Fool's Gold Collection Part 1: Chasing Perfect / Almost Perfect / Sister of the Bride / Finding Perfect
grinned. “Want to run that last sentence by your common sense? What grandmother asks a guy to sleep with her only granddaughter?”
“Oh. You’re probably right.”
“Probably?”
Some of her outrage faded. She sagged back against him. “My head hurts.”
“It’ll get better. You need a little time to take everything in. But if you’re going to have some surprise family, she’s the one to have. Marsha’s one of the good guys.”
“I know, but it’s so strange to think about. She’s known about me all my life. She wanted to be a part of things. She wanted us to be together.” Her eyes began to burn. She blinked away the sensation.
“My mother was the most stubborn person in the world,” Charity whispered. “She was totally unconventional. She didn’t care if I ate cake for breakfast, or what time I went to bed. She said she’d grown up with too many rules, that she didn’t believe in them.”
She glanced at him. “It sounds great in theory, but the truth was, I would have liked a few rules. I had to take responsibility for everything myself. I knew she wouldn’t. I was making sure there was food in the house by the time I was nine and handling the bills by the time I was twelve. I wanted to be a kid, but I was too scared of what would happen if no one was in charge.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, stroking her hair. “You should have had better.”
“I had better than a lot of people. I never went hungry. I had clothes and a roof over my head.”
A pretty low bar, Josh thought, seriously pissed, but determined not to show it. The last thing Charity needed was to deal with his feelings. This was about her.
“She wasn’t a bad person,” Charity said. “Sandra loved me.”
Another point he wouldn’t argue, but he didn’t believe Sandra was all that good a person. He doubted Marsha had been a perfect mother—no one was—but she’d always led with her heart. She was tough, but fair. No one changed that much and the woman he’d known since he was ten years old was giving and loving, and if she’d been strict, there would have been a reason. He would know—she’d looked after him, offering advice and support.
He knew she’d supplemented dozens of kids’ college educations, gave both money and time to several charities and ached for the one thing she’d lost—a family.
To his way of thinking, the fault was Sandra’s. Not for running away, but for insisting that Charity not have anything to do with her grandmother. It was one thing for Sandra to hold a grudge, but she’d had no right to impose those rules on her daughter.
“I don’t know what to think,” Charity admitted.
“Give it time. Things have a way of getting clearer.”
“I ran out on Marsha. I have to say something to her. Explain.”
“She knows you were overwhelmed. That’s why she called me.”
“The neutral third party?”
“The brilliant and hunky guy who will distract you.”
Charity managed a smile. “Oh, right. Silly me.” She straightened. “You’re right. I need to give it time. This has been a huge shock and I don’t have to do anything about it right now. I can live with the information, then decide what it means to me.”
“An excellent plan.”
The smile faded. “The worst of it is, I can’t get closure. Not totally. Sandra’s gone and I can’t go back and ask why she never told me about my grandmother.”
“She had her reasons,” he said carefully, not wanting to step into anything unpleasant.
“Stupid ones.” She stood. “Okay. I need to get back to work. That will distract me.” She lightly kissed him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You didn’t have to come after me. I would have been fine.”
“I enjoy a good rescue.”
Her dark eyes stared into his. “You’re a really nice guy.”
He pressed his index finger to his mouth. “It’s a secret. Don’t tell anyone.”
That earned him another smile. “I think word has already gotten out.”
DEMONS CAME IN ALL shapes and sizes. Josh’s were in the form of twelve guys from the local high school. They ranged in age from fifteen to eighteen, mostly skinny and awkward-looking on the ground, but they could fly like the wind on bikes.
Coach Green, a tall, skinny guy about Josh’s age, practically danced in place. “This is the best,” he said, grinning. “I raced in college. Nothing like you did, of course. I didn’t have the raw ability. But man, I wanted to be just like you. I can’t tell you how excited we all are to have you working out with us.”
Josh swallowed against the tightness in his chest. It didn’t help. The worship in Coach Green’s voice was only making a crappy situation even more potentially disastrous. What the hell had he been thinking when he’d agreed to participate in the race? It wasn’t that he was going to get his ass kicked—it was that he was going to humiliate himself in front of the world. Everyone was going to know he was a sniveling, frightened coward. Talk about a shitty legacy.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a bike,” Josh lied. His last ride had been the previous night. But it had been what felt like fifteen lifetimes since he’d ridden with anyone else. Stood next to other riders. Heard the sounds, exchanged conversation, then focused on the race.
Even looking at the kids who kept glancing at him, he felt the bands lock around his chest. He couldn’t breathe, but that was the least of it. What killed him was the mind-numbing terror. Anywhere but here, he told himself. He’d rather stand in fire than go through this.
“The guys will go easy on you,” the coach joked.
Only it wasn’t a joke and no one knew, Josh though grimly.
Green called the guys over. They walked their bikes toward him, their young faces bright with anticipation. They introduced themselves. A couple shook hands with him.
He’d seen most of them around town. He recognized their faces. Now he was supposed to ride with them.
“Josh is coming out of retirement for a charity race in a few weeks,” Coach Green said. “He’s going to be training with us until then.”
“Sweet!” one of the guys said.
“I’m old and out of shape,” Josh said. “Be gentle.”
The guys laughed.
Coach Green yelled for them to line up and start the warm up.
Josh moved behind the kids. He’d go in the back, he thought. Keep the other riders where he could see them. A few miles at an easy pace would be good.
A whistle blew. The riders pushed off and cycled away. Josh waited until they were at least a hundred yards ahead before starting himself. He focused on moving the bike forward, of warming up his muscles, of the familiar feel of what he did.
It had been two years since he’d ridden during the day. He’d forgotten how bright everything was, the colors of trees and buildings as they passed in a blur. There was a light wind and the temperature was in the sixties. Perfect, he thought.
The kids in front of him had picked up the pace, so he did, as well. Inside of him, something woke, stirring to life. A burning need to reach them and pass them. The desire to win.
The sensation surprised him. He would have thought humiliation would have crushed any competitive spirit he had left, but obviously not.
Without