Blue-Eyed Devil (Travises 2)

"Sometimes a parent's expectations of sons and daughters are very different," Susan replied wryly. "My own parents insist that I'm the one who should take care of them in their old age, but they would never think of demanding that from my brother."

Susan and I did a lot of role-playing, which felt mortifyingly silly at first, but as she pretended by turns to be Nick, my father, a friend, a brother, even my long-gone mother, I practiced standing up for myself. It was hard, muscle-knotting, perspiration-inducing work.

"No is a vitamin." That phrase became my mantra. I figured if I told it to myself often enough, I would start believing it.

Gage handled as much of the divorce proceedings as I would allow. And, possibly because of Liberty's softening influence, he changed his approach to me. Instead of telling me how things were going to be, he patiently laid out choices and explained them, and didn't argue with my decisions. When Nick had dared to call the condo and demanded to talk to me, and I'd said all right, Gage had forced himself to hand the phone to me.

It had been quite a conversation, mostly one-sided, with Nick talking and me listening. My husband poured it on, progressing from guilt to fury to pleading, telling me it was my fault as much as his.

You couldn't just give up on a marriage when you hit a rough spot, he said.

It was more than just a rough spot, I said.

People who loved each other found a way to work things out, he said.

You don't love me, I said.

He said he did. Maybe he hadn't been the best husband, but I damn sure hadn't been the best wife.

I'm sure you're right, I told him. But I don't think I deserve get-ting a cracked rib.

He said there was no way he'd cracked my rib, that must have happened accidentally when I fell.

I said he'd pushed me, hit me.

And I was astonished when Nick said he didn't remember hitting me. Maybe one of his hands had slipped.

I wondered if he really didn't remember, if he could actually rewrite reality for himself, or if he was just lying. And then I realized it didn't matter.

I'm not coming back, I said. And every comment he made after that, I repeated it. I'm not coming back. I'm not coming back.

I hung up the phone and went to Gage, who had been sitting in the living area. His hands had clenched so hard in the arms of the leather chair that his fingertips had riveted deep gouges in the smooth hide. But he had let me fight my battle alone, as I had needed to.

I had always loved Gage, but never so much as then.

I filed for a divorce on the grounds of insupportability, meaning the marriage had become insupportable because of personality conflicts that had destroyed "the legitimate ends of the marriage relationship." That was the quickest way to end it, the lawyer said. If Nick didn't contest it. Otherwise there would be a trial, and all kinds of nastiness and humiliation in store for both parties.

"Haven," Gage said to me in private, his gray eyes kind, the set of his mouth grim. "I've tried my best to hold back and do things your way . . . but I have to ask you for something now."

"What is it?"

"You and I both know there's no way Nick's going to let the divorce go uncontested unless we make it worth his while."

"You mean pay him off," I said, my blood simmering as I thought of Nick getting a financial reward after the way he'd treated me. "Well, remind Nick that I've been disinherited. I'm — "

"You're still a Travis. And Nick will play his part to the hilt . . . a poor hardworking guy who married a spoiled rich girl, and now he's being tossed aside like a bartender's rag. If he wants, Haven, he can make this process as long and difficult and public as possible."

"Give him my share of the condo, then. That's all the community property we've got."

"Nick will want more than just the condo."

I knew what Gage was leading up to. He wanted to pay Nick off, to keep him quiet long enough to let the divorce go through. Nick was about to get a big fat reward, after all he'd done to me. I got mad enough to start shaking. "I swear," I said with blistering sincerity, "if I manage to get rid of him, I will never get married again."

"No, don't say that." Gage reached for me without thinking, and I shrank back. I still didn't like to be touched, especially by men, which Susan had said was a protective mechanism and would get better in time. I heard Gage utter a quiet curse, and he dropped his arms. "Sorry," he muttered, and heaved a sigh. "You know, putting a bullet in his head would be a lot cheaper and quicker than a divorce."

I glanced at him warily. "You're kidding, right?"

"Right." He made his expression bland, but I didn't like the look in his eyes.

"Let's stick with the divorce option," I said. "I'd prefer Matthew and Carrington not to have to visit you in prison. What kind of terms are you thinking? And am I supposed to go crawling to Dad for money to give to Nick? . . . Because I sure don't have any."

"You let me worry about the terms. We'll settle up later."

Realizing my brother was not only going to assume the expenses of my divorce, but also the settlement, I gave him a wretched look, "Gage — "

"It's okay," he said quietly. "You'd do it for me. You're not causing hardship for anyone, sweetheart."

"It's not right for you to pay for my mistakes."

"Haven . . . part of being strong is being able to admit you need help sometimes. You went into this marriage alone, you suffered through it alone, you damn sure don't have to get out of it alone. Let me be your big brother."

His quiet certainty made the ground beneath my feet feel solid. Like someday everything might actually be okay.

"I'm going to pay you back someday."

"Okay."

"I guess the only time I've ever felt more grateful," I told him, "is when you pulled Bootsie out of the ligustrum bush."

I swallowed my pride and called Dad the day after my divorce was final in February. To my profound relief, Nick hadn't appeared at court when the judge signed the decree. Two people had to show up to get married, but only one had to for a divorce. Gage had assured me that Nick would stay far away from court that day. "What'd you do, threaten to break his legs?" I asked.

"I told him if I caught sight of him, his guts would be strung on the courthouse gate within five minutes." I had smiled at that until I realized Gage hadn't been joking.

Gage and Liberty had let my family know that I was back in Houston, but that I wouldn't be ready to see anyone or do any telephone-talking for a while. Naturally Dad, who wanted to be in the center of whatever was going on, took offense at my elusiveness. He told Gage to tell me that any time I was ready to get off my high horse, he would like for me to come see him.

"Did you tell him I was getting a divorce?" I asked Gage.

"Yes. I can't say he was surprised."

"But did you tell him why?" I didn't want anyone to know about what had occurred between Nick and me. Maybe in time I would tell Jack or Joe, but for now I needed it to be kept private. I didn't want to be seen as weak or helpless, a victim, ever again. Most of all I didn't want to be pitied.

"No," Gage said, his tone reassuring. "I just told Dad it didn't work out — and if he wanted any kind of relationship with you at all, to keep his mouth shut about it."

So I finally called Dad, my sweaty hands gripping the phone. "Hey Dad." I tried to sound casual. "Been a while since I talked to you. Just thought I'd check in."

"Haven." The sound of his gravelly voice was familiar and comforting. "You took your sweet time. What have you been doing?"

"Getting a divorce."

"I heard about that."

"Yeah, well . . . it's all over between me and Nick." Since my father couldn't see me, I wrinkled up my face as if I'd chomped on bitter dandelion greens as I forced myself to admit, "It was a mistake."

"There are times I take no pleasure in being right."

"Like hell," I said, and was rewarded by his scratchy chuckle.

"If you really got rid of him," Dad said, "I'll call my lawyer this afternoon and have you put back in the will."

"Oh, good. That's why I called."

It took him a moment to realize I was being sarcastic.

"Dad," I said, "you're not going to hold that will over my head the rest of my life. Thanks to you, I've gotten a great education, and there's no reason I can't hold down a job. So don't bother calling the lawyer I don't want to be in the will."

"You'll be in the will if I say so," Dad retorted, and I had to laugh.

"Whatever. The real reason I'm calling is to say I'd like to see you.

It's been way too long since I've had a good argument with someone."

"Fine," he said. "Come on over."

And with that, our relationship was back on track, as flawed and frustrating as it had ever been. But I had boundaries now, I reminded myself, and no one was going to cross them. I would be a fortress of one.

I was a new person in the same world, which was a lot more difficult than being the same person in a new world. People thought they knew me but they didn't. With the exception of Todd, my old friends were no longer relevant to the new version of me. So I turned to my brothers for support, and I discovered that adulthood had done nice things for their personalities.

Joe, a commercial photographer, made a point of telling me that he had a big house and there was plenty of room if I wanted to stay with him. He said he was gone a lot of the time, and we wouldn't infringe on each other's privacy. I told him how much I appreciated the offer, but I needed my own place. Still, it wouldn't have been bad at all, living with him. Joe was an easygoing guy. I never heard him complain about anything. He took life as it came, which was a rare quality in the Travis family.

But the real surprise was Jack, the brother I'd never gotten along with — the one who'd given me a bad haircut when I was three, and scared the wits out of me with bugs and garden snakes. The adult Jack turned out to be an unexpected ally. A friend. In his company I could fully relax, the haunted, anxious feeling burning away like water drops on a smoking griddle.

Maybe it was because Jack was so straightforward. He claimed to be the least complex person the Travis family, and that was probably true. Jack was a hunter, comfortable with his status as a predatory omnivore. He was also an environmentalist and saw no conflict in that. Any hunter, he said, had better do his best to protect nature since he spent so much time out in it.

With Jack, you always knew where you stood. If he liked something, he said so without hesitation, and if he didn't, he'd tell you the truth about that too. He stayed on the right side of the law while admitting that some things were just more fun when they were illegal. He liked cheap women, fast cars, late nights, and hard liquor, especially all together. In Jack's view, you were obliged to sin on Saturday night so you'd have something to atone for Sunday morning.

Otherwise you'd be putting the preacher out of business.

After Jack had graduated from UT, he'd gone to work at a small property management company. Eventually he'd gotten a loan, bought the company, and expanded it to four times its original size.

It was the perfect occupation for Jack, who liked to fix things, to tinker and problem-solve. Like me, he had no interest in investment lingo and all the sophisticated financial strategies that Gage and Dad so relished. Jack preferred the nuts-and-bolts issues of working and living. He was good at backroom deals, cutting through legal bullshit, talking man-to-man. To Jack, there was nothing more powerful than a promise made over a handshake. He would have died — literally chosen death — before breaking his word.

In light of my hotel experience at the Darlington, Jack said I'd be perfect working for the residential side of his management company, which was headquarters at 1800 Main. His current on site manager was leaving on account of pregnancy — she warned to spend the first few years of her child's life at home.

"Thanks, but I couldn't," I said when Jack first broached the idea of my taking the job.

"Why not? You'd be great at it."

"Reeks of nepotism," I said.

"So?"

"So there are other more qualified people for the position."

"And?"

I began to smile at his persistence. "And they'll complain if you hire your sister."

"See," Jack said easily, "that's the whole point of having my own company. I can hire Bozo the fu**ing clown if I want."

"That's so flattering, Jack."

He grinned. "Come on. Give it a shot. It'll be fun."

"Are you offering to employ me so you can keep an eye on me?"

"Actually, we'll hardly see each other, we'll both be so damn busy all the time."

I liked the sound of that, being busy all the time. I wanted to work, to accomplish things, after the past couple of years of being Nick's personal slave.

"You'll learn a lot," Jack coaxed. "You'd be in charge of the money stuff — insurance, payroll, maintenance bills. You'd also negotiate service contracts, purchase supplies and equipment, and you'd work with a leasing agent and an assistant. As the on-site manager, you'd live in a one-bedroom unit in the building. But you wouldn't be stuck in the office all the time . . . you'll have a lot of outside meetings. Later, when you're ready, you could get involved in the commercial side of things, which would be a help since I'm planning to branch out into construction management and then maybe — "

"Who'd be paying my salary?" I asked suspiciously. "You, or Dad?"

Jack looked affronted "Me of course. Dad doesn't have shit to do with my management company."

"He owns the building," I pointed out.

"You're employed by me and my company . . . and believe me, 1800 Main is not the only client we've got. Not by a long shot." Jack gave me a look of exaggerated patience. "Think it over, Haven. It'd work out great for both of us."

"It sounds great," I said. "And I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. But I can't start out at the top, Jack. I don't have enough experience. And it doesn't look good for either of us, for you to give me a job like that when I haven't paid any dues. What if I start out as the manager's assistant? I could learn from the ground up."