FORTY-EIGHT: Blessings (And Curses)

Bruce McLeod's eyes were closed against the impending headache, hidden behind those heavily tinted aviators when he heard the creak of the garden gate. There wasn't any wind, so he knew it was someone, assuming it was that fleet-footed child of his coming to check up on him. A rough chuckle passed his lips as he spoke, not even bothering to look. Of course, her mother had called her, summoned her here to poke and prod past the wall of secrets.  

"Am fine. Still mostly intact. No need tae skulk about to check up on me."

The silence that answered him was so profoundly awkward that he immediately sat up, feeling slightly dizzy for a moment. Standing in front of the roses, wearing a sheepish expression, was the boy his daughter had been seeing for the better part of the last year.

"Sorry," the boy's voice carried well enough to his ears, that hint of a British accent just enough to make the word seem all that more sincere. "Sam told me you like to spend the mornings out here by the pool and I thought maybe I'd-"

"She's not here," Bruce cut him off, reaching for the cup of coffee on the table.

"Oh, I know. She's gone for her morning run. She'll probably be back in an hour, so I don't have a whole lot of time." Jude Mitchell took a few steps closer to Bruce, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans before immediately pulling them back out. "I just wanted to talk to you. Promise I won't take up too much of your time."

This can't be good, he thought, forcing a smile as he looked over at the nervously fidgeting boy. He set the cup down, leaning forward. "C'mon then, fella. Sit down... tell me what's on your mind, hmm?"

He was thinking the worst, assuming maybe there was something wrong with Siobahn that his daughter hadn't told him – wouldn't be the first time she'd had something huge happen in her life that she'd hidden from him, after all. Even now that he knew about the reason why she'd left college in Florida, he was no closer to understanding the underlying traumas that plagued his eldest.  

Jude took a few steps closer and cleared his throat, refusing that invitation to sit. Bruce could see how on edge the young man seemed, full of restless energy as he shuffled his feet and then raked a hand through his hair. "I want to make something clear before we get too far into things – I know you used to work with Smith Jones years back. I know there's this weird kind of brotherhood with wrestlers and I want to make sure you understand I mean no respect to you or your profession-"

Bruce cut him off with a rough chuckle, "t'isn't the noblest pursuit, son. Won't mind a little honesty where the barbarism's concerned."

"Even so, Sam told me you respected him."

"She did, now?" He shook his head. Sure, he'd respected the man's winning ways – had been a little envious there, but he'd never really cared for him as a person. Even less when the man had begun to court his daughter and the fact that his neglect had shattered the poor girl's self-esteem did nothing to earn him any brownie points in Bruce's books.

"I guess I didn't want to step on any toes or disrespect whatever that was when I say what I've got to say…"

Bruce inclined his head, resisting the urge to laugh in the kid's face. As a person, the man was more like a robot, barely functional as a caring, feeling human being.

"He treated her like a thing. Like… like a trophy or a conquest – like he was going after another championship."

"Aye," he nodded, feeling relieved to know someone else shared the sentiment that had once sparked an incredible row with his daughter. "Once he had her, the interest waned. He went back tae chasin' the glory." The way he said it was filled with bitterness. He had fallen victim to that same curse, after all.

"I don't really know the whole story," Jude muttered, shaking his head, "but I know enough from what I saw and what Sam told me about how she felt, and I just want to make it clear that I'm nothing like that."

"That's a given," Bruce replied, simply because it seemed like the boy needed reassurance.

Jude shoved both hands through his hair, turning to look out over the pool rather than look at his own reflection in those mirrored lenses. "I don't know how much she's told you… about me. About how we even met."

"You're Jasmine's brother," Bruce replied, "the tiny one with all the tattoos. They were friends in college-"

"Roommates, actually. Same dorm room in that sketchy student housing."

He had to take the boy's word for that. He hadn't really been around then, was in the midst of dealing with his own bullshit when he wasn't off halfway around the world trying to get himself killed. He'd spent most of that first year his daughter was in college wrestling in Texarkana, chasing tag team glory with a woman he never should have married. They had that in common, it seemed.

"Right," he nodded, "of course. Go on, then."

The boy walked towards the diving board, running his hands over the corrugated texture. "They both used to hang out at my place a lot. I was renting this absolute dive of a loft near the beach – myself and three other guys. I think the building's been torn down now. Six days a week, at least, we had a party raging either there or on the beach… sometimes both. The night of her art show, she came over with Jasmine and she was wild. Angry and rough and she was drinking everything in sight. She had her camera out, was taking photos of people and at first it was fun. It was harmless and everyone was having a blast but there were these guys there that we didn't really know all that well. Friends of friends, I guess – not mine. I want to make that clear. I didn't know them at all-"

"Not sure I want tae hear any of this," Bruce cut him off, feeling sick to his stomach.  

"I need to tell you this," Jude turned to look at the older man; his expression was troubled. "I need you to know the part I played in that night."

The older man's hands clenched into fists, but he didn't move. He drew in a slow breath, holding it as he kept his gaze on the younger man. "Out with it, then."

"We argued – it was stupid, and I walked out. I left her there. I left them both there and I went for a walk on the beach. Went for a swim. Fell asleep out there and I didn't make it back to the house until morning. By then, it was too late. She told me you know. A-about what happened. What they did to her and the pictures they took with her camera."

"Aye. She told me."  

"I could have stopped them," Jude said softly, shaking his head. "If I'd been there. I should've been there."

"Sure." Bruce's voice was harder, laced with steel. "And if I'd shown up to that gallery showing like I was supposed to, she wouldn't have been there in the first place. So, which one of us is truly at fault here, hmm?" When the boy said nothing, Bruce shook his head, chuckling bitterly. "Can't go through life like that, son. Weighted down with guilt for all the things you were too blind to see in the moment – hindsight's a terrible thing, isn't it?"

"I wanted to save her. I guess I've wanted to right that wrong for years and I was so damned stupid, I let it happen to her again. With Smith. With…" he sighed, turning his back to the pool and folding his arms across his chest.  

"You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved."

"I could have told her I loved her. That I'd been in love with her for a long time."

"Could have at that," Bruce nodded, "but would she have heard it? She didn't listen to me when I warned her about ol' Smitty – she told me that she was a big girl an' she was quite capable of making her own judgement calls about people." He cocked his head, studying the boy who stood before him, realizing he was more of a man than a child. It was dawning on him now just what this little visit was all about. "How old are you, son?"

"Thirty. I'll be thirty-one in October."

"You want to marry her." It wasn't a question, not at all.

Jude nodded. "I do."

"You love her?"

"More than anything, sir. More than anyone else I've ever been with."

One brow quirked as Bruce slipped those glasses down his nose, staring at the boy. "So there have been how many broken hearts along the way?"

"I… I didn't…" the boy stammered, breaking eye contact. "She's not my first, if that's what you want to know. I've been with others. I mean, I can give you names if you want. History – I've been tested. I don't have any diseases and I've never been married before. Never even had a fiancée before and I just wanted to-"

Bruce laughed. "Relax, fella. Am just yanking yer chain. Wherever that boaby's been before now's no concern of mine. What matters is what's in here." He thumped his fist against his own chest over his heart. "You've got a good one. Can see that well enough from here. Answer me one more thing, though. That night… has she forgiven you for it?"

"I… I don't know. I never asked."

He inclined his head, "ah, then mebbe that's the first thing you should do. Before gettin' down on a knee or pickin' out a pretty bauble for her finger. Make sure there's no skeletons in the closets before you set up house, son – that's my best advice. You don't do that cleaning first, it'll come back haunting later." He reached for his coffee, bringing it to his lips even though it was barely lukewarm now. "Best get on with yourself. Don't want her wondering where you disappeared off to."

The boy nodded, turning and heading back towards the gate. He was almost there when Bruce called out his name.

"Judah?"

"Just Jude," he said when he turned back, "my mother was the only one who ever called me Judah and I never really cared for it."

"Fair do's, Jude. You'll keep her safe, then? That's all I ask."

"I will."

"Then you've got my blessing." He pushed the shades back into place, settling back into his chair and closing his eyes. He waited until he heard the squeak of the gate before blinking, letting those bittersweet tears finally fall.