Page 134 of Big Bad Wolfe

Zane’s pulse started to hammer. “Yes.” He stared out the window at the white-capped waves, translucent emerald in the sunlight. But beneath the deceptive beauty lurked dangerous riptides. Riptides that knocked people who thought they were wading in safe, shallow water off their feet. Swept them to their deaths.

His life was like that. His past always lying in wait. Ready to knock him down, sweep over him and drown him … just when he thought he was safe.

But neither Jillian nor Dean was following the pattern. Zane expected accusations. Pain. Instead, they offered kindness and understanding.

He didn’t know how to respond, except with total honesty. “I didn’t have a good example. My old man was a sadistic bully. He destroyed everyone in my family. Drove my brother to suicide. I don’t know how to be a father. Not like you.”

“Ah, so you think I had a shining example of fatherhood?” Dean chuckled softly. “My father was the biggest bastard in three states. Drinking, whoring, gambling away what little money we had. He beat the living tar out of me and my brothers nearly every damnable day of our lives. Just because he could.” Dean’s drumming fingers stilled. “I vowed when I had my own family I would never be like him. I made a conscious choice, and I never laid a hand on any of my children. Look at me, Zane.” Serious blue-violet eyes held Zane’s. “We come from cruel, brutal men, but that’s not who we are. Do you know what makes the true measure of a man?”

Push, criticize, shove your way to the top, no matter how many bodies you step over on the way up.The gospel according to Stoneheart. The gospel of hate. The gospel of destruction.

But Dean Ramsay had a different message, one Zane was hungry to hear. “What?”

“The true measure of a man is how he treats others. Being a man means more than having the power to wreak or withstand violence. A real man needs the strength to be tender … especially with a child who counts on you for guidance and protection. I’ve seen you with Casey and with my daughter. Decency is rooted deep within you. Whatever your father did, he didn’t make you what he was.”

Dean rested a broad hand on Zane’s shoulder. “But if you can’t put it behind you, he wins. He’ll have destroyed you as effectively as the rest of your family.” Dean nodded. “Then you might as well be in the graveyard with your brother. Face down your past, Zane. Then let it go.”

This man of integrity, a man Zane respected, saw something good, saw promise in him. He began to shake. Tears again pressed dangerously close. He held them back with effort.

“Don’t be ashamed of your tears, son. I cried like a baby when my beloved Kathleen passed.” He squeezed Zane’s shoulder. “You’re not alone. Let Jillian help you. She’s a wise woman and strong, like her mother.” He slid his arm across Zane’s back, gave him a quick, hard hug. “And from now on, if you need anything from a father, I hope you’ll ask me.”

Zane’s past, present and future collided in a dizzying explosion. Maybe he had a chance at a decent life after all. Maybe it all came down to a choice.

His choice.

His throat tightened. He swallowed. “I ... need ... I have to ... think.”

He flung open the door and bolted toward the house. But he couldn’t run fast enough to stop the memories from choking him. Couldn’t escape the pain. It grabbed him, clawing, tearing. Eating him alive. He thundered upstairs to his room. Caught in a deadly, uncontrollable spin, he needed solitude to process the barrage of whirling images.

Panting, he leaned against the closed door.His father. His mother. Brent. Trevor. Dean. Jillian. Casey.Who was the real Zane Wolfe in relation to the people in his life?

What measure of man was he?

The images taunted him. His little brother, covered in blood.

His little boy, covered in blood.

He looked down at his white T-shirt, smeared with Casey’s blood, and flinched. He grabbed the stained shirt by the hem, ripped it over his head, and flung it into the corner. Decades of suppressed emotions welled up. His hands shook. His throat spasmed. The room tilted as his stomach pitched. He barely made it into the bathroom, where he was violently sick.

Agonizing minutes later, a cold wet washcloth settled on the back of his neck. Small, strong hands rubbed his back, soothing away the dizziness. He risked a glance sideways to see Jillian next to him. She’d changed into white cotton drawstring pants and a floaty sleeveless pale blue top. Her feet were bare, her shiny golden hair loose. His angel.

He groaned. “You donotwant to be here right now.”

“There’s nowhere else I belong.”

Gasping and spent, he staggered to the sink to splash cold water on his sweaty face. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“Vulnerable?” She handed him his toothbrush, piled with toothpaste. “Hurting? It’s okay. You don’t have to suffer alone, Zane. Not anymore.”

He brushed his teeth and followed up by rinsing with minty green mouthwash. Shaking, he stumbled back into the bedroom. As his knees gave out, he leaned back against the wall and let himself slide down to sit on the rug.

Jillian sat next to him and tugged him down to lie full length on the carpet beside her. She enfolded him in her arms. Her soft, cool hand stroked his forehead. “Everything will be okay.”

He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck, inhaling her familiar fragrance. “Where’s Casey? How is he?”

“He’s snug and cozy in his bed. Pop is reading him stories.” She rubbed his back. “Casey asked for you. I told him you weren’t feeling well.”

“He asked for me? Even after what I did ...” He trailed off, unsure if he’d actually done something wrong, or where he stood. Even with himself. If his son ended up despising him the way he despised Stoneheart, he wouldn’t be able to bear it.

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