The Man He Never Was Page 3

  As Colton fumed, Toren studied his wife. She stirred. He’d seen enough men knocked out on the field to know she would be fine. Toren nodded again and stepped through the front door onto the porch, hesitated, then turned back. Callie now stood between him and Sloane. Callie didn’t speak, didn’t have to. The blank look on her face couldn’t hide the bewilderment and sadness that seeped out of her soul. Then, just as Sloane and Colton had done, Callie slowly shook her head back and forth. The sentiment sank into his mind like a tattoo that would be with him till death. When she finished, she reached out with her tiny fingers and pushed softly on the door. The door took an age to close, and all he could do was stare as the picture of his family grew narrower and then disappeared entirely.

  Toren pressed his lips together and tried to send a request to the heavens, but they seemed shut, and even though he couldn’t blame his family for reacting like this, the reality of it took more out of him than he’d expected.

  He turned and stumbled down the steps, wound his way down the walkway and then down the driveway back to his rental car. His fingers felt like little stumps and he couldn’t seem to get hold of the remote that would unlock the car. He noticed how damp his armpits had become. But that was a good thing. So good. It meant he’d been nervous. Unsure of himself. The old him hadn’t been nervous in eons. He’d learned years ago to cover up his insecurity with a false confidence that carried him in every situation. But the lie had ebbed away. Maybe the old man truly was dead now. The verse he’d taped to his mirror years back about his old self being crucified, buried, had come true. He got in, started the car, but didn’t put it into gear.

  Even though the knowledge of his transformation was only five hours old, he knew wherever he’d been, whatever he’d gone through, had changed him irrevocably. He had to tell Sloane, had to explain and beg for a fresh start.

  What to do next? No idea. He hadn’t expected a hero’s welcome, but hadn’t expected a total rejection either. Didn’t they at least want to ask where he’d been? No, of course they didn’t. He shouldn’t have come.

  Toren headed back to the hotel with a vise grip clamped around his stomach. What had he expected? That Sloane and Colton and Callie would waltz over to him with birds swirling around them singing a syrupy sweet song about reconciliation? That they would all join together in a powerful hug and they’d laugh and Toren would confess to losing his temper far too often? That even though he understood why they didn’t want him in their lives any longer, they’d forgive him and they’d all live happily ever after? A bitter laugh sputtered out of his mouth. If he was them, he wouldn’t want him back either. Not for a second. Why would they?

  Where did he go from here? He hadn’t thought of any steps beyond seeing his family.

  Quinn. That was his best option. In the morning he’d call his workout partner and give him the shock of his life.

  CHAPTER 4

  “Mom!”

  The voice of Sloane’s son floated down on her as if coming from another decade. She was asleep, yes? She tried to open her eyes, but it was too much effort. Middle of the night—had to be.

  “Mom, wake up.”

  Someone was gently rubbing her cheek. Callie’s hand? What had happened? Was she still in bed? Dreaming, had to be dreaming. Needed to get up, get the kids ready for school. No, that wasn’t it. Hard floor under her back. She’d been standing in the entryway . . . hadn’t she? Yes. She’d fainted, just a moment ago. Someone had been at the door. Someone . . . an image of Toren flashed through her mind. No, not him. Not possible for that image to be real.

  “Mommy? Wake up, Mommy. Please?”

  The image of her husband flashed into her mind again. Stayed longer this time, and the truth seeped into her brain. Toren—it really had been Toren. Impossible, but it hadn’t been a dream.

  “Mom, are you there? Are you okay?”

  Colton’s voice this time. Sloane raised her heavy lids and looked into the eyes of her son, his dark, curly hair framing a face full of fear. On her other side, Callie squeezed Sloane’s fingers, strong then soft, strong then soft. Callie’s eyes closed, lips silently moving.

  “Yeah, I’m okay.”

  She squeezed Callie’s hand in return, then tried to sit up, but the room spun wildly so she settled back down.

  “Just stay there a minute.” Colton turned to Callie. “Did you call the 911 people?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Callie! All you do is pick up the phone and—”

  “Don’t worry. I’m going to!” Callie scowled at him. “I’m not a little girl.”

  “That’s exactly what you are!”

  “Guys, relax.” Sloane gave a weak smile. “Thank you, but really, I’m okay. You don’t need to call them. It was just a bit of a shock seeing . . .”

  She trailed off as she rose to an elbow. The room still spun, but manageably now.

  “Seeing, uh . . . Dad?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s gone,” Colton said.

  “Colton made him go away.” Callie gave Colton a smile as she rubbed Sloane’s forehead.

  “It’s over, Mom,” Colton said.

  Sloane nodded at her son and again tried to smile. Over? No. Not even close. They had just been forced onto a roller coaster, and it was a virtual certainty the track would end the moment they reached top speed.

  “I’m good, really I am.” She sat up and took three slow breaths. “But can you help me up?”

  Colton and Callie made an effort to help Sloane to her feet and shuffled alongside her as they padded over the maple hardwood floor into the kitchen. They sat at the table, pushed their afternoon snacks to the side—any shred of hunger had been stolen—and stared at each other, trying to pretend what had just happened wasn’t real.

  “I don’t get it.” Callie pressed her knuckles together, voice pinched. “Daddy’s dead, right?”

  “It didn’t look like it to me,” Colton said.

  Sloane glanced back and forth between her kids. She had to figure out what to do. What to say. How to explain why their dad had reappeared after everyone had accepted the high probability of his death.

  “Why did Daddy come here? I mean—”

  “Think, Callie,” Colton said. “How in the world would Mom know why he showed up?”

  “Why can’t I ask Mommy that, you doofus?” She stuck out her tongue. “It’s called a question.”

  “A stupid question.”

  “Not helping.” Sloane leaned forward, arms outstretched, palms on the table. “Let’s show a little grace. I’m guessing all three of us are dealing with a little shock right now.”

  “A little?” Colton puffed out a laugh. “A little shock? Yeah, sure, just a tiny, tiny bit.”

  “Shut up, Colton-bozo.” Callie yanked the end of her long dark-brown hair and glared at him.

  “Give me your hands.” Sloane extended hers to either side and her children took them, both of their hands warm and a perfect fit with hers.

  “Listen. We’re going to figure this out. We’re going to make a choice right now. A choice to believe that in some crazy, insane, unexplainable-at-the-moment way that the One who loves us is in this, yes?”

  Colton and Callie nodded.

  “No, we don’t have any idea why your dad showed up here. Where he was. What he wants. But for the moment we’re not going to worry about any of that. For the moment we’re going to worry about the moment. And this moment is about trusting, pressing into what we know is true. We are loved beyond measure by a God who is infinite, who numbers the hairs on our heads.”

  Colton’s eyes grew intense and he gave a tiny shake of his head. “Yeah, that sounds great—until Dad wants to be part of us again, and hang out around here and start yelling all the time and calling us names and calling you names and all that kind of stuff. You know?”

  Sloane nodded as her eyes narrowed and she squeezed Colton’s and Callie’s hands, glancing back and forth at their worried eyes. “What has life been like s
ince Dad went away?”

  “Way, way gooder than it was,” Callie said.

  “Better, not gooder,” Colton said.

  “Shut up, Colton!”

  “Hey, guys.” Sloane squeezed again. “Not now. Okay?”

  They both nodded.

  “What about you, Colton?”

  “There’s a part of me that’s missed him big-time, but most of me hasn’t.”

  “Me too, Mommy. There’s part of me that still likes Daddy.”

  “I know. I know,” Sloane said. “That’s okay.”

  “But it’s way better this way, and how it should be now, and you’re way better this way too, right, Mom?”

  “Yes.” Sloane smiled, genuinely now, full of grit and fire. “Which is why there is no way I’m going to let anything or anyone, not even your father, take that away from us. What we have right now is what we are going to keep.”

  Colton and Callie nodded.

  “Do you believe me?” Sloane looked them each in the eye.

  Again, two nods in unison.

  “Good.”

  She released their hands and sat back. “You two have grown up so much over the past eight months. I’m so proud of both of you. And you’re not the only ones who have grown up. I have too. So yes, I promise. Whatever happens with Dad, you have my word, I will not allow it to affect what goes on in this home. For that matter, I can’t see him being in this house ever again.”

  “Promise?” Colton asked.

  “Yes. I promise.”

  To keep that promise, Sloane knew she’d have to wrestle with two massive weights she had just slung around her neck. First, battling the inevitable onslaught of Toren’s efforts to work his way back into her life, and second, accepting the truth that her children deserved, if they wanted it, to have their father involved in their lives.

  CHAPTER 5

  It took far longer than Toren expected to get a new cell phone, so by the time he pushed through the double doors of the hotel lobby late that evening, he had three simple goals on his mind: Get upstairs and take a blistering hot shower, process what was happening to his soul, and crash into bed. In the morning he’d brainstorm ideas for how to win Sloane back, and his kids, then devise a plan for finding out where he’d been for the past eight months. After that, he’d call Quinn.

  “Mr. Daniels?”

  Toren glanced at the front desk. A tall, thick young man who couldn’t be much past high school stood behind the counter, a boyish smile on his face.

  “Yeah?” Toren slowed his pace slightly but kept moving toward the elevators.

  “It’s me, Landry.”

  The last thing Toren wanted to do was stop, but an instant later it was the thing he wanted to do most in the world. The bewildered look on his face must have been priceless.

  “Mr. Daniels, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine . . . I . . .”

  “You look like you lost something, or just remembered something surprising.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Then again, maybe he had. Toren eased over to Landry and offered his hand and a wide smile.

  “It’s great to meet you in person, Landry.”

  “Yeah, well, wow. Yeah, good to meet you too.” Landry let go of Toren’s hand and shuffled a few papers that didn’t need shuffling. “Is there anything I can get you, Mr. Daniels?”

  “Not sir, not Mr. Daniels.” Toren grinned. “Just Toren.”

  “You got it, you got it.” Landry returned the grin.

  “Any crazy guests tonight, Landry? Besides me?”

  “No, not too bad tonight.” Landry fixed his eyes on the counter between them. “Um, hey, you know, if this is wrong to ask, you totally don’t have to, but if you’re okay with it, do you think you might be able to sign something for me?”

  “Sign something? You mean you want my autograph?”

  “Yeah, but really, only if—”

  Toren’s laughter interrupted Landry. “I appreciate you asking, really, I do. But why would you want the autograph of a ball player who only started one game in his entire five-year NFL career, and only because the guy ahead of him got hurt? I was practice-squad fodder, that’s it. I could walk down the streets of Seattle during my playing days and maybe, maybe, one out of fifty thousand people would recognize me. I was never a big deal, Landry.”

  “Uh, well, like I said on the phone earlier today, you were a big deal to me. I loved you at the UW, and you were a big deal there, enough to make it to the pros, right? And I think it’s pretty cool that you have a faith that you talk about and trust in God and all that, and I would love that signature . . . but only if you feel like it.”

  “I feel like it. Right now.” Toren leaned into the counter. “You got a pen?”

  Landry handed him a pen and a pad of paper and Toren wrote, To Landry—You’re stronger than you know, and if you follow God’s commands, he will make your paths straight, then signed his name underneath.

  “Thank you so much, Mr. . . . Toren.”

  “You’re entirely welcome.”

  Landry tilted his head to the side. “Do you miss playing?”

  The question pierced him.

  “Yeah.” Toren stared at the thick wood beams over Landry’s head. “Every second of every day.”

  “Is that why you’re still in such great shape? I mean, it looks like you’re in great shape.”

  “Thanks, Landry, and yes, I’m still hoping, still praying a team will take a chance on me.”

  “I hope so too.”

  Toren smiled, gave Landry a fist bump, and strolled toward the elevators. When he stepped in, turned, and waited for the elevator doors to close, Toren spotted a man at the far end of the bar in the adjacent restaurant staring directly at him.

  It was him, wasn’t it? The same guy who was in the truck, the landscaping guy. From this distance it was hard to be certain, but as Toren peered at him, any doubt was quashed. But once again his mind refused to tell him who it was and from where. It was years ago, but how far back?

  The doors were sliding back, inches from closing, when Toren glanced down and hit the Open button. The two silver panels jerked to a stop, then lurched back open. Toren grabbed each door to open them faster and zeroed his gaze in on where the man sat. The seat was empty.

  CHAPTER 6

  Toren slept in the next morning—rest he desperately needed—but woke to a brutal image snaking through his mind from a dream he couldn’t shake. He stood on a cliff, his back to it, the heels of his feet inches from the edge. Sloane was there, along with Colton and Callie. A bigger group stood behind them—fifteen, maybe twenty others, but he couldn’t make out their faces, only the three in front.

  None of them, not even Sloane, showed anger. Instead, their eyes, their mouths, everything about their countenance was painted with a kind of pity that wrapped Toren’s mind in pain. Rage would have been better than seeing them stare at him like one would stare at a cow about to be slaughtered.

  He rose up on his toes and reached out to them. He screamed till his throat felt raw, begging them to forgive him, but a wind that pounded into him like a juggernaut snuffed out his words. They fell to the ground at the tips of his shoes and were whisked over the edge of the cliff into blackness. Then in concert with each other, Sloane, Colton, and Callie strolled forward, no longer full of pity, but now full of laughter and joy.

  It didn’t seem as if they could see Toren, but when they reached him, their faces grew somber, and again in unison, each of them reached out a forefinger, pressed it against his chest, and pushed. He flailed, fighting to keep his balance, fighting to keep from falling backward over the cliff and into the darkness below.

  Then, right at the moment Toren thought he would recover, Sloane came a half step closer by herself, and this time opened her palm and shoved him in the chest with a surprising strength. And he was over the edge and falling, screaming.

  He woke covered with sweat, and after a few minutes of labored breathing, he headed
for the bathroom. He took a shower. Cold. Drew the washcloth hard across his body as if he could scrub from his soul what he’d done to his family.

  The scales had fallen from his eyes. He saw now, for the first time, what the past three years had been like for them. The explosions, the shouting, his temper raging like a fire, burning down his family, the fear in their eyes as his voice thundered at them again and again and again. He saw how the prayers of repentance, the promises not to lose it again only made the subsequent failings worse.

  He ate breakfast in the hotel restaurant and made a sincere effort to taste the food and read the complimentary paper but didn’t succeed in either pursuit. At just after eight he ambled through the wood-lined lobby and glanced at the front desk. Landry wasn’t there. A good kid. If he ever made it back to the show, he’d find a way to get Landry season tickets.

  Toren pushed open the front door of the lobby and stepped into the unseasonably cool May afternoon. Blue sky dominated the clouds jockeying to overtake it, but still, it seemed the rays of light refused to warm the earth this day. In a few minutes he reached the walking path he’d read about in the hotel’s promotional materials the night before. He’d look for a spot along the way to call Quinn.

  Quinn McPherson. Workout partner. Best friend. A man who had stood by him when the Seahawks blew him out because of his on-the-field anger issues and the rest of his teammates seemed to unanimously nominate him for Pariah of the Year. A friend who saw the good in Toren, a man who would fight for him till his last breath.

  The trail brought him to a lush park five or six acres in size. Thick maple trees two goal posts tall ringed the dark-green lawn. A few picnic tables were scattered near a covered cooking area. A swing set and a small slide were the only other things in the park. No moms with small kids playing with abandon, no couples throwing Frisbees, no dads tossing baseballs into the worn mitts of their sons.