, the lights went out, plunging them into total darkness. Gwen was so startled that she yelped.

“That knocked out the power,” Hank said, flipping a light switch to no effect, “but there's a generator in the workshop.”

Gwen looked at the pouring rain. “We aren't going out in that, are we?” she asked. “Why don't we just stay here, where it's dry?”

And dark, so we can get back to kissing…

Hank looked around the room. “Ever since my mom died, there's something about being in this house that's bothered me. Maybe it's because it's where my father does most of his drinking. Whatever the reason, it makes me uncomfortable. I'm more at ease in the workshop.”

As if on cue, the rain intensified. “We'll get soaked,” Gwen said.

“Then I guess we'll have to change out of our wet clothes.”

Gwen knew exactly what Hank was intimating. But he was giving her a chance to say no, and she had no doubt that he'd respect her decision.

“Let's go turn on that generator,” she said, her heart racing.

Hank led the way from the house and into the storm. It wasn't far to the workshop, but as she ran across the wet grass, dodging puddles and trying not to slip in the mud, Gwen was battered by the rain. Flashes of lightning lit the way. By the time Hank threw open the double doors, they were both drenched from head to foot. As rainwater pooled on the floor beneath them, Gwen couldn't stop laughing.

“What's so funny?” Hank asked.

“We're quite the pair,” she told him as water dripped from her hair. “I bet this is exactly what we looked like when you pulled me out of the river.”

Now it was Hank's turn to laugh. “The spitting image,” he agreed before disappearing into the black depths of the workshop. Moments later, Gwen heard machinery sputter to life, then a bulb was switched on.

“That'll keep the lights on for a while, but I don't know how much gas is in the tank,” Hank said. He walked over and placed his hands on Gwen's arms; she was trembling slightly. His brow furrowed. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

Gwen nodded. It was just like when she'd ended her relationship with Kent; she had no doubt. “I wouldn't be here if I wasn't.”

Hank led the way out of the shop's larger workspace to a small room at the back. It wasn't much; a cot, a nightstand, and a rickety chair piled high with old newspapers. A sink stood in the far corner.

“I wish it was nicer,” he said. “Give me a second and I can—”

“It's perfect,” Gwen told him.

Hank didn't turn on any switches as they moved toward the cot; the only light was what filtered in from the outer room, though it was enough to see by. For a moment, they were content to look at each other, their hands entwined. When Gwen shivered, Hank pulled her close, his skin warm even after the rain.

“Thank you,” she said, her cheek pressed softly against his chest.

“For what?” he asked.

“Saving my life,” Gwen answered, though she was talking about far more than just his diving into the Sawyer River. Because of him, because of the risk Hank had taken for her, the road she'd been traveling on had unexpectedly forked, and Gwen had chosen to take a different route, one she believed would lead to a far happier future.
This
was where she was meant to be.