Another voice gently whispered inside her heart. Forgive him and let him go.
ROMAN GRABBED THE TOWEL he’d draped over the arm of the treadmill and wiped sweat from his face. His T-shirt was soaked. Something was off. He’d only run three miles and felt like he’d run a marathon. Cutting the speed, he walked another mile to cool down before shutting off the machine. Stepping off the tread, he felt light-headed. The moment passed, but left him weak. Maybe he was dehydrated. He uncapped another bottle of water with electrolytes and drank it. He’d skip the weights.
Ah, for the good old days when he did parkour in San Francisco. His graffiti had been in heaven spots, high and dangerous places, where his work stayed longer than the usual few days for other taggers. His initials, BRD, gained him a reputation as the Bird.
The pleasurable memories gave way to thoughts of White Boy. He redirected his thoughts.
The only adrenaline kick he got these days came from the endorphins he earned working out. Maybe age was the problem. Today was his birthday, not that anyone knew or cared. He was thirty-four. How should he celebrate the passage of another year? Look for a hookup in a club? Sex with a stranger didn’t have the appeal it once did.
A cold shower refreshed him, but didn’t alter his mood. He raised his face to the spray and thought he heard his cell phone ring. Who would be calling him on a Sunday?
With nothing else to do, Roman went into the studio and dabbed some more paint on the canvases set up near the windows. He wanted to put his fist through one, but tossed the brush into a can of linseed oil instead. He sat at his drafting table and sketched ideas. Crumpled papers littered the floor.
His cell phone rang, and Jasper Hawley’s face appeared. His teacher, counselor, and mentor at Masterson Ranch called every month or two, checking up on him. He visited now and then, too, although it had been a while since Roman had seen him.
“Keeping tabs on me, Hawley? Why don’t you come on down and do it?”
“Is that a real invitation? I’m in Oxnard. I can stay over at your place tonight. I haven’t seen the new house yet.”
“Sure, just don’t have a bed.”
“Still the minimalist. I have a sleeping bag in my trunk.”
“What’s in Oxnard?”
“Visiting one of my lost boys who just got out of prison. Speaking of lost boys, isn’t today your birthday?”
Roman relaxed, pleased. “Have you been poking through my juvie records again?”
“I have all the pertinent facts memorized. See you soon.”
Roman went downstairs and sprawled on the couch in the living room, sketching ideas in the black book he kept there.
Awakening to the door chimes, Roman cursed. First thing he’d have Grace do Monday morning was find someone to replace the annoying chimes with a short, functional bell. A straightforward ding-dong would be great. The chimes were still going strong when he opened the door. Jasper stood there laughing.
“Love the chimes. A Viennese waltz? Let me guess. Not your idea.”
Roman tried to overcome his shock at Jasper’s appearance. His mentor had lost weight, and his hair had gone white. “Man, you got old.”
“And you’re still the same smart aleck you’ve always been.” Jasper walked in, suitcase in hand. “Quite a place you’ve got here. Holy Jehoshaphat! Look at that view! Perfect setup for an artist.”
“If I painted landscapes.”
Jasper glanced back. “Why did you leave that sweet place in Malibu? Open a sliding-glass door, and there was the beach and all those pretty, bikini-clad girls walking by.”
“I needed a change.” The condo held one night of memories he couldn’t forget and a host of questions he’d never be able to answer about a girl he’d tried to find and knew he’d never see again.
Jasper shook his head. “I keep hoping you’ll grow up and settle down.”
Roman drove his red Camaro to a seafood diner in Malibu. Nothing much had changed for Jasper. He was still teaching at the Masterson Mountain Ranch and keeping tabs on the boys who would let him. He cared about what happened to every one of them. Most finished the program and moved on. A few stayed in touch. Some called when they were in trouble, like the young man in Oxnard. Jasper had a few extra days. “I figure I ought to live it up.”
Troubled, Roman gave in. “What is wrong with you? You’ve lost about fifty pounds since I last saw you. And don’t tell me you’re on a diet.”
“Nothing wrong with me now. I went through chemo.”