Page 98 of When Hearts Ignite
“Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
“You’d be surprised.” His voice turns solemn before he clears his throat. “And you don’t need to thank me. You’re paying me for this.”
“Ugh. If you weren’t so good at what you do, I don’t know how I would put up with you.”
More laughter sounds from the line before he disconnects.
My heart pounds in my chest, a vigorous rhythm, and my fingers tingle. I always believe in the sixth sense and something tells me my life is about to change again and I can’t decide if I’m excited or scared.
There have been so many changes in the last year—the internship, the loan payment, dancing at Trésor, losing Mom. I look up, catching Steven staring at me from a distance, his elegant brow arched in question.
Him.
I smile and swallow the lump in my throat as heat spreads through me. Not all surprises are bad. Steven gives me a wink and bites his bottom lip. The teasing expression on his face makes my heart skip several beats. I wouldn’t have thought this was possible when I first met him all those months ago, when he was the coldhearted King of Wall Street with pain and loneliness lingering in those brilliant hazel eyes.
He’ll never be lonely again.
I’ll be here to hold him in my arms when he wakes up in the middle of the night. I’ll be here to wrap him in a hug when the darkness ensnares him in its vines again. I’ll be here to tell him I love him, over and over again until he believes he is worthy of the love.
My eyes prickle as I saunter back to him, my heart so full, the rapid beats fluttering within threatening to spill outside of me. I’ve never felt this way before and I’m scared. Terrified of this feeling going away.
Perhaps this was what Mom felt with my father, and this was why she never truly recovered when he left.
“Everything okay?” His eyes darken as they rove my face. He seems to be able to read all of my moods.
I nod. “It was my PI. They’re close to finding who my father is.”
He nods. “That must mean a lot to you. Anything I can do to help?”
“No, Emerson has it all taken care of. But when I find out who he is, I might need some strength from you in order to meet him.”
“I hope you find who you are looking for.” The words are quiet and I sense a heaviness cloaking his frame. “Any man would be a fool not to want you for a daughter.”
My heart clenches at the ache I hear in the deep timbre of his voice. From his lack of sleep, toiling away to save TransAmerica, his father’s legacy, I can tell he has a tenuous relationship with his father. I reach out and take his hand in mine, delivering warmth and love to him with my touch.
He stares at our intertwined fingers, emotions working across his face like a slideshow—heartache, loneliness, sadness, love, loss. I don’t know why he ever thought he wasn’t capable of emotions before. I think he has too much of it and it became all too overwhelming and he erected a barrier to protect himself.
“I’ve tried to please my father all my life,” he begins, his fingers now toying with mine, like he needs the contact in order to continue. “He’s a brilliant man. Intelligent. Hardworking. Has a set of moral standards I can never emulate. He always insists on doing the right thing, winning the right way. No shortcuts, just hard work. Push and persevere. He isn’t an affectionate man, but I knew he loved me, or so I thought.”
He glances at me, his eyes taking a faraway look. “I still remembered when I was in second grade and he took me to watch the Lakers play for the first time. He taught me the game and the rules and when everyone screamed as we won, he’d sit back, silent, a smile on his face. Then, he gave me a pat on the knee and told me, ‘This team began somewhere too. In fact, the team was formed from a disbanded team, which had one of the worst records in the National Basketball League back then. They worked hard and are now one of the best teams in basketball.’”
He smiles fondly at the memory. “He didn’t hug me or ruffle my hair that day, but it was the happiest day I remembered in my childhood. He didn’t work for the entire day and spent it all with me.”
“Some people aren’t good at expressing their feelings.” My heart aches for the little boy who wanted physical affection but didn’t seem to receive enough. How I want to wrap him in my arms.
He rolls his lips inward, a glimmer of hurt appearing in his gaze. “I thought that was the case for the longest time. He valued hard work and so I made sure I got top marks at school, won trophies, certificates, anything I could bring home to show him how I was worthy enough to be his son. I did everything I could do to earn a pat on the head or even a hug…but secretly, I really wanted another day at the games with him. But he was always too busy. But still, I’d see a smile grace his face whenever I brought home those report cards or test scores. And for the longest time, that smile was enough. I was content. The basketball game was like meeting a unicorn. It wasn’t supposed to happen, but I still saw it, and it was magical.”
Moisture mists my vision, and I clutch his fingers tightly in mine, feeling his hand tremble as his voice thickens. His eyes coat in a wet sheen as he continues to pour his heart out. The words I suspect were trapped inside him for years without an outlet.
His voice turns hoarse. “Until one day, I realized my father did have love to give. He did give out hugs and kisses. The problem was, the people he loved weren’t me. Weren’t my sisters or my mother. They were someone else.”
I gasp, my chest flinching as realization slams into me. “He had an affair?”
He nods. “I wasn’t supposed to see anything, but I caught a glimpse of his other family one stormy night and he gave all of his hugs and kisses to them. He cried for them. I had never seen him cry before. It was one of the worst nights of my life.” Steven wets his lips as he exhales a heavy breath.
“Is that why you can’t sleep when there’s a storm outside?”
He nods, his face haunted with memories of the past. “I don’t remember everything from the night now. The memories have faded. But somehow, my body seems to remember, and whenever there are howling winds and thunderstorms, the fragments of the past assault me, and I get to relive whatever pieces I remember over again.”
