The Son & His Hope Read online

  Dear Jacob,

  I have news!

  I’ve officially been given a part in Dad’s TV show. I’m playing the daughter of the countess Dad has fallen madly in love with, but she’s married (the count beats her, so Dad will rescue her, probably kill him, and they’ll live happily ever after). Don’t repeat that, though, as I don’t want to leak info about the show.

  The best thing is I don’t have to wear the hooped dresses and crazy gowns that all the other girls have to. My character is a tomboy who wears boy’s stuff. Cool, huh?

  It’s only a few episodes, and I don’t have many lines, but I’m enjoying it. To be honest, though, I don’t think I want to be in front of the camera like Dad is. I think, once I’ve finished school, I’m gonna become a scriptwriter and create the dialogue that the actors say, cause some of it is cringe-worthy!

  If you were online, I could send a few pics from set. I could even send a video of me jumping a new horse called Polka!

  Anyway, how’s Cherry River?

  Did Cassie have lots of kids for her horse camp?

  Did you teach anyone?

  Are you riding much or too busy?

  Would love to hear from you.

  Love, Hope.

  My patience waned as I reached for the third one. At least she’d distracted me from staying busy and filling in the holes of solitude. Her prattling letters were almost as if she sat beside me.

  Dear Jacob,

  I had to type this on my laptop and print it off because I broke my writing arm. I have to have a cast on for six weeks. Boo. I fell off Polka and slammed right into a jump. Dad is furious. He’s banned me from riding forever. I know he’s just scared of me hurting myself again, but he can’t take away the only thing that makes sense.

  I need it, you know?

  No one else but you would understand that.

  Anyway, I don’t have anything else to say.

  Please…write back?

  Love, Hope.

  I smoothed the letter onto the other read ones, frowning a little at the thought of her hurt. Horse riding was dangerous and she’d just proven bones broke easily. Hopefully, she’d be more careful in the future.

  The last letter slipped from its envelope, and I unfolded it.

  Dear Jacob,

  Your mom wrote to me and said you’re not living at home anymore and mentioned your new address to send my letters to.

  Wow, you’ve moved out already? That’s cool. But isn’t it a little scary? I’m almost fourteen, and as much as I don’t really like moving around so often, I wouldn’t be able to live on my own yet.

  She also said you’ve been running Cherry River super well and she’s very proud of you. That’s nice. I wish I could come see your place. I’d love to ride with you and Forrest sometime.

  I know you probably think I’m being clingy or annoying by writing so much to you, but every day, when I touch the locket you gave me with Mom’s lace inside, I think of you. I think of you and want to tell you all about my day. I want to hear about yours and what you’ve been doing and to be your friend.

  But I know you’re very busy, so I won’t ask for a reply this time.

  I’ll just finish with another thank you and hope you have a wonderful day.

  Bye for now, but I hope not forever.

  Love, Hope.

  *****

  PART TWO

  *****

  INTERMISSION

  DELLA

  * * * * * *

  THAT SON OF mine is not easy.

  At school, he made no effort to befriend anyone; at home, he keeps love on a leash; and with Hope, he never let down his walls. Each time he pushes people further away, I fall deeper into the fear that Ren and I failed our son.

  That Jacob is screwed up when it comes to love because of us.

  That he’s allergic to touch and togetherness because we showed him what happens when death severs such things.

  Jacob barely had a childhood, thanks to sickness and sadness, and his teenage years weren’t normal, either.

  But Hope…wow, what a brave little thing.

  She is the only one who’s dared attempt friendship. She’s the only one who sees what I see and is strong enough to help.

  Between you and me, Ren would’ve loved her.

  But you know that, don’t you? I don’t even need to tell you why he would’ve loved her.

  It’s obvious.

  If we’d been blessed with a daughter, we would’ve chosen Hope.

  And who knows?

  One day, she might become part of our family.

  Because a mother always knows, and I know Hope has a crush on my son.

  I wonder if it will grow into more as age slips them from children to adults. I wonder if time will be kind to them in the same way it was cruel to us. I wonder if she might be the one to fix everything Ren and I have broken.

  Those questions are what led me to meddle.

  I know I shouldn’t have, but Hope needed a helping hand. A nudge in the right direction.

  So I wrote to her.

  I told her Jacob’s new address.

  I gushed how proud I am of my son.

  All while holding back what I truly wanted to say.

  Thank you.

  Thank you for trying.

  Thank you for not taking no for an answer.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Hope

  * * * * * *

  Seventeen Years Old

  “BRIAN, STOP. I’M not ready.”

  “Aww, come on, lass. We’ve been dating for six months. How much longer do ya need?”

  His Scottish twang echoed loud in my ears as I wriggled out from under him and scurried from the backseat of his bronze Vauxhall. “I don’t know. But tonight isn’t happening.” My hands shook as I smoothed the hem of my dress back into position and adjusted my bra where his hands had been.

  “But we had a bonny meal. It’s our anniversary. If we did it now, it would make tonight so special.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing my pink lip-gloss that I’d left from kissing him.

  The chilly night air bit at my exposed arms. The grey dress I wore—that I’d hoped made me look worldly and refined—mocked me for thinking I was brave enough to lose my virginity.

  It wasn’t the thought of being naked and feeling someone inside me for the first time that terrified me. It was the fact that no boys held any value compared to Jacob Ren Wild.

  They all seemed so juvenile, so one-dimensional, so frustratingly simple.

  Jacob was complex and snappish and hard work. And no matter how many times I’d tried peering into the secrets he kept locked around his heart, he’d never let me get close.

  Not that it mattered.

  I hadn’t heard from him in years.

  For all I knew, he could be married by now. After all, farmers tended to marry young and have kids early. At least, a lot of the Scottish farmers did.

  Brian unfolded his bulk from the backseat, joining me on the pebbles where, during the day, tourists parked to stare at the wild view of highland ruggedness and cliff sides. But by night, it was the well-known ‘getting high and having sex’ hang-out spot for rebellious teens. “You’re just a tease, Hope Murphy. A goddamn tease.”

  I almost rolled my eyes.

  Couldn’t he see how cliché all of this was? Girl and boy date. Girl doesn’t really like boy, but she’s lonely enough to go along with it. Boy thinks he’s going to get lucky, but girl decides she’s worth more and would rather wait forever than give up everything for nothing.

  Ugh, even his argument was cliché.

  Hence the reason why I wanted to be a scriptwriter. Humans could only tell so many tales. The well-known tropes of the ‘meet-cute, boy-next-door, friends-to-lovers, enemies-to-lovers, and forbidden romance’ were all overdone. But within those tropes, variations could make a common love story unique—but only if the dialogue and delivery were special.

  And Brian was definitely not special. />
  “I’m going to walk home.” I brushed past Brian to grab my small handbag and plum trench coat from the front seat. The trench I’d bought with the income I’d earned from my small acting parts. I had a habit of buying clothes that were a bit too old and styles too regal for a teenage girl who still had no clue who she was.

  Only that she was lonely.

  So, so freaking lonely.

  “You cannae walk home. We’re miles away from the village.”

  “I can walk home. And I’m going to.” My nose came up in case he argued again.

  I wasn’t afraid of the dark or the temperamental weather of Scotland. I’d ridden in far worse. At least horses were there for me—making me stronger in both body and spirit, carving me from a silly child to someone I would hopefully learn to like.

  “Well, dannae come crying to me when you get lost,” Brian muttered, moving around his car to get into the driver’s seat. “We’re through, by the way. I’m dumping you.”

  I couldn’t contain my laughter. My snicker was full of months of dating someone I wasn’t interested in and finally being set free. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all year.”

  “You’re a witch.” He slammed his door and twisted the key with a jerk. The Vauxhall growled pathetically then squealed like a rat as he spun from the car park.

  I coughed a little on the dust left behind. Shrugging into the trench and slinging my handbag over my shoulder, I shoved my hands deep into the warm pockets.

  With my mind full of fatherless farm boys, I began the long trek home, all the while concocting believable excuses to hide the fact I’d been up at the lookout after curfew with an unused condom in my bag and a heart still well and truly smitten with a boy I would never have.

  * * * * *

  Sunday.

  Normally, I’d go riding with Sally on the moor, even in the rain, but today, I wasn’t in the mood.

  Last night, after sneaking home with blisters on my toes from stupid suede boots, I’d made the mistake of pulling out Jacob’s old letters.

  Not that there were many of them.

  I’d lost track of how many I’d sent him, but I could count the number of his replies on one hand.

  Only four.

  All simple and closed off with an unwritten message to leave him alone.

  Hope,

  Glad you got the locket okay. Stop thanking me. Seriously. It was just a practical thing—doesn’t mean anything.

  Happy riding in Scotland.

  Jacob.

  A few lines of neatly written text in return for three pages of me gushing with thanks for his gift and news about my new life in Scotland.

  I cringed as I placed the letter back in its box. I’d been a silly, idealistic little girl. I’d believed Jacob found me as fascinating as I found him, but it wasn’t until I started dating Brian and grew up that I’d understood I’d just been an annoying child.

  And nothing was fascinating about a child who wouldn’t stop asking about death.

  God, it was almost too embarrassing to remember how desperate I was to be around Jacob. How, every day at horse camp, I was more interested in spying where he was than actually riding.

  Pathetic, Hope.

  Adding salt to my already flayed memories, I opened another letter.

  Hope,

  Thanks for the news, but honestly, you don’t have to keep writing. It’s fine. I get that you love the locket and that Scotland is totally different from here.

  As for me, I’m good. Horses are good. Life moves forward.

  Have a great day.

  Jacob.

  As I ran my finger over the handwritten letters, heat once again flooded my cheeks. A few years ago, when I’d received this letter, I’d been besotted with everything Jacob Wild. His notes might’ve been short, but I was a master at reading into them. Painting a picture of him working the land, enjoying a novel where he was sunburned and dirty, watching a movie of him taking a nap between Forrest’s legs in lush green grass.

  Now, I read the letters how they were meant to be read.

  Curt and impatient.

  And for the first time, anger twined around my heart. Yes, I might’ve been young and overly eager, but he didn’t have to be so cold. I only tried to be nice. If he’d just given me a few extra minutes of his day, who knew if I’d feel as lonely as I did now.

  I’d tried making friends. Dad even let me go to normal school instead of being home-schooled by Keeko so I could mingle with kids my own age. However, they were all so…juvenile. So focused on parties and who-liked-who and scrambling to study for exams.

  No one had time for me.

  And my loneliness grew ever more acute.

  Hope,

  Sorry to hear about your arm.

  Get better quick!

  Jacob.

  I groaned, pressing my face into my hands. When I’d received that note, I’d read between the lines and believed he wanted me to heal fast, not for me, but for him.

  Now, I saw two simple sentences sent only to appease a clingy, silly girl.

  The last letter was the worst.

  Hope,

  Yes, I moved out of home. It was time.

  Glad you’re enjoying acting a little.

  That’s great.

  Awesome to hear you’re moving on and growing up.

  All the best.

  Jacob.

  Not one sign he wanted me to reply. Not one of my questions about his life answered. His letters were as unyielding and uninformative as he was in person, and I’d cried after receiving that one.

  Because, finally, the blinders I’d been wearing were torn off. Maybe it was the fact he didn’t live with his mom anymore. Maybe it’d been because time had already pushed him further out of my reach. Or maybe it was because I was sick of reaching out for a friend only to be hurt by his indifference.

  Either way, I hadn’t written to him again.

  In fact, I did my best not to think about him. The locket with Mom’s lace lived permanently around my neck, but I forced myself only to think of her when I noticed it in the mirror after my shower or when I tucked it into my school uniform in the morning.

  But thanks to strolling down bitter memory lane last night, I wasn’t in the mood to do anything but sulk.

  What was so repulsive about me? Why were the boys interested in hooking up but not connecting? Why did girls like me to begin with, then hate me a week later?

  At least Scotland’s weather matched my despondency, giving me an afternoon of drizzle that was perfect for a bowl of buttery popcorn and a perusal of the DVD cabinet to veg on the couch.

  Skimming the shelves of rom-coms, dramas, and sci-fis, my attention latched onto the blue spine with the glittery script of The Boy & His Ribbon.

  I hadn’t seen the movie since the premiere. I hadn’t had an urge to. Normally, I didn’t like watching the movies Dad had acted in, but…this one was about Jacob—in a roundabout way.

  I couldn’t stop myself as I grabbed the disk, inserted it into the home theatre system, and settled down to watch what love could be like.

  A love I wanted for myself.

  A love that any girl—young or old—coveted, begged for, and dreamed of.

  No matter the pain in the end.

  * * * * *

  “Whatcha watching?” Dad strode into the living room as I swiped at my tears, totally suckered into Dad’s acting and the agony of saying goodbye.

  “Nothing.” My hand shot forward for the remote, but it was too late.

  He paused, his arms behind him as he shrugged off his jacket. “The Boy & His Ribbon?”

  I shrank into the comfy couch. “Just fancied a lazy Sunday.”

  Dad finished taking off his jacket before slinging it over the recliner and sitting down to remove his boots. The beard he’d grown for work was unkempt and highland wild, but he was happy in this role. Completely in his element in the howling winds and roaring fireplaces of the past.

  “Heard from Jac
ob or Della lately?”

  I shook my head, hiding my flinch.

  Stretching backward, he yawned and rubbed his face. “I’ll be glad once this early morning battle scene is done.”

  Sitting cross-legged, I paused the movie where Jacob and his mom were in the forest with an urn of ashes, stopped comparing it to the rainy afternoon when my mom’s casket was lowered into a grave, and focused on my only living family. “Yeah, you’ve been pulling some crazy hours lately.”

  Dad gave me a tired smile. “All right. Out with it. What’s up, Little Lace?”

  “What? There’s nothing.”

  “I know you.” He sighed gently. “Something is on your mind.”

  “I’m good.”

  “Is it about you sneaking home at ten past midnight last night?”

  I froze. “Oh.”

  “Is it about that boy Brian Regan who is never to step foot in my house again?”

  I sat taller, getting defensive. “I didn’t do anything wrong if that’s what you’re implying.”

  He held up his hands. “Not implying. Just saying if you’re out that late again with a boy, you’ll be on the first flight back home and locked in a boarding school.”

  Normally, I’d spit and hiss and argue, but his threat about boarding school wasn’t new—he’d overused it when I refused to eat broccoli or didn’t make my bed—but today, I simply didn’t care if he limited my freedom.

  It was all the same anyway.

  “Uh-oh. Must be serious if you’re not rising to that bait.” Dad sat forward, linking his fingers between his woollen breeches from set. “Speak.”

  I bit my lip, my gaze wandering to the frozen screen where the actor playing Jacob was locked in position, looking at the sky with tears on his cheeks.