Cunningham Family: Lost And Found Part 11

"Yeah," I say. "A pharmacy. You're right." The last thing the two of us need is some sort of complication.

Ward curls his hands around the steering wheel. He's still looking out the front window.

"I'm sorry," he says after a moment. "I was reckless."

"It's not your fault."

"Getting the condom on is my responsibility. Not yours," he says. "I should have been more careful."

"I gave you permission," I remind him. "I told you I wanted everything you had to give me." And if I'm being honest, I want it still. Even if it's reckless and stupid. Even though I know we need to be more responsible.

But he's shaking his head. "It shouldn't have happened like that. I shouldn't have lost control."

I put my hand on his arm. He flinches away, like he doesn't even trust himself to be touched by me.

"I wanted it," I tell him, because that's the truth. I wanted to feel his pleasure inside of me. I wanted him to fill me. Am I pathetic or just foolish for enjoying it? For wanting that deepest of physical connections?

He doesn't respond. He just keeps staring out at the rain, and then he says, "I'm going to go get the tire."

For a moment I stay in my seat. I know this is about far more than the potential risks we took, that he's still worried about making the same mistakes his father did.

I flatten my hand against my belly. I have no idea what I'd do if I became pregnant. I'm definitely not responsible or stable enough to have a baby. And I have no interest in bringing a child into the mess that is my life.

But if it was Ward's baby...

I shouldn't even be thinking about this. I'm just freaking myself out. We're going to find a pharmacy and I'm going to take the morning-after pill and we can just pretend this never happened.

That thought makes me feel strangely hollow. I sigh and open the car door, letting myself out into the rain.

It's colder than I antic.i.p.ated, but I wrap my arms around myself. I should probably go around and see if Ward needs any help with the tire, but I need to be alone right now. I walk away from the highway, down the gra.s.sy bank to the line of trees that borders this side of the road.

My chest tightens slightly. I haven't had any panic attacks since I left Huntington Manor, but that doesn't mean I'm any better than I was a couple of weeks ago.

What am I doing out here? I ask myself. What the h.e.l.l am I looking for?

I stop just shy of the first evergreens and close my eyes, forcing myself to breathe in the deep, steady way that seems to help whenever I get overwhelmed. I try to focus on the feeling of the rain beating against my skin.

I hear a footstep behind me, and a moment later, Ward touches me gently on the lower back.

"Are you okay?" he asks in my ear.

I don't know. I honestly don't.

"I'm just thinking," I tell him. That's true enough.

"I'm sorry if I upset you," he says.

I turn my head. He's just behind me, and I find myself looking right into his eyes.

"Getting upset like that, I mean," he says. "Telling you we were reckless and acting like I regretted what happened."

"I don't regret it," I murmur. "I've never had s.e.x like that. Not with anyone."

"And I've never felt closer to you," he says, his voice low and throaty. "f.u.c.k, Lou, you can't imagine what that felt like." He grabs me closer, pulling me back hard against his chest. His lips brush my ear. "I love f.u.c.king you bare. And I love coming inside of you even more. Even now, just talking about it makes me want to drag you back to that car and do it again."

I give a little moan as he presses his hips against me, letting me feel how hard he is already.

"But I shouldn't be putting you in that position," he says. "It's wrong."

"Maybe that's why it feels so good."

He doesn't have an answer for that. He's still holding me firmly against him, and he brushes a kiss against my temple. There's a need in his touch that doesn't just come from l.u.s.t.

"You're not your father," I remind him. "Not even close."

For a long moment he doesn't say anything, and then: "Not yet."

"Not ever." I twist in his arms, turning until I can meet his eyes. "You're nothing like that man. And I know that if... if anything happened, you wouldn't treat me the way Carolson treated your mother. I think you know it, too. So stop punis.h.i.+ng yourself for his bad decisions."

We stare at each other. The rain continues to come down, and I watch the drops run down his face.

"He's my father," he says finally. "Whether I like it or not, that b.a.s.t.a.r.d's in my blood. How much of who we are is a choice, and how much is where we come from?"

"It's all choice. You can choose to make the decisions your father did, or you can choose to make better ones."

"Sounds simple."

I give a small smile. "It is."

But he doesn't return my grin. "Then why don't you believe the same thing when it comes to yourself?"

"What?"

"You're still defining yourself and blaming yourself based on where you came from."

I shake my head. "That's not even close to the same thing."

"Actually, I think it is. You're ashamed that your family had money."

"It's a lot more complex than that."

"Only because you're making it."

I pull away from him. I've already told him that I don't want to talk about this.

"You can't blame yourself for the life you were born to," he says.

"I can blame myself for how I handled that life."

"f.u.c.k, Lou, you're only human. You ask any a.s.shole out there if he wants a million dollars and I guarantee not a single person would turn it down. And you probably wouldn't find them volunteering on the other side of the world, either."

I cross my arms. "Do you not even remember the things you said to me about my family before you realized who I was?"

"Lou, I didn't-"

"You criticized us for caring more about possessions and status symbols than meaningful things. You said that even if you'd been born into a family like that, you believed that you had the strength of character to sell everything and actually do something important with your life."

"Dammit, Lou, I was talking out of my a.s.s. I was p.i.s.sed at Carolson. And p.i.s.sed at myself for not having the b.a.l.l.s to turn down that f.u.c.king job."

"But now you've seen the light?" I ask sarcastically.

"Now I know you." He steps close to me again. "No one's perfect, Lou. You know that. But do you think I'd be here if I saw you the way you see yourself?"

I shake my head.

"From the moment I met you," he says, "you've carried this weight, tortured yourself for reasons I couldn't understand. Reasons I still don't understand." He cups my face. "You have all of this self-loathing and guilt. I can see it in your eyes, but I can't fight it, and for the life of me, I don't know how someone like you could ever get such twisted ideas about herself."

I try to pull away, but he keeps my face firmly between his hands.

"You are the most amazing woman I've ever met," he says. "You're wild and spontaneous and just when I think I have you figured out, you say or do something that completely surprises me. You're not afraid to take risks, or to fight pa.s.sionately for the things you believe. f.u.c.k, Lou, most people wouldn't have made it through some of the things you've experienced." He strokes my cheek with his thumb. "And I hate to see you in pain. You have no idea how much I hate it."

I think I might be crying, and though the rain is doing its best to wash away the tears, I know Ward can tell. He holds me tighter against him.

"It takes time," he says into my ear. "But I want you to know what I see. I know I said things back at Huntington Manor. But you've changed the way I look at everything."

It's hard to believe those words when I've spent so long telling myself I don't deserve that sort of affection, that sort of faith. But Ward has me, and I know he's not going to let me go. I want to stay in his arms forever. I don't care if the rain is drenching us.

I take a shuddering breath.

"All right," I tell him. "Let's do it."

He squeezes me. "Do what?"

"Let's stop punis.h.i.+ng ourselves for everything."

He leans his cheek against my hair. "Deal."

It's easier said than done, of course. Words are simple, even if your stomach seizes up as you say them. But I want to believe the things Ward said to me. I want to believe that I can forgive myself.

I wrap my arms around him and press my face against his chest. His nose is in my hair. And we hold each other like that while the rain slows and finally stops.

"We should go," he says finally. "The new tire's on there."

And as much as I hate the idea of pulling away from him, he's right. We have a goal to meet.

"I don't think we'll hit New York today," he says, taking my hand and helping me back up the bank to the road. "But we might be able to hit Pennsylvania."

He holds my door open for me, but right before I slide inside the car, he grabs me and pulls me toward him, kissing me one last time.

When he releases me, he doesn't say a word. He just smiles and then walks around to his side of the car.

We can do this, he and I, I think. We can start here. Truly leave our old selves behind. Maybe I was self-absorbed before. Maybe I was a fraud. Or maybe I wasn't. Either way, I don't have to be that girl anymore.

I won't be that girl anymore.

Something swells in my chest-something joyous. I can start over. I can be the girl that Ward believes I am.

As soon as Ward is in the car, I lean over and grab him by the collar of his T-s.h.i.+rt, yanking him toward me. I kiss him with everything I have, with all the hope and light and possibility he's shown me.

When I break away, he's grinning.

"What was that for?"

I smile back as I blink the tears out of my eyes. "For my life."

We've lost a good part of the day, so our plan for the afternoon is pretty ambitious. In Delaware, since we're pressed for time-and still recovering from our earlier encounter-we decide to switch things up a little bit. Ward pulls over into an empty parking lot, and I tug down his zipper and give him a b.l.o.w.j.o.b he won't forget anytime soon. He pulls my hair so hard that my scalp aches for an hour afterward.

In New Jersey, he decides to return the favor. He finds an empty stretch of road and pulls off onto the shoulder, then leads me down into the woods. I'm terrified that someone will see us-especially considering how many times I can't help but cry out as he pleasures me with his tongue-but our naughty act seems to go unnoticed.

I'm in a remarkably bright mood by the time we cross into Pennsylvania. That blown tire was the best thing that could have happened to us. We got so many things out into the open, and my heart feels so much lighter. I almost don't know what to do with myself.

We eat peanut b.u.t.ter sandwiches again for dinner. The left half of my face is the color of an eggplant, and I'd rather not have an entire restaurant full of people-strangers though they may be-believing that Ward is capable of hurting me. By evening, though, I'm starting to get restless, so when Ward stops to get gas, I decide to step into the convenience store for a few minutes. I keep my sungla.s.ses on, even though it's dark outside.

I spend a few minutes walking around, stretching my legs and browsing the snack aisle. Inevitably, though, I find myself drawn to the racks where they keep the newspapers and magazines.

It's only been a day-though it feels a heck of a lot longer-since I picked up that paper at the barbecue restaurant. I'm not surprised to see today's issue of the same publication continuing the story, nor am I shocked to see several of the other smaller, culture-based papers featuring articles about the event. I don't let myself read any of them.

I'm fine until I move past the newspapers and my eyes fall on the rack of magazines. Most of the celebrity weeklies feature pictures of supermodels or famous actors, but one cover jumps out from the rest. Sure enough, one of the gossip rags has already picked up the story of my breakdown. But that's not what makes my stomach sink.

On the cover of the magazine, next to the huge picture of me, is an even larger picture of Ward.

"SECRETS AND ROMANCE!" the cover says. And beneath that: "Is Louisa Cunningham's new lover more than he seems?"

My eyes flick up to the t.i.tle of the magazine. Look! Magazine. I know that name. I know that name too well. My fingers shake as I flip open to the article. Sure enough, I recognize the author listed in the byline.

Asher Julian.

Mr. Julian was the only reporter to recognize me back at Huntington Manor. But I wasn't the story he was after. He tried to blackmail me into feeding him information about Ward-specifically, the truth about his connection to Edward Carolson.

"WHO IS WARD BRANNON?" the magazine asks in large letters across the top of the page. Below, there's a picture of Ward in his normal work wear-white T-s.h.i.+rt, jeans, tool belt-working on some moldings at Huntington Manor. Mr. Julian must have been keeping a very close eye on him.

I skim the article. The first part is exactly what I expected to read-a rehash of my entire escapade. But Mr. Julian goes on to talk about my "close relations.h.i.+p" with one of Huntington Manor's other employees. And that's when I really start to feel ill.

He writes about his behind-the-scenes investigations into Ward's past-the extent of which he only hinted at to me. Here, he lays out his entire case, all but proving that Ward is Edward Carolson's biological son.

No. Not now. Not yet.