Van (Cold Fury Hockey 9)

Van pulls away from me, but his hands go to my shoulders. He peers down at me. "Do you know what it's like for a kid to watch their father arrested, and then tried for horribly gruesome crimes? And for your mom to insist he's innocent, but deep in your heart...you just know he's evil. And yet how confusing it is to love that man? By loving him, did that mean I condoned what he did?"

"Absolutely not," I say adamantly, but he doesn't hear me.

"Or what about the fact I looked up to him? Admired him? Smiled with pride when he called me a chip off the old block? Maybe I am like him. Maybe I've got..." He pauses a moment, bangs his fist to his chest, and his voice is absolutely tortured. "Maybe I've got the same sickness in me?"

"God, no," I say with a sympathetic whine. "Absolutely not. I know you, Van, and you--"

"You don't know shit about me," he growls.

"I fucking know everything about you," I yell at him, and he blinks in surprise. I take a step to him, put my hand on his chest...right over his heart. "If I didn't know it ten minutes ago, I sure as fuck know it now. You are a man tortured by your father's sins, and the mere fact you're so tortured tells me all I need to know about you."

Van's eyes seem to flicker, die, and then pop back to life. Maybe with hope? I don't know, but I'm not stopping.

I step into him, my arms once again going back around his waist. He doesn't reciprocate so I snarl at him, "You better hold me, you motherfucker."

His arms immediately come up and around me. He squeezes tight and I snuggle hard into him. With relief, I hear him let out a sigh of capitulation, possibly relief, and then we just stand there holding each other.

"I know you, Van Turner," I whisper to him. "And I think you're mighty fine."

Chapter 19

Van

I don't think I can do this.

Even as I hold tight to Simone, every moral cell in my body is screaming at me to cut ties and run. She doesn't deserve this weight I carry around. As she holds me now and I realize that her heart is indeed involved, she sure as fuck doesn't deserve to fall for someone like me.

"Simone," I say gently as I bring a hand up to the back of her head. I curl my fingers around her neck and give her a gentle squeeze.

She looks up at me with fierce eyes. "Don't you even think about telling me I deserve better, or that you don't have anything to give me. At the very least, you better sure as fuck keep giving me what you've been giving me, and if I had my way, you'd talk to me and tell me everything."

I blink at her, mesmerized by her determination. She continues. "So you have two choices. You either take me back into your bedroom and fuck the hell out of me, and we'll both push this under the rug. Or you sit your ass on that couch and you tell me all of it. Every last nasty detail, and then you let me keep your secret."

"I'm not surprised," I mutter.

"By what?" she asks with her head tilted.

"That you won't take no for an answer," I say with a sigh. "You're relentless."

"And shiny," she says with a perky smile.

"And shiny," I admit with defeat. "Go grab two beers out of the fridge and you'll hear it all."

She doesn't hesitate, releasing her hold on me and trotting into the kitchen. When she comes back, I already have taken a seat on one end of the couch. To my relief, after handing me my beer, she sits on the opposite end. I kick my legs out but turn slightly to face her. She draws her legs up under her and pops the top to her beer.

"How much of that stuff did you read?" I ask her.

"I got the gist of what your father did," she says quietly. "And that he's in prison in Virginia and dying."

I nod, popping my own beer open. I take a long swallow, mostly to wet my throat, which has become dry as dirt. "I was eight when he was tried and convicted. It was in the summer, and my mom made me attend the trial with her. She was convinced he was innocent and wanted to show our support."

"That's awful," she murmurs.

"I agree," I tell her. "You don't even want to know the nightmares I had for years after that."

"Did you...um...ever talk to someone about it?"

"You mean like a psychologist or something?" I ask, and she nods. "Yes. For a few years when I was younger. Again when I hit my teens. It helped."

"And your mom? Is that Etta Turner?" she asks.

I shake my head, smiling slightly at just the mention of Etta's name. "She's my aunt. My mom killed herself three days after my dad was convicted. I came home from school one day and she was just lying in bed...thought she was sleeping. It was a prescription drug overdose."

"Oh, Van," Simone says with such heartfelt sympathy it makes my nose sting from the care within her tone.

I wave her off. "I don't miss her. I've come to grips that she was wrong to expose me to that, but honestly, it afforded me a life with Etta."

"You changed your name," Simone says with sudden realization. "The letter was addressed to Grant VanBuskirk."

"Etta had custody of me and we tried to stay in the D.C. area, but I was really struggling. School was just hard, and I was acting out. She got my dad's parental rights terminated, moved me to California, and we left it all behind."

"I like Van," she says, giving me a sweet smile. "It's a good name. Strong. Like you."

I appreciate her sweet words, but strong isn't the word I would ever use to describe me. Coward, maybe, since I shut myself away from the world. Asshole, definitely. A charlatan, probably, for hiding behind a fake name.

I don't say these things, though, and push on with my story. "Etta gave me a new life and things were better in California. She got me involved in hockey early, and it was a way for me to channel a lot of my anger."

"She sounds amazing," Simone says.

I nod, and although I know it will hurt, I have to say it. "The only woman I'll ever love."

Gotta give Simone credit, she

doesn't even flinch. She just nods, as if she understands why I'm such a schmuck and is willing to shoulder the burden of my assholery.

"And now your dad is dying?" she asks, pushing me to finish.

"I went to see him a few weeks ago," I tell her.

"After that first night we were together," she murmurs, more to herself than to me. "That's where you went."

I nod. "I spent maybe five minutes talking to that asshole. He found out who I'd become but promised he'd keep my identity a secret."

"Do you believe him?" she asks.

"Not one bit," I mutter. "I just hope he's too fucking sick to have the energy to do it."

"Why did you go see him?"

I blink in surprise at this question. "Because...he's my dad."

"No, that's not it." She doesn't give me any more, but I can see in her eyes that she doesn't accept that.

Savvy little brat.

I suck in a breath, and when I let it out, I release the last secret I've held from her. "Because I'm afraid I might be like him, and I had to see if I could find out anything from him that would either confirm my suspicions or put my soul at peace."

Simone scoffs at me. "That's ridiculous."

"Maybe to you," I tell her calmly. "But to me, it's all I've thought about most of my life."

"But you went to counseling--"

"Yes, I did," I say, cutting her off. "And I didn't kill animals when I was younger and the thought of raping a woman disgusts me. I can't even fathom killing a person. I've read articles on sociopathy and psychopathy--or rather antisocial personality disorder and its variations--and fuck...I was going to go to college and study it before I got drafted, but none of that matters, Simone. Just one tiny kernel of fear is enough to keep me awake at night."

She doesn't try to dissuade me, but takes another tack. "And did you find out any answers?"

I don't answer at first, holding her gaze for a moment. So fucking beautiful, and so fucking naive sometimes.

"He didn't start killing until he married my mother. He was thirty years old. Two years older than I am now."

Realization dawns in Simone's eyes and she immediately starts shaking her head. "That doesn't mean anything."

"Yeah, I know. But it could also mean something."

"Van...I took some psychology courses in college. From what I remember, you don't fit the bill at all. I bet your dad was charming, right? Superficially, that's how sociopaths are, and, baby, you are anything but charming."