by Kaylea Cross
Luke dropped the duffel and folded his arms across his chest. Quite something, to have to look up at your grown son. Rayne had him by at least three inches, and that was without standing on the steps. Craning his head back put a crick in Luke’s neck. “You really want to have this conversation out here?”
“Just tell me why you’re here.”
He nodded toward the house. “I want to make sure she’s okay.”
“You could’ve called and asked her.”
“I tried. She didn’t return my calls, and nobody wanted to talk last night, either.”
Rayne shook his head. “I don’t know why you came all this way, because there’s nothing you can do. You can’t help her right now—none of us can.”
The dread Luke had been fighting back returned in a rush. “What’s wrong with her?”
Rayne lost some of his aggression and dropped his arm with a sigh. “Ah, Christ, just go in and talk to her yourself, then. But if you hurt her again, I swear to God...” He gave a tight shake of his head, his jaw clenched so hard the muscles stood out.
“Understood.” Luke slapped him on the shoulder and picked up his duffel. “You’re a good son, Rayne,” he said on his way up to the porch. Bryn and Christa were coming out of the kitchen when he reached it, and Bryn gave him a hug. “She know I’m here?” he asked them.
Christa shook her head. “She’s upstairs having a nap with Jake.”
Jake? Luke’s stomach dropped like a rock. She’d been single as of a month ago, and with being sick, how had she managed to meet someone so fast?
“Come on, let’s get outta here,” Rayne muttered, walking toward the gate, and the girls followed him.
“Has she been up there for long?” Luke asked, hating that he was going to meet Emily’s new lover.
“Not long, but it’s okay, just go on up. She won’t mind.”
Well, he minded for Christ’s sake.
Christa gave him a thumbs-up over her shoulder. “Good luck,” she whispered.
Luke nodded. He was gonna need it.
Standing at the back door, a sudden memory flashed through his head. He’d been on the front porch that time, standing in the pouring rain covered with stitches the night he’d come back from the FUBAR he and his team had walked into in Central America. This had been her parent’s house back then. He’d dragged his sorry ass up the brick steps and knocked on the door, dying to be let in somewhere safe and familiar. Em had pulled the door open, her nightgown stretched tight across her full-term pregnant belly. She’d thrown her arms around him and held on tight.
This visit he probably wouldn’t even get a glass of sweet tea out of the deal.
Pushing open the door leading into the kitchen and stepping over the threshold was like walking into a time warp. The smell of lemon oil soap scented the air. All the appliances were modern stainless steel instead of white and the countertops were black granite instead of butcher block, but the cabinets were still painted a fresh white and the floor was still black and white tile in a diamond pattern. The furnishings were elegant and tasteful, like their owner.
Looking around him reminded Luke yet again that Emily was in a class far above his lowly station. She was the princess raised in comfort and sophistication and he was the uneducated peon, having clawed his way through a childhood spent dodging his alcoholic father’s fists. He’d joined the Navy just to get the hell away from his old man and swore he’d never raise a hand to his children if he had any. At least he’d managed to keep that one promise. Too bad it hadn’t extended to his wife.
Sometimes he wasn’t sure what Emily had seen in him. She was elegant and refined and intelligent, in a different class from all the other women he’d been with.
A thousand memories assaulted him as he stood in the kitchen, but most vivid was the day he’d been standing at the sink, cleaning his hunting knife to get ready for a fishing trip with eight year old Rayne—
Footsteps overhead alerted him that someone was up. Bracing himself, he went to the kitchen doorway where it led into the family room, and waited. The room smelled like Emily with the faint scent of vanilla perfuming the air. A quiet jingling sound followed by rhythmic clicks made him turn his head to look up the stairs.
Then Emily’s distinctive Charleston drawl called out. “Hang on a second, Jake.”
A moment later, a black-and-white Border Collie mix came barreling down the stairs and raced up to him in a wriggling mass of fur. Since when did Em have a dog, Luke wondered above the relief flooding him, and reached down to scratch the soft ears. The animal leaned into him with a deep sigh and started up at him with adoring eyes. “Some guard dog you are.”
Emily came into view on the stairs, and when she saw him her steps faltered. One graceful hand fluttered to her throat as she stared at him. “Luke...hi.”
His eyes swept over her, heart sinking at what he saw. Even with the laugh lines creasing their corners, her eyes were still her loveliest feature, big and soft and green as emeralds. The mirrors into her beautiful soul. But now they were underlined with dark half circles, and she was thinner than she’d been at the wedding. Too thin. Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent. Yet it was her hair that made him the most uneasy. She’d cut it short, way shorter than he’d ever seen it, into some sort of pixie style where it spiked all over, wisps of it framing her oval face.
Emily hated her hair short.
He found his voice. “Hi, Em.” Her hand was still over her throat, fingers covering the scar he’d given her beneath her jaw under her left ear. Shame crawled through him, like worms twisting in his belly.
The astonishment on her face quickly transformed into wariness, tinged with a hint of fear. It damn near broke his heart. They’d been married and had a child together, and yet they were little more than strangers facing each other across the room.
The whole thing made him incredibly sad. They’d held their wedding reception in the back garden after their elopement. Her parents had thrown them a barbecue and dance, with the backyard lit up by paper lanterns and a bright three-quarter moon hanging above Charleston Harbor. They’d been so in love, and so hot for each other they’d only stayed for half an hour before racing off to the historic bed and breakfast he’d booked for their wedding night. They’d only made it as far as the car before tearing each other’s clothes off.
He still remembered everything about her. Every vivid, erotic detail. The feel of her silky skin, the tangy-sweet taste of her body and the breathless way she cried his name when she came...
Emily licked her lips. “What are you doing here?” The question wasn’t a demand for an explanation, rather a puzzled request.
“You didn’t return my calls, so I figured something was wrong.” And he’d been right.
She crossed her arms over her breasts defensively. “One of them told you to come, didn’t they?”
“No.” She still hadn’t moved off that bottom stair, so he took a step toward her. “What’s going on?”
She retreated up two stairs, never taking her eyes off him. As though she was afraid he’d jump her or something. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit.” He fought back the edge of temper riding him, but the grinding in his gut needed an answer. “Are you sick?”
Her chin came up, but her gaze dropped. And so did his stomach. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t bother lying to me. You took off from Vancouver without a word to anyone except Bryn, and only to say you had ‘your own demons to face.’ What the hell did that mean?”
She flinched, her shoulders hunching. “I didn’t want to worry anyone, and you were just out of surgery.”
“Well as you can see I’m all healed up, so tell me now.” When she didn’t reply he maintained eye contact with her and watched her squirm, unwilling to let it go. If necessary, he’d stand there all damn day until he got an answer out of her. He took another step toward her. “Tell me.”
Finally, she sighed and came down the stairs to walk past him into t
he family room. The sweet scent of her perfume filled the air. “Do you want to sit down?”
Ever the genteel hostess. “No.” He wanted a goddamn straight answer. “Just tell me the truth.”
Her eyes snapped over to him and narrowed a moment, a spark of anger lighting their depths. “Fine. I have cancer.”
For a moment a strange roaring filled his ears, and when he managed to speak, it sounded like his voice came from the other end of a tunnel. “What kind of cancer?”
Her throat moved as she swallowed. “Stage IIIA breast cancer.”
The words swam in his brain. Stage three...wasn’t that life-threatening? His gaze immediately dropped to where her arms shielded her breasts, covered by that loose T-shirt. He swallowed. She’d had some sort of surgery, but it looked like she still had both breasts— “How bad is it?”
She shrugged and looked away, reaching a hand out to straighten an already perfectly aligned framed photo on the white traditional mantel. Fidgeting, like she always did when she was nervous. That he was the cause of her discomfort twisted the razor blade buried in his heart. And still she didn’t reply. Instead her elegant hands continued rearranging the frames until he wanted to scream.
“Em? How bad?”
When she finally lifted her head, her eyes were shadowed with a sadness that made him ache inside. “Pretty bad.”
The breath wheezed out of his lungs. For a moment he swore he swayed on his feet. Swallowing, he found his voice again. “Meaning?”
“No one’s a hundred percent sure yet. I’m doing chemo to try and kill off any other tumor cells, and the surgery went well, but...” She shrugged again. Like it didn’t matter.
“What surgery?” he croaked, though he was pretty sure he already knew.
Her shoulders hunched in a bit, and she cleared her throat as though embarrassed to tell him. Finally she said, “I had a mastectomy.”
****
The blood hit Emily’s cheeks in a hot rush when she said the words, but the instant they were out of her mouth Luke went utterly white beneath his dark beard. His sharp inhalation echoed in the stillness and his gaze dropped to her chest, covered by her arms. She hunched her shoulders instinctively to keep him from seeing her shape beneath the T-shirt she wore.
“Christ, Em...”
“I’m fine,” she snapped defensively, hating the sympathy in his eyes. She felt as vulnerable as if she stood naked in front of him. “Don’t worry about it.”
He made a scoffing sound. “Like hell.”
She turned her back on him and made her way into the kitchen. Jake scrambled to his feet and followed, his toenails tapping on the tile floor. Busy. She had to keep busy. It kept her sane.
Her hands trembled as she took the kettle to the sink and filled it. Tea. She needed some tea to help her calm down and settle her stomach. Without turning around she sensed Luke standing in the doorway, his presence sucking all the air out of the room. It always felt that way around him. Beautiful, unforgettable bastard. The sound of water rushing into the kettle filled the silent void.
“Is that why you left Vancouver so fast?” Luke asked. “You had surgery scheduled?”
She nodded.
“And you didn’t tell anyone?”
She shook her head, bracing for the lecture she knew was coming.
“Jesus, Em, why? Why would you go through something like that alone?”
Because she had no one to lean on besides her son and Bryn, and they’d both been getting married at the time. She hadn’t wanted to spoil all of that by worrying them because she knew they’d have dropped everything and rushed to Charleston to be with her. Just as they’d done by showing up for Christmas, and Bryn this morning. “I told you, I’m fine. I’m used to dealing with things on my own.” She couldn’t resist the dig.
Luke’s quick footsteps made her swing around in alarm, and the hard expression on his face had her backing up until the hard edge of the granite counter dug into her lower back. He strode over and shut off the tap behind her, caging her in against the sink with his body, his hands on either side of her. Remembering what had happened the last time she’d stood next to him at this very sink made her heart hammer.
As if the ghosts from their past swirled up to haunt him too, he backed off slightly but didn’t move away.
The size and power of him surrounded her, and the subtle spice of his cologne rose up as he held her immobile with the magnetic force of his dark gaze. Emily fought not to react to his nearness, determined not to weaken and let him in, but her senses were going haywire. Whatever she did, she could not let her guard down in front of him. She’d have to be certifiable to open herself up to that kind of pain again. Suicidal.
Staring up into his ruggedly handsome face, she reminded herself how meticulous Luke was about his appearance. He was the cleanest man she’d ever known. His short beard wasn’t as neatly trimmed like it had been for the wedding, and his hair almost touched the collar of his flannel shirt at the back. There wasn’t much gray in his hair, but there should have been considering what he did for a living, and his slightly scruffy appearance told her he was getting ready to go back overseas again.
That evidence was enough to put the starch back into her spine and push him away with a hand to his chest. Her palm met hard, warm muscle beneath his soft shirt, and the electric tingles in her fingers had nothing to do with the side effects of her chemo treatments. Snatching her hand back when she had enough space to breathe, she glared at him, heart slamming against her ribs. “Don’t crowd me.”
He didn’t budge. “Then stop shutting me out and tell me what you meant about being used to dealing with it.”
His words stunned her. Who the hell did he think he was, barging into her life and demanding answers? He’d been the one to walk away all those years ago, not her. “Let me go.” Tense seconds passed while he kept glaring at her. When he finally stepped away, albeit reluctantly, she escaped to the other side of the room and put the rectangular farmhouse table between them. She hated this. Just...hated it.
“Well? What did you mean?”
She raised a brow in challenge. “You want answers?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.” She tossed her head, even though her hair was too short to swing. “I had breast cancer five years ago and they removed a lump, then because I tested positive for the genetic markers, I had a prophylactic total hysterectomy done. Now the cancer’s back and I had to have a breast removed.” She said it as matter-of-factly as she could, though it scared her to death.
Luke ran a hand over his face and stared hard at her. “Did Rayne know about this?”
“Not until the other day.”
“Jesus.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Em. I had no idea.”
“No one did, because I wanted it that way.”
“You should’ve told him, and Bryn. They would’ve been there for you.”
“And they would have worried themselves sick,” she pointed out. “Besides, it’s not like I was alone throughout all of it...I had Alex.”
At the mention of that name Luke straightened and folded his arms across his chest, the muscles in his forearms shifting beneath the rolled up sleeves. How did he keep himself in that kind of condition at fifty years old?
His eyes delved into hers. “But he’s not here now, is he?”
The sudden burn of tears made her glance away. She would not cry in front of him. She’d shed an ocean of tears over him already, and she was done with that. All crying did was make her ugly and give her a sore throat. It hadn’t done a damn thing to ease her suffering.
No, Alex wasn’t here. She’d sent him away, finally, after seven years of complete devotion to her. She’d finally admitted to herself that she’d never feel the same way he did about her, and she’d let him go despite his pleas not to. The guilt still ate at her, as did the memory of his devastated expression the night she’d broken up with him. But she knew she’d made the right decision. He was a good man. He deserve
d someone to love him back, and she could never do that. Not the way he wanted her to. But she hated that she’d hurt him as badly as Luke had hurt her. She was all too familiar with that kind of gut-wrenching pain.
For better or worse, she’d given her heart away many years ago to the man standing across the kitchen. Much good that had done, because she’d lost him regardless of her efforts to keep him. She’d never wish that kind of pain on her worst enemy.
Gathering her emotional suit of armor around her, Emily faced him. “Well, now you know what’s going on with me, and I’ve told you I’m fine. I can’t believe you’d come all this way just to find that out, so is there something else?” Please God don’t say he was getting married or was about to become a father again. Her heart would stop right there in the middle of the kitchen.
Her sharp dismissal had his eyes narrowing. “Yeah. Several things.”
“Like what?” Fighting always upset her, but it was always worse when it was with Luke. She just wanted this over with so she could get back to her recovery and not torture herself with dreams of him that could never come true.
“You can play this tough cookie act all you want, but you’re forgetting I know you better than that.”
He thought he knew her? “Not anymore. I’m not the same person I used to be. I’m a survivor now. It’s what I do.” Because she hadn’t been given a choice. When she’d wanted to curl up in a ball and die from the loneliness after he’d left, she couldn’t because she’d had a young son to raise. When the cancer came, she’d had bills to pay and a job to be at whether she felt up to it or not. All the money Luke sent her each month had gone into a trust fund for Rayne. She’d refused to touch any of it on principal.
His lopsided smile was so sad it twisted her up inside. “You’re also the woman who stayed in a pullout chair next to my hospital bed all night because you knew I wouldn’t sleep if you left.” He prowled toward her like a panther, not stopping until he was across from her, and leaned his wide palms on the table. “And then you held my hand in your sleep.”
She leaned away, a hot blush stealing over her face. “I did not.” Had she?
