Hold Me (Fool's Gold #16)(24)

“Fair enough. I won’t try. Besides, there’s no point in fixing what isn’t broken.”

She reached across the table and patted his hand. “Thank you. You’re a good brother.”

“One of the best.”

She laughed. “Now you’re annoying me on purpose. Do you think that’s safe?”

“I trust you, kid.”

“You’ve known me all my life.”

“And most of mine. In fact, I can’t remember when you weren’t around.”

She leaned toward him. “I had lunch with Destiny and her sister a couple of days ago. There was a group of us. She’s nice and everything, but I get the impression she and her sister aren’t close.”

Kipling picked up his glass of wine as a way to buy time. He wasn’t sure what to say. A case could be made that he owed Destiny nothing. Only that wasn’t true. He liked her, and he’d kissed her. He was hoping for a lot more, in the “let’s get physical” department. But more than that, he figured the secret was hers to tell or not.

“I don’t know exactly how she and Starr ended up together,” he said casually. “But she mentioned something about them not knowing each other. They’re half sisters, through their father. Starr’s mom died a while ago.”

Shelby blinked. “Seriously? That’s just like us. Half siblings through our father, and I lost my mom last year.”

“Except we grew up together.”

“Yeah, that would change things. I can’t imagine having a sister I didn’t know.”

He couldn’t, either. Although he did understand family estrangement. His father was currently sitting in prison for various crimes, beyond beating his daughter. He would be there a long time, and Kipling had no plans to go see him.

As a teenager, he’d worried about how much of his father he carried with him. Was his father’s darkness like a hibernating monster that would wake with no warning? Because there was no other way to describe a man who beat his daughter.

He’d been afraid he would one day wake up and feel the dark violence growing inside him. Finally, he’d talked to his coach about what he’d seen at home and what he feared.

As always, the advice had been honest and practical.

“Have you ever wanted to hit a woman?”

Kipling remembered being both shocked and humiliated by the question. “Hell, no.”

“If you do, go get help. Immediately. Find a shrink. Get on medication. Whatever it takes. You can’t choose where you come from, but you can decide how you’re going to deal with it.”

Kipling had vowed he wouldn’t let himself turn into his father, no matter what it cost him. The promise had turned out to be easy to keep. He’d been angry to the point of rage and had never once felt the need to raise his hand to anyone. If there was a genetic component to violence, he’d managed to dodge that bullet. If it was the result of nurture, he would guess the skiing had saved him. Either way, he was grateful.

He thought maybe part of the reason was his connection to the mountains. Flying over snow took a discipline that forced him to control himself. Every action had an immediate consequence, and when he screwed up, the results, or disasters, were unforgiving.

He wondered what Destiny had gone through, growing up as she had. Which demons had she escaped, and which did she carry with her?

Later, after he and Shelby had finished their dinner, he walked back to the town house he’d rented. It was still light, and there were plenty of people out enjoying the evening. He nodded and called out greetings, but kept moving. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone right now.

Restlessness pulled at him. He recognized it and knew the cause. Before the accident, the solution would have been easy—hop on a plane and go find a mountain. Get to the top and ski down. That was all. The simple act of movement against snow would take care of the problem.

He stepped off the curb and felt the pull in his back and down his leg. Remnants of what had happened. Of the accident.

It had happened so fast—as they always did. He didn’t remember much. Just waking up in a world of hurt. He could have been paralyzed. He could have died. So he couldn’t ski. Big deal.

Only some days, it was. Some days he thought about how the best part of him had been lost and would never be found again.

He passed a family out for a walk, a little girl flanked by her parents. Dad pushed a stroller.

There were a lot of families in town. Couples. People in love. He’d always thought he would get there someday, only he’d never been able to get past the truth. That saying you loved someone didn’t mean a thing. Not when love couldn’t change anything. Heal anything. Fix anything.

His father had claimed to love his daughter. And then he’d beat her. Shelby’s love for her dying mother had put her right in front of the old man’s fist. What good had love done any of them?

It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in love. He did. He knew it existed. He loved his sister. He would die for Shelby. But if she was in trouble, he would get off his ass and do something about it. Not just sit back and love her. Or claim to, as their father had.

He saw other couples all around him. Happy people who made it look easy. Who didn’t seem to be working so hard. But he’d never been able to simply believe. To know it was right. That any particular woman was “the one.” He couldn’t figure out what was different for him. So he stayed with what worked.