Page 135 of Big Bad Wolfe

She gasped softly. “This is more than a flashback of Trevor’s death, isn’t it? What happened on that field, Zane?”

“You mean before I froze when my son was unconscious and bleeding and needed me?” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. “I’ve never freaked at the sight of blood. Hell, I’veneverfrozen in the line of duty. But I failed my own son.”

“An involuntary reaction to a past trauma. Casey’s accident so soon after you told me about Trevor, well, Trevor was on your mind. Combine that with the similarities between the two, it was inevitable. You couldn’t control your response any more than you can control your heartbeat. And you know it.” She tugged gently on his hair, forcing him to meet her too-knowing gaze. “What’s the real problem?”

Trust his wife to dive right to the heart of the matter. “My entire life, past, present and future has suddenly telescoped into one crucial moment. I feel like I’m boiling alive inside. Confused.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Afraid.”

Her serene, loving gaze held his, giving comfort. The ocean’s muted thunder drifted into the room on the breeze. “I’m here. Talk it out.”

“Casey was doing so well. I ... I thought ... I might have forced him to play third base when he didn’t want to. Not on purpose. But maybe I couldn’t control myself. Maybe—”

“You’re worried you pushed him like your father did you.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, feeling queasy again. Not wanting to see condemnation in her eyes, he dropped his gaze to the gentle hollow of her throat where the pulse beat in a steady rhythm beneath her creamy skin.

“Tell me exactly what happened.”

He replayed the scene in his head. “I said, ‘You should play third base.’ Casey hesitated, and answered, ‘I dunno, it’s an important spot.’ I told him he was doing really well with his catching. He scrunched up his face—you know how he does—and said, ‘I don’t … ’ Then I told him to try it. He looked really scared, but he said, ‘Okay, if you want me to.’ I replied, ‘Go out there and get ‘em.’” Zane swallowed hard. “Did I coerce him? Did I make him do it?”

“How did he act after he got out there?”

“He was nervous at first, but then he settled in and did a great job. He made a catch, was having a lot of fun. Until he got hit.”

“Look at me, Zane.” Her eyes held no condemnation, no pity. As soft as velvet, her violet gaze wrapped him in loving resolve. “Give me your take on the situation. Be Mr. Objective FBI. Be brutally honest. Stick to the facts. Leave your feelings out of it.”

“I think—” He held her gaze like a lifeline, fighting to view the incident objectively, as he would a case. To separate the facts from his doubts and fears. “I think he did it not because he’s afraid of me, but because—” He struggled with the admission. “He wanted to please me.”

“Because he admires you.” She touched his cheek. “Go on.”

“I didn’t force him.” Relief streamed through him, turning his limbs to jelly. “I asked him, and he chose.”

She nodded. “And what were your motives for asking him to play third base? Was it about you and what you wanted?”

“Of course not. It had nothing to do with me. I thought I could help him build his confidence.”

She stroked her hand over his shoulder, down his arm. “And your father pushed you because...”

“Everything we did was a reflection on him. It was always about the family image. Everything was about his image.”

“Did he ever show any remorse when you were hurt?”

All those years of pain. His hands fisted in her blouse. “No. If we showed any weakness, he pushed harder.”

“And how did you feel when Casey got hurt?”

“I’d rather cut off my right arm than see him hurt again.”

She nodded again. “Because...” she prodded.

“Because—” A switch in his brain tripped, banishing the darkness. Filling him with brilliant, warm light. “I’d never knowingly cause him pain. His happiness comes before mine. I love him so much I’d give my life for his.”

“Real,deep, abiding love.” She smiled gently. “Your father has his legacy, Zane, and you have yours. Which do you think will endure?”

“I—” He choked on a swell of understanding. The flashback of Trevor’s death had overshadowed his thinking, skewed the incident with Casey entirely out of proportion. His shoulders hitched as he made a Herculean effort to fight the tremors that shook him. “I’m not my father. I’m not anything like him.”

The tears he’d repressed for too many years welled in his eyes, trailed down his cheeks in hot, wet streaks of relief and joy.

She gathered him close. “It’s all right,” she whispered into his hair. “It’s been a long time coming. Let it out, Zane.”

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