Page 100 of Lock ’N’ Load

Then it was Mr. Wilshire’s turn to join the awkward reunion, as he dropped an arm across Matt’s shoulders. “You should never have made yourself scarce around our household.”

“Dear,” Mrs. Wilshire said, pulling away, then reaching to cup his cheek, “we needed you with us. You were family, like a third son, and we missed you.”

“What?” He gave Jerry’s mother a bewildered look. The sincerity in her eyes stunned him. “Missed me? I thought you hated me.”

Liz came forward, her cheeks wet with tears. “What Mom and Dad are trying to say is that we didn’t blame you for what happened. Jerry craved action and adventure just as much as you did. Even at sixteen, he was his own man. There was no telling him he couldn’t do something, because he’d do it anyway and wouldn’t care if he was grounded for life.”

Alex cleared his throat, obviously trying not to lose it. “My little brother wanted to be a fireman more than anything. We read the police report. We know what happened, and we know what led up to it. You were there, but it wasn’t your fault.”

Mrs. Wilshire pulled away from Matt. She grasped his wrists and held up his scarred hands. “You tried to save him.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Mr. Wilshire reiterated, squeezing his shoulder. “You have to accept that. We did then, and we still do now. You need to do the same.”

I do. Finally, I do. His throat closed up again. Not due to a panic attack this time, but from emotion as he absorbed the Wilshires’ compassionate forgiveness and faced down the ghost that had haunted him for two decades. Part of him now regretted not having been there for the Wilshires, sharing their grief, helping them through it while they did the same for him. But he understood now that back then, his guilt had been so overwhelming and self-destructive that he wouldn’t have been capable of giving, let alone receiving, anything remotely resembling compassion. So he’d isolated himself from the Wilshires, from his own family, and fled, both physically and emotionally.

“I’m sorry. For so much, but most of all that I wasn’t there for you. Couldn’t be there for you.” Without any embarrassment, he swiped at the single tear tracking down his face. Letting go of Jerry’s ghost completely would probably never happen, but he was damned sure going to try to keep a lid on that specter so he could live his life and be happy again.

“We understood.” Mrs. Wilshire extracted a lace handkerchief from a slim evening bag he hadn’t noticed before and dabbed at her own eyes. “Please sit with us at dinner. We’ve reserved room for you and the rest of your family at our table.” She peered around him at Trista, who he now realized had graciously stepped back to allow him this moment with Jerry’s family. “Matthew, where are your manners? Aren’t you going to introduce us to your lovely girlfriend?”

My girlfriend? Definitely, and hopefully more someday soon.

As he held out a hand to her, Trista gazed up at him with glistening eyes. She’d been there with him the entire time. His silent strength. Again, he wanted to tell her how crazy in love with her he was, but it still wasn’t the right time. Instead, he reached for her hand, tugging her to his side. “Mr. and Mrs. Wilshire, Alex, Liz, this is Trista Gold. My girlfriend,” he added, eminently liking the sound of it.

The beatific smile on Trista’s face told him she liked the sound of it, too.

An hour later, when everyone had finished dinner and was awaiting the Wilshires’ presentation of the annual charity check, Matt massaged Trista’s thigh beneath the table, loving the way the silk of her dress glided over her shapely, toned leg. She linked their fingers together and gave him a look so full of promise his brain went wild with erotic thoughts of all the things he planned to do to her in his bed after the banquet.

He leaned in, brushing his lips over her ear. “When we get home, I’m going to strip you out of that dress, then kiss, and lick, and suck on every inch of your beautiful body.” Home. His home was her home. She just didn’t know it yet.

“I might just have to do the same to you.” With a playful gleam in her eyes, she slowly, seductively ran the tip of her tongue over her upper lip, then the lower one.

Beneath the table, he went rock hard and pulled her hand over him so she’d know exactly what her little tongue teaser had done to him.

She began to grin when the room went silent, and he only now realized the Wilshire family had left the table and gathered on the dais. Mr. Wilshire stood behind the podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of my family, I want to welcome and thank you all for attending this year’s annual charity banquet to honor our son, brother, and”—he looked directly at Matt—“best friend, Jerry Wilshire.”

Matt dipped his head to Jerry’s dad in silent thanks for the acknowledgment and swallowed the lump in his throat. When Trista leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, he drew in a grateful breath. His life was about to get a whole lot better.

“We normally take in about one hundred thousand dollars every year,” Mr. Wilshire continued. “I am pleased to say that this year’s donations far exceeded our anticipated goals. Without further ado, I would like to announce this year’s worthy recipient.” The crowd hushed as he opened the white envelope his wife handed him. “I am pleased to present this check for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars to Jerry’s Place, owned and managed by Matthew Connors.”

The crowd went wild, the applause and whistling so loud Matt couldn’t think straight. His jaw dropped, barely able to process what he’d heard. The entire room was standing and cheering. In fact, he was the only one in the entire banquet hall still sitting.

“Matt!” Trista managed to pull him to his feet, then hugged him tightly. “Congratulations.” It took her nudging him toward the dais for his feet to move.

The next thing he knew he was on stage, shaking Mr. Wilshire’s hand while Jerry’s dad handed him that whopper of a check along with a wood-and-brass plaque. Then he was hugged by every one of the Wilshire family, and the applause grew to deafening heights. Mr. Wilshire urged him behind the podium to say a few words.

Over three hundred guests sat in their chairs. The room was so silent he could swear he heard the blood pounding through his veins. He ran a finger under his collar, stalling for time as he surveyed the crowd. Receiving this check tonight hadn’t even been a remote possibility for him. He hadn’t applied. And he had no speech prepared. All he could do was speak from the heart.

He opened his mouth to say something but stopped as he choked up. Fuck. He looked over at the Wilshires standing to his left and to his right, at his own family still seated at the table. Last, he looked at Trista, absorbing her strength and love as if it was the antidote for everything gone wrong in his world. Everything that was now suddenly, unexpectedly right.

With her at his side, he could make it through anything.

“Jerry’s Place has been a dream of mine for years. What started out as a selfish need to commemorate my best friend will, with this money”—he held up the check—“help young people in need of support, compassion, and healing. Building Jerry’s Place did that for me, and I hope it will do that for others.”

The crowd applauded, then went silent. The words he’d just spoken were true. He was finally on the road to healing, and he had Jerry’s Place to thank for it. But there were others to thank as well.

“I’d like to thank the Wilshires for having faith in me and bestowing me with the honor and fiscal ability to bring Jerry’s Place to life.” More clapping. “Coming here tonight was the second most difficult thing I’ve had to do in my life. It’s been a long journey to get here, and I couldn’t have done it without my family, who have always been there for me, even if I was too stupid and thickheaded to know it.” This time, the applause was mingled with good-natured laughter.