by Cherrie Lynn
“Tommy was my big brother. The woman you just scared away was his wife. They had only been married a couple of years. She sees your face in her nightmares. There’s nothing you could ever do that would even come close to replacing what she’s lost.”
“I know,” he told her. He could see the resemblance between the siblings now: the dark hair, dark eyes, chiseled features. “I see Tommy’s face in my nightmares too.”
Something softened in Savannah’s expression. Zane clapped a hand on Mike’s shoulder, a let’s get the hell out of here gesture. His little brother had been right all along; he shouldn’t have come. He gave Savannah a nod and turned to head back to the Escalade.
A simple, soft “Wait” behind him stopped him in his tracks. He looked back. She cast a glance at the rest of her family, then took a few steps forward to close much of the distance between the two of them. This close, he could smell her: a faint hint of something sweet and mysterious. This close, he could see that her hair caught a few reddish highlights in the sun. “Would you meet me somewhere later? For coffee? If you really want to talk, I’ll listen.” Relief rushed through him, though the direct way she looked at him made his heart do strange things. It was as if she could strip through his mind layer by layer, exposing the truths at the core. She was welcome to them, but she might not like what she would find.
“I would love to, Savannah. You name the place. This isn’t my town.”
“Coffee and beignets, then. Café Du Monde, two hours?”
“Works for me. And thank you.”
“I’ll listen, but I can’t promise anything more than that,” she said warningly. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw the congregation begin to break up. She noticed the direction he was looking and glanced over. “I have to go. If you think Rowan and I were rough on you, you’d really better get out of here before my mother sees you.”
Now Zane was tugging at him in earnest. Without another word, Savannah turned to go back to her family. Zane practically had to drag Mike away from the sight of her—the sway of her hips was mesmerizing.
“Feel better now, dumbass?” Zane asked as the two of them hustled to the waiting Escalade.
“She is fucking incredible.”
“Oh, Jesus, man. No.”
Mike waved him to silence. “Don’t worry. I know.”
Chapter Two
Luckily, no one except Savannah and Rowan had noticed their unexpected guests, and Savannah hoped Rowan could be convinced to keep that encounter a secret for now. Savannah wasn’t one hundred percent certain how her parents would take the news of Michael Larson showing up at Tommy’s memorial, but she had enough of an idea. She didn’t want to witness any tirades the information might trigger, especially since she was meeting the man for coffee later.
Yeah, where in the hell had that come from?
She didn’t know, but gut instinct told her to hear him out. He’d traveled here, apparently—though she couldn’t remember from his stats where he was from, he’d said New Orleans wasn’t his town. So he’d cared enough to search out Tommy’s home and funeral arrangements somehow. The information hadn’t been broadcast nationwide, and they’d done their best to keep it private.
Rowan waited beside Savannah’s parents’ pearl-white BMW, arms crossed, head lowered, but at least she seemed composed. “I can’t believe that just happened,” she said as Savannah approached.
“What happened to spitting in his face?” She nudged Rowan’s arm with her elbow, earning the ghost of a smile.
“Well! He was the last person I expected to see.”
“I know. Me too. But, Rowan, he seems really remorseful. Would it make you feel better to—”
“No,” Rowan said, shaking her head. “No. Not now and probably not ever.”
Sighing, Savannah nodded. “I understand.” Looked like she was going to have to keep her coffee meeting a secret from her sister-in-law, too. Slipping away from them all in a couple of hours would probably be no easy feat even if she did think she would enjoy the time away.
It wasn’t that her family drove her nuts. They drove her freaking insane.
And Michael himself . . .
He’d been nothing like she expected, though to be fair she hadn’t known what to expect, hadn’t ever thought she would come face-to-face with him. All she’d seen of him before the fight was his glowering, barking threats and taunts. She knew he was Michael “Larceny” Larson, but in his early fighting career he’d also been called the “Red Reaper” because of a tattoo of the grim reaper on his chest, done in red instead of black. That nickname had made a bit of a comeback since Tommy’s demise.
He had close-cut brown hair, a square jaw shadowed with stubble, full lips, the cheekbones of a movie villain, and of course those cold blue eyes. He also still sported a few cuts and bruises from the fight with Tommy. Somehow that had taken her breath away more than the sight of him striding toward her—that he still wore the remnants of Tommy’s last acts on this earth.
Yes, his appearance she knew. It was his demeanor that had thrown her off guard. He seemed . . . gentler. Even more so now than in his remorseful postfight interviews.
If a man that size could be gentle. God. Even the jeans and long-sleeved black shirt he’d been wearing couldn’t conceal the swell of his muscles. Tommy had been a big guy too, but something about Michael’s size was overwhelming, intimidating. He wore it like armor against the world, but it hadn’t hidden the desperation in his expression. There had been no resisting; she had to hear him out.
“Let’s not tell Mom and Dad he showed up. I don’t know how they would take it.”
“I do. And you don’t have to worry about me telling them. He had no right to come here.”
“If he felt like he needed to say something to us, then this probably would have been his only opportunity.” She would find out more when she met with him later. The idea gave her an odd sense of fluttering in her stomach. Not excitement—it would be obscene to feel excitement at a time like this. Curiosity. Only curiosity. She was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt even if no one else was.
“There’s no justice in this world or the situation would be reversed.”
“Rowan,” Savannah snapped. “That’s a terrible thing to say. You’re upset; you don’t really mean that.”
Rowan only shook her head hard in response, as if she was done with the whole conversation.
So Savannah let her be done, staring silently across the cemetery, lost in thought. She searched the sky for her eagle again, but he was long gone, and soon enough her parents appeared. Her mother’s eyes were damp and she clutched her white handkerchief to her chest while her dad helped her up the hill, tall and handsome in his dark suit and with his salt-and-pepper hair. Savannah moved to her mother’s other side and took her arm. She didn’t need to ask if Regina was okay. None of them were, and wouldn’t be for a long time.
“Oh, honey,” Regina said, leaving their aid to wrap Rowan in a tight hug. “I know that was so hard for you. We love you so much.”
“I love you too, Mom.” Rowan had called Regina “Mom” almost since they met. Her own mother had died when she was sixteen, her dad three years later in a car accident. And now Tommy. Really it was no wonder bitterness had started to creep into Rowan’s heart, but Savannah hoped it wouldn’t take root there and consume her entirely. She was a sweet person; she didn’t deserve this.
Once Regina and Rowan were tucked away in the car, Savannah kissed her dad on the cheek and hugged him. Charles Dugas had been stoic as always through this entire ordeal, but she saw the pain he tried to hide from them all. “Love you, Daddy.”
“Love you too. Are you coming to the house?”
She had come here in her own car, thank God. “I’ll be by later. I’m just going to go home for a little while, unwind.”
In their mutual dislike for ridiculous shows of ceremony, she knew he would understand that. One corner of his mouth tilted up. “I figured. But you be careful,
okay?” And the half smile vanished as if it had never been. “You’re all we’ve got.”
“Oh, Dad.” She grabbed him in a fierce hug again, feeling his smooth-shaven cheek against her own and smelling the aftershave he’d worn for as long as she could remember. It made her wish she were little again. Carefree. Happy. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Mike wasn’t sure what he’d expected of the famous little coffee shop on Decatur, but this really wasn’t it. On such a beautiful day, the patrons were out in droves, and the covered outdoor area was full under its green and white–striped awning. The indoor area didn’t look any less crowded. The smell, though, was heavenly: coffee and sugar. Generally he avoided both with few exceptions. But today definitely called for an exception.
Nowhere did he see a lovely head of shimmering dark hair, though. He was early, since he’d had a couple of hours to kill. Zane had dropped him off immediately after leaving the cemetery since he had to get to sound check and wouldn’t have another opportunity to get away before the concert. Mike had strolled aimlessly and taken in some sights before meeting Savannah. Jackson Square was beautiful in full bloom, and street musicians played bluesy tunes while horse-drawn carriages clattered by. So far, New Orleans was his kind of place: laid-back, mysterious and haunted. His youngest brother Damien always sang its praises, too—Damien spent almost as much time here as he did at his ranch outside of Houston, his nightclub, or the glittering casinos of Las Vegas. Hell, he might even be here now. Mike hadn’t talked to him in a while. He’d have to make a note to do that.
Life was precious.
“Been here long?” a voice asked behind him. He turned to see Savannah right behind him. She hadn’t changed from her dark funeral attire, but large sunglasses shielded her eyes now and she’d put her long hair up in a knot while one loose tendril teased at the corner of her right eye. He longed to brush it away.
“Just a couple of minutes,” he said. “Thanks for coming.”
Nodding, she walked past him and approached the window, placing an order for café au lait and six beignets. He jumped forward to pay, insisting though she protested. By the time they were done, one of the round white tables had cleared and he pulled out the metal chair for Savannah to sit in.
“So,” she said, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head. “If this isn’t your town, what is?”
“Houston.”
“Did you drive over or fly?”
“I flew. By the time I found out about the funeral, I didn’t have but a few hours to get here. I was lucky to get a seat.”
“How did you find out about the funeral?”
“My manager. Damn if I know his sources.”
Her gaze dropped to the table and she wiped absently at a spot of powdered sugar left by the people who had been there before. He took the opportunity to study her, noticing she didn’t wear much makeup—whether that was by choice or she’d cried it all away, he had no way of knowing. Her eyes were only the faintest bit bloodshot, and spots of color burned high on her cheeks. Her lips were full but down-turned. Somehow he knew that mouth could give beautiful smiles. He would love to see one, though that might never happen as things were.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, and he had to strain to hear her over the surrounding conversations. He wanted to yell at everyone to shut the fuck up; he didn’t want to miss a single word she said. “I don’t know how to feel about this.”
“It wasn’t a good idea for me to show up like that. I knew it and my brother kept telling me, too. I just didn’t know how else to get in touch with any of you.”
“Your manager couldn’t find out?”
“Well . . . his sources would only divulge so much, it seems.”
“So that was your brother with you and not a CIA operative.”
He chuckled. “Yeah. Zane. He was in disguise. He’s actually in town for a concert.”
“A concert?”
“Yeah, as hard as it is for me to believe, he’s a famous rock star now.”
Savannah’s smooth, pale brow furrowed and she sat up straighter. “Wait a minute. Your brother . . . That was . . . ?”
“That was indeed.”
“Zane Larson. Of August on Fire. Is your brother? I mean, of course, you have the same last name—why did I never put that together? Oh my God. My sister-in-law would have freaked out if she hadn’t been too upset to notice. She loves him.”
“Maybe I should have introduced him. Probably wasn’t a good time, though.”
“No, she would’ve been mortified.”
Mike had to chuckle at her astonishment, then sat back as their order was placed on the table. Once the server left, he watched her take a sip her coffee. Even through her grief, the pleasure she took in the rich taste was apparent. He sampled is own and instantly fell in love with it. “We’re actually half-brothers, but we took our mother’s maiden name. Let’s just say none of us are on the best of terms with our dads.”
“None of you?”
“I have another half-brother, Damien.”
“Oh.” Her slender fingers slowly turned her coffee cup around and around. He could only imagine what she must be thinking, but for some reason she made him want to talk. And that was a rare thing. “It was only me and Tommy in my family. And now it’s just me.”
But that remark was like a knife in the chest, sucking the new wind out of his sails. What to say? Parroting “I’m sorry” every few minutes seemed ridiculously worthless and ineffective. Only words.
“Savannah, if there’s anything I can do, name it.” And those were only words too. For some reason he couldn’t say them enough. The urge to reach over and take her hand was almost irresistible, though he managed.
“I really don’t think there is. I appreciate you reaching out to us, but I think it was best that Rowan and I stopped you where you were. I can convey any messages you want to send, if you want to send them.”
“They’re your family, so you know them best. Should I even bother?”
Her words were blunt but gentle. “Probably not.”
“Whatever you think. I only wanted to make the effort.”
“That took a lot of courage, I’m sure.”
Mike blew out a breath. She had no idea. It had taken more courage than any fight he’d ever been in—and he’d been in a hell of a lot even before he became a professional.
“I didn’t see it,” she said, and he thought at first he’d misheard her. He scooted his chair a little closer. She’d barely touched her beignets, but for that matter, he hadn’t touched his either.
“The fight? I thought you were there. When I first saw you at the cemetery, I thought I recognized you.”
“I was there. I mean I looked away. I couldn’t watch once it was obvious he was done. I never could.” Her gaze flickered over to his hands where they rested on the table. Then her eyes filled with tears and she shoved her chair back. “I should go.”
“Savannah, wait—”
“This is too hard right now. I’ve tried but I can’t. Please understand.”
Something in him deflated and died. He sat back as she stood. “I understand.”
“I’m sure you’re a good person, you have to be to come all this way and try to make things right. But you can’t right now.”
“I’m a fucking horrible person.”
That froze her in the middle of shouldering her purse strap. “Why? Did you kill my brother on purpose?”
“No.”
“You said some really shitty things before the fight.”
“So did he.”
“But he’s the one who died.”
“I’m not going to make you believe what kind of person I am by telling you. So I might as well give you what you and your family want to hear. I’m an evil, inhuman bastard. Go ahead and tell them.”
“Are you actually pissed at me right now?”
“Not at all.” He stood from his own chair, towering over her. “I just know I’ll never convince you of how
sorry I am, since you’re not giving me any way of doing so.”
“I hear you. That’s enough. If you want to convince me that you’re sorry . . . go back to Houston, let us grieve my brother, and try not to put another family in our situation the next time you fight.” She turned to go.
“There might not be a next time,” he said to her back. She stopped after two steps, looking back over her shoulder at him.
He shrugged, glancing away under the weight of her heavy gaze. “Thinking about retiring. I don’t know yet.” After a moment, he reconnected with those assessing dark eyes. “What do you think Tommy would do? If I was the one going in the ground right now instead of him, would he quit? Would he keep going?”
To his amazement, she let her purse slip from her shoulder and reclaimed her seat. He took his own. “Tommy wouldn’t quit,” she admitted. “He was never in a situation like that, but I knew him. He would never quit. He loved it too much.” Sighing, she finally pulled apart one of her beignets and took a bite, licking the powdered sugar from her fingers with a swipe of her pink tongue.
And that unleashed all kinds of inappropriate images in his head.
Evil, inhuman bastard. She probably thought you were joking but little does she know. Her brother’s not yet cold in his grave because of you, and you’re thinking of fucking her.
“I love it too,” he said, diverting his attention back to his coffee. “It was the only thing I was ever good at, but I had to be. My brothers depended on me for it. My mother did too, more than once. So I decided I might as well make a living at it.” He didn’t know why he felt the need to tell her about the rotted skeletons in his closet. Maybe to make her see, make her understand that he knew pain, too.
“Protector of your family?” she said, sounding a little too close to sympathetic for his liking. Her sympathy was one thing he didn’t want.
“Something like that. Somebody had to, and I was pushing six feet and putting on muscle by the time I was fourteen.” He shrugged. “Might as well be me.”
