You're the One That I Want Page 5

  “I can barely hear you!” Raina shouted back.

  Casper could barely hear himself over the ruckus of the Seattle Seahawks’ on-the-road win over the 49ers. Why he’d picked this bar and grill to grab a late-night burger, drown his sorrows with a little chocolate milk and a basket of seasoned curly fries, he wasn’t sure. Something about the massive flat screens showing not only the Seahawks, but also a late-season game of the Mariners and highlights of the last Washington Huskies game, made this seem like the right place to hide, maybe forget the past four-plus months of failure.

  The joint smelled of cheeseburgers and fries, and with the gleaming wooden bars, the signed NFL jerseys and NHL sweaters in frames, and the familiar comfort food menu, it felt easy. Maybe Casper simply craved the loud, boisterous Thursday night football game, the cheering he was missing back home in Deep Haven, surrounded by his brother Darek, his father, and even his little nephew, Tiger. Boys’ night, although Ivy, Darek’s wife, knew the teams as well as he did.

  But even Ivy might have been intimidated by a crowded restaurant filled with jersey-clad, face-painted Hawks during the last two minutes of the tied game.

  He’d sat at the bar, watching the win and eating his fries, his mind wandering through the pit stops over the past four months since he’d left Deep Haven in the apparently fruitless quest to find his prodigal brother.

  Yeah, sure, he probably should have gone home. But a big part of him knew that if he stepped foot back in Deep Haven, back into Raina’s arms, he wouldn’t leave again.

  The longing for her had stirred up the desire to call home, even if he rousted her out of bed. He just had to hear her voice.

  “I said, he’s dropped off the planet!”

  Of course, that’s when the bartender flipped the channel to the late-night news, much to the chagrin of the cadre of fans still hanging on to their well-imbibed celebration.

  The bartender—nameplate, Jim—gestured to Casper’s empty glass. Casper nodded, even as he cupped his hand over the phone to shield his voice. “Maybe it’s time to call it quits.”

  “What I’ve been saying for weeks. You’ve done the best you could—it’s time to come home, Casper. You won’t even recognize Layla. She’s crawling now.”

  He clasped his finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose, trying to massage away the pulse of a headache just starting to form. Every picture Raina texted him of the eight-month-old, with her curly black hair, those huge blue eyes, the lopsided smile, and every gurgling coo from the other side of the phone made him ache. His daughter—oh, he wanted to claim her as his own. Had, really, in his heart.

  But he couldn’t fully become her daddy until he got the okay from the biological father—aka his stupid, reckless, arrogant, broken kid brother.

  “She’s also cutting teeth, and I wouldn’t be sad if you were here to mop up some of the drool. I’ve never met a soggier kid.”

  He could imagine Raina sitting on the sofa in a flannel shirt, pajama pants, her long black hair down over her shoulders, one finger twirling it absently. It always had a hypnotic power over him, made him willing to hand her his heart all over again.

  He could feel her in his arms, smell her—lavender or baby powder—and lost himself for a moment. “Wow, I miss you. I can’t wait until we’re married.”

  Which meant he couldn’t give up the search. “I can’t come home yet. I’ll never feel right about marrying you if Owen doesn’t know he’s a father—I’d feel like . . .”

  Well, like he’d stolen her. And worse, like he was hiding a terrible secret, always looking over his shoulder. How could he be a proper father to Layla if he thought he had no right to be there?

  “It’s just important to me; that’s all.”

  “Are you still in Seattle?” Raina said, her voice soft, probably a reaction to hearing him sigh.

  “Yeah. I spent another day on the docks, flashing Owen’s picture around like I’m a PI or something.”

  “You are, sort of.”

  “I’d be a broke one if I was doing this for a living. I thought after I finally tracked down Jed with the Jude County Hotshots, I wasn’t far behind, but I think it’s going to take something close to divine intervention to find him.”

  After discovering Owen had quit the Hotshots and traveled with a friend to Spokane, Casper had found the man’s family and learned that Owen had left after a few weeks, then headed to Seattle.

  “I found an address here in Seattle where he lived. Talked to the landlord this morning. She remembered him—hard to miss a guy with an eye patch, I guess.”

  “He’s still wearing that?”

  “Apparently. She thought he might work down at the docks but hadn’t seen him since his buddy moved out last January.”

  The bartender set another glass of chocolate milk in front of him. Casper held on to his plate of curly fries. In desperation, he’d even shown Owen’s picture to the crowd here, the bartender, a few waitstaff. But Owen would have had to be painted navy and green, maybe play wide receiver, to get a second look here.

  Behind him, the crowd dispersed, just a few loud fans remaining to talk smack about next week’s matchup against the Rams.

  “This afternoon I tracked down someone who recognized him from the Pike Place Fish Market. Said he was a monger for a while.”

  “What’s a monger?”

  “A fish tosser. Apparently he had great reflexes. The monger who remembered Owen said that he thought he hooked up with some guys headed out on a fishing boat. But that was eight months ago.”

  “You’ll find him, Casper. If anyone can, it’s you.”

  He’d like to believe that, but lately he’d been thinking that his luck might have run dry after landing the treasure-hunting find of his life earlier this year—the fortune of a steel baron, lost in the north woods of Minnesota. The finders’ fee had given him enough to prop up the family resort, infuse it with new life, make his engagement to Raina official with a ring, and maybe someday buy a house . . . if he could locate Owen and garner his blessing.

  Or maybe his forgiveness. Because even more than moving forward with Raina, Casper wanted to set the past right. It haunted him—their fight, the way he’d tackled his brother, slammed his fist into his face, and in that moment, hated him.

  Hated. That’s what burned in him the most. He couldn’t shake the regret, the awareness that he’d wanted to hurt Owen, really hurt him.

  The fury that had taken over scared him. That day Casper had just wanted to make Owen pay for what he did to Raina. And to him. Because they’d never escape the specter of Owen in their life. Not with Layla there to remind them. As much as Casper loved Layla, he feared he’d never look in her eyes and truly see his reflection. What if Owen would always be staring—smirking—back?

  Still, Casper couldn’t live with the gash he’d cut in the family. In his own heart.

  He longed to forgive. And be forgiven. But he couldn’t deny how his hope of that waned with each empty lead.

  “I can’t think of anywhere else to look. But I can’t . . .” He picked up a curly fry, tossed it through the ketchup. “I can’t come home yet, either.”

  The fry was cold, turning sour in his mouth. He washed it down with the milk, then pushed the plate away, glancing up at the news. Weather, then sports. Oh, joy, more Seahawks.

  “Amelia left for Africa today,” Raina said. “The whole tribe went to the airport. I know they missed you.”

  “I missed them. How’s her ankle?” He still couldn’t believe the story Raina had told him about his kid sister nearly dying of injuries and exposure in the north woods of Minnesota.

  “She’s good. Limping a little, but healed up. I think she’s going to love Africa.”

  “And you—how are you?”

  “I’m missing you. Your mom and Grace have been watching Layla during my shifts at the antique shop, but I think I need to find day care and increase my hours. I can’t keep living on the dole.”

  He knew she meant i
t as funny, but he didn’t laugh. “If we were married, it would be our money, not mine. You could stay at home and take care of Layla—”

  “I doubt that, Casper. I’ve never been the kind of girl to just sit around. I’d probably work at the resort, helping out. Maybe clean cabins.”

  “Don’t you dare mention that to Darek. He’ll take you up on it.”

  She laughed. “I am glad to help out, Casper. It . . . Well, it’s my family resort too, in a way.”

  “In every way.” Oh, he could barely take it, the need to reach through the phone, weave his hands into her silky hair, pull her into his arms. “That’s it. I’m coming home.”

  “Casper—”

  “No, I’m serious, Raina. Forget Owen. He clearly forgot us. He’s wiped his feet, shaken off the dirt, and left us behind. I don’t know why I’m trying so hard to find someone who doesn’t want to be found. And it’s not like his blessing has any bearing on our future. I’d marry you if I had to knock him over to get down the aisle. He doesn’t have a shadow of a hope of getting back in your life—or Layla’s. I’m her daddy, not Owen, and maybe I need to come home and start acting like it.”

  Silence; then he heard an intake of breath. “If . . . I mean, yeah, that’s—of course, that’s what I want. But are you sure—?”

  “More than sure.” Casper slid off the stool and cradled the phone as he reached into his pocket for his wallet. “I can’t believe I was such an idiot to leave you and Layla for this long. I should be there instead of chasing my ghost brother across the world. He’s probably laughing on some beach in Hawaii right now.” He gestured to the bartender, covering the phone. “Check?”

  The barkeep nodded even as he glanced at the television. Casper followed his gaze, his eye catching on some news story.

  “If that’s what you want, Casper, I understand. Yeah, I think Owen should know he has a daughter, but it doesn’t change anything between us. I love you—I want you, and Owen is out of my life for good.”

  Casper dug through his wallet for his debit card.

  “Hey, bud,” the bartender said, turning toward him. Casper handed him the card, but Jim shook his head, pointed to the television. “Isn’t that the guy you’re looking for?”

  Casper froze, his gaze on the pictures of a bearded Owen and a woman with long, dark hair—reminded him a little of Raina, in fact.

  And below their mug shots, a caption. Swept overboard.

  Jim turned up the volume as the reporter finished her segment.

  “The Coast Guard has suspended the search for tonight, the winds too high to attempt a rescue. Searchers say they will resume their hunt in the morning.” She tossed it back to her anchor, her expression grim as they finished the segment.

  Casper couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

  “Casper, are you there?”

  Swept overboard.

  “Casper!” Raina’s voice cut through the disbelief, the fog, yanking him back to reality.

  “Oh . . . my.” No, please—

  “What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

  “I . . . Raina, I think I found him.” He stepped up to the bar, tried to press his voice through what felt like a crushing hand on his chest. “Oh no, no . . .”

  “You’re scaring me now.”

  Yeah, well, he was scaring himself. He stared at the barkeep, who took his debit card, something of apology on his face.

  It couldn’t end. Not like this. “It’s Owen, Raina. He’s . . . he’s lost at sea.”

  A COUNTRY SONG PLAYED through Owen’s mind, something that stirred from the depths of his memory.

  Twangy. Mellow. The music issued from an old transistor, the knobs slathered with white-and-green paint, the speaker overlaid in coarse green fiber. The song blared out from the workbench where his father bent, sharpening his skates.

  “I pretend to hold you to my breast and find that you’re waiting from the back roads . . .”

  Owen allowed himself to sink into the past, to smell his mother’s cookies seasoning the autumn air, to hear Casper and Darek raking the yard and arguing. He heard the crunch of leaves at his feet, felt their curly fingers at his face and down his shirt as he leaped into the pile, scattering them again to the wind.

  He let the song find his lips, added the tune. “‘By the rivers of my memories, ever smilin’, ever gentle on my mind.’”

  “Are you singing?”

  Scotty’s voice urged him to rejoin her in the raft. She knelt near the entrance, where she’d opened the Velcro just enough to let the water from the pump hose dribble back into the sea. Two hours of pumping and she’d just about managed to drain the frigid puddle.

  While he lay in the back of the raft, letting her be the hero. She’d become even more breathtaking as night lifted, her eyes big against the pale hue of her face in the graying light. Her dark hair had dried and now lay in long, midnight curls.

  “Don’t stop,” she said. “It’s nice.” She closed the Velcro, then came over to kneel next to him.

  “I don’t remember all the words. It’s an old song tucked away in my memory.”

  The waves still rocked them back and forth, but he no longer feared they would flip over, drown under the weight of the raft. The calming of the water tempered the jostling, the agony.

  And with the daylight might also come rescue.

  Owen reached up to touch Scotty’s hair, letting it fall between his fingers, and he didn’t care that the gesture seemed intimate. He’d been wanting to touch her hair, twirl a long lock around his finger, for three weeks. And shoot, he was dying. What did he have to lose?

  He could feel the life ebb from his body. The fatigue pressing him into the numbing water, the way he just wanted to return, sweetly, to the memory of Evergreen Resort.

  “My dad likes to listen to country,” he said, his voice thinner than he’d like. “Mom hates country, so she makes him listen to it in the garage. Or used to. Maybe not anymore, I dunno.”

  So much he didn’t know anymore. His fault—he knew that.

  “Where does your family live?”

  “On a resort in northern Minnesota called Evergreen Lodge Outfitter and Cabin Rentals. Beautiful place—twelve cabins, all perched along the lakeside. It’s been in the family for four generations. Except it burned down two years ago.”

  “Oh, that’s terrible.”

  “My brother Darek is rebuilding. He’s got this cute little boy named Tiger and got remarried last summer. His first wife died when Tiger was a toddler.”

  “Sad.”

  “He’s happy now, I think. I dunno.”

  “That’s a lot of dunnos.”

  Hmm. “My mom makes the most incredible chocolate chip cookies. She puts peanut butter chips in them, and I swear, right now I can taste them.”

  She smiled. “You’re just hungry.”

  Funny, he wasn’t quite as ravenous as he had been earlier. “Have you ever had a s’more made with two chocolate chip cookies? During the summer, we had a cookout every weekend, and Mom would drag out her cookies . . .” He sighed, and now he started to feel pressure in his gut, building. Hot pressure against his ribs, his lungs, his heart.

  “It sounds fantastic,” she said.

  “My sister Grace is this amazing cook too. She has a recipe for hamburgers—I don’t know what she puts in them, but I’ve never eaten a burger that could make you cry. Except for Grace’s.”

  “That’s so sweet. I bet she misses you.”

  Do you take anything seriously? Scotty’s words must’ve drilled into him, found a foothold, because he’d spent most of the night listening to them. Yeah, actually, he did take some things seriously. Like his regrets.

  “I haven’t talked to my family in over a year. I have three sisters and two brothers, and I haven’t talked to any of them since my eldest sister’s wedding.” He made a face. “Meet the family prodigal, the official black sheep of the Christiansen family. The one most likely to screw up something good.”

 
; He met her eyes then, so filled with a concern that looked a lot like friendship. Or more.

  He would have liked to live long enough to discover the or more.

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Yeah, well, everyone has a story, right? And mine is simple. I was stupid and impulsive and because of it, I lost part of my sight, my career. I drove away and didn’t look back.”

  “Why not?”

  There it was, the Great Question. The prodigal’s shame—why didn’t he turn around or even call just once?

  So many ways to answer that.

  Because I was a jerk and slept with the girl my brother ended up falling in love with.

  Yeah, uh, no.

  Because I got in a fistfight with said brother at my sister’s wedding. Which of course would lead back to reason number one.

  Again, no.

  And the biggest reason: because he couldn’t bear to see the accusation, the hurt in his family’s eyes, starting with his mother all the way to his kid sister, Amelia, who he knew looked up to him more than he deserved.

  There had to be an answer, and he found the one that summed it up. “Because, really, I left them long before I got injured. I was all about hockey back then, driven by the headlines. I always dreamed of a life beyond Deep Haven, beyond the resort, even in the early days, when Casper and Darek dragged me out on the ice. Casper was better than me back then, but he was always pushing me to get better and I caught up fast. I thought we might play together on some NHL team. Then I joined the juniors and everything started happening, and by the time I caught my breath, I realized I didn’t belong anymore. I was on the outside looking in, and I couldn’t figure out how to make my way back or even if I wanted to.” He gave a wry chuckle that contained nothing of humor. “And now it might be too late.”

  He didn’t exactly know why he said that, but suddenly the past year rushed over him—the fight with Casper, the months on the road living so far beyond the person he ever thought he’d be.

  “Owen, are you okay? You’re scaring me a little bit.”

  He forced a smile, tried for something light, teasing. “You could hold my hand.”

  Her frown deepened. “I am holding your hand.” She lifted it and he realized that he could no longer feel his own grip.