by Ava Miles
“I knew you’d be useful at some point, Clara,” Uncle Arthur called. “Come on. We need to get to bed. I’m pooped, and I can’t do without you.”
When she lifted her head, there was a fire in her eyes that went beyond the fatigue. “If I must. Arthur, you’re going to have more sweaters, scarves, and hats than you can shake a stick at. I’m really good at this. See?” She held up the delicate mustard-colored rows like they were the Holy Grail itself.
“You’re a marvel.” He leaned close to Trevor. “Go and help your aunt up. She’s been sitting too long.”
“I’ve got this,” Flynn said, waltzing into the closet. “You’ll have to make something for me, Aunt. Come dance with me.” He gently lifted her from the floor, holding her close for balance, and then started to sway with her in his arms. She leaned against him, chuckling softly. An affronted Hatshep hustled under Becca’s hanging clothes, disappearing while Boru whined and padded out of view behind the desk.
“Unhand my woman, you upstart.” Arthur was smiling though, and so were the rest of them.
Including Becca, who finally met Trevor’s eyes. She was relaxed, he could see. Before, every muscle in her body had been stiff with tension.
Flynn passed Aunt Clara to their uncle and proceeded to replicate his dance moves with Aileen, who laughed gaily on her way to Cian. Both of the older couples said goodnight before leaving.
Caitlyn rose to her feet as Flynn approached her, already waving him off. “Keep away, moron. Every time you dance with me, you step on my toes.”
“It’s because your feet are so big,” he quipped, holding out his hand. “Come on.”
Before leaving the closet, Caitlyn leaned down and hugged Becca warmly. Trevor got choked up, seeing that. A real friendship was developing between them.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Becca,” Caitlyn said.
Trevor hugged her close, a couple of hanging sweaters swaying around them. “Thanks, kiddo.”
“There’s no cause for thanks.” She kissed his cheek. “Love you.”
“Love you too,” he said and then lifted his chin to Flynn.
“No kiss?” his brother asked with a laugh.
“Out with you,” Caitlyn said, pushing him ahead of her.
The two of them tussled playfully on their way out, but moments later, the closet was silent. Trevor walked forward and sat down Indian-style across from Becca. She looked as though she was on the verge of giving him her opinions again, so he headed her off. “Before you say anything, let me tell you that I’m not leaving. So, why don’t you tell me how you normally make yourself comfortable in here, and we can go to bed. I’m pooped.” He’d thought Uncle Arthur’s word choice inspired.
“Pooped?” she asked.
“Knackered.” Her understanding of his slang was so good, he didn’t often need to translate it for her.
“Well, if you’re going to be stubborn—”
“I am,” he said, yawning and stretching his chest for show.
“You can sleep in my bed,” she said. “You don’t have to sleep in here.”
“I sleep with you,” he said, staring her down. “Deal with it.”
She reached into the cedar chest under one of the hanging racks and pulled out a pillow and the small folded mattress he’d seen Aileen remove earlier. There was no way they were both going to fit on there. He rolled off the floor and walked out of the closet. Now he understood the Jack and Jill bathroom. Taking her down comforter off the bed, he grabbed a pillow. Returning, he stopped short at the sight of her staring up at him from the floor, tears in her eyes.
“I know you want to do this, but you really don’t have to.”
Her hoarse voice tore at his heart. “Do what? I sleep where you sleep and plan to do so for the rest of our lives.” He sounded a little gruff about it, but he couldn’t help that. He was trying to keep it together.
“We’ll talk about that again later,” she said, gesturing him inside. “Put that here.”
“We’ll fold ourselves up like tacos,” he said, hoping to coax a smile from her.
“We don’t do tacos in Ireland,” she said, rolling her eyes.
He started to undress, and he heard her sharp intake of breath. Ignoring her, he stripped down the whole way. She was trying to divert her eyes, but he caught her secret glances. Yeah, she might have her opinions, but she hadn’t stopped loving him or wanting him. When she started telling him he should back off, he’d do well to remember that.
“I’d very much like to make love to you, if you’re not too knackered,” he said, kneeling before her after she’d stopped punching her pillow.
He drew her hair back over her shoulders as she lifted her gaze to his. And waited. And waited.
Her face bunched up for a fraction of a second, but then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’d like that.”
The words were his salvation. He helped her undress. The lights in the closet were on full blaze, and he said, “Do you sleep with the lights on?”
“I dim them,” she said, tunneling her face in his chest. “I’m so ashamed. I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“I love seeing you,” he said, taking her hand and lifting it to his mouth. “I’ll always see you. Whatever happens. Whatever comes.”
She pressed her cheek to his, gathering herself. When she steadied, he rose and dimmed the lights. Lying down beside her, he wrapped his hand around her waist and leaned in to kiss her. Her lips were soft and warm, and he kept it gentle. Tonight was about cherishing her. Tonight was about showing her he loved her unconditionally.
Her skin was smooth as silk as he ran his hands over her. He laid her back and set his mouth to roam over her curves, her soft places, the places that made her tense and arch under him, the ones that made her cry out in pleasure.
After the first few peaks, he put on a condom and slid inside her. Reaching for her hands, he drew them overhead and looked down at her. Her blue eyes were open, fixed on him. Starlight shone in her eyes, just as it had on other nights, and he allowed himself to relax—if only a little. Whatever else, he could trust what she felt. Now, she needed to trust him.
“I love you,” he whispered, sliding forward inch by delicious inch.
He wasn’t sure she’d respond. Perhaps she’d make him wait while she considered the wisdom of sharing her heart with him.
When she finally whispered the words back, he groaned and lowered his head to her shoulder, undone by the steadiness in her voice.
She might be unsure about them and their future.
But she wasn’t uncertain about the love they had for each other.
He took her home with those thoughts rolling through his mind, igniting his heart, knowing the only true home for either of them was in each other’s arms.
Chapter 37
Becca awoke on the floor the next morning wrapped in warm maleness.
Trevor seemed to be all over her, wrapped up in that makeshift taco he’d joked about. Boru was still snoring, but Hatshep was on the windowsill, looking out.
That window would be her only view of the outside world for a while. How long this time? God, she couldn’t take it, thinking about having visitors in her closet and sleeping with Trevor on the floor. Was she to have a knitting class every day? Not that she didn’t love teaching the others or seeing Clara and Caitlyn take to it so, but she couldn’t let day after day pass without doing anything. She had duties to see to and new dyes to fashion.
This time she had to get better faster.
She didn’t know how that was going to happen, but she couldn’t continue going through the same motions, hoping for a different outcome. If she stayed in here another day, she’d likely be in the closet for another eight weeks. She knew it.
She’d never tried to leave the closet right away. Her fingernails bit into her palms at the very thought. But it wouldn’t be easy to leave it eight weeks from now either. She had to steel herself to take the first steps. Count them one a
t a time. Ignore her pounding heart and drenched skin and light-headedness. Once out, she would have to keep steeling herself, one step at a time.
What did she have to lose?
One look told her that. He was lying beside her. Yes, Trevor Merriam had professed endless love for her. Slept on the closet floor. Folded his family around her. But this kind of living would peck away at anyone’s spirit. It had hers. His would be no different.
She rolled away carefully. Thankfully, Trevor slept soundly. Boru stirred and Hatshep appeared in front of her, those wise eyes staring into her. She felt almost entranced, as if her cat was reminding her of her strength.
I am not a victim.
In that moment, she decided she wasn’t going to give up on this new psychiatrist before she even talked to him. No, quitting wasn’t an option. If Trevor wouldn’t quit on her, she wouldn’t quit on herself.
She donned some navy pants and a white tank top. Fitted some sandals on her feet. The closet door became her focus. All she had to do was walk to it. It couldn’t be more than twelve steps. She could do this.
Looking down at her feet, she made them move. One.
Her heart started racing as she took the next. Two.
Her head went light, but she stepped forward. Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Boru nudged her leg when she stopped, her chest feeling like a crushed metal can. Sweat burned her eyes as she looked at the door. The sides reminded her of a long box. The image of a coffin popped into her mind, and she saw her parents lying on the floor dead. She shook herself. No, she didn’t want to think those thoughts. Her parents were in heaven, and she wasn’t a little girl anymore. She was a grown woman, and she wasn’t going to let that image or the past hold her back any longer.
Seven.
Eight.
There was that magic switch in her energy, the kind that came from knowing she’d covered the worst of it. Only five more steps to go. She could do this. She made her feet move.
Nine.
Ten.
Panting, she could see the grains of wood in the doorframe. She focused on them.
Eleven.
Twelve.
She touched the frame with her right hand, the other hand pressing into a fist over her mouth. Crying softly, she surveyed her bedroom. She’d done it. She’d made it out of the closet. Oh, God.
Her knees felt weak, and then she heard, “You’re the bravest woman in the whole world.”
She couldn’t look at him or break her focus. Even though she could feel his strength, only hers could propel her forward completely.
Boru gave a bark, encouraging her to go on. Hatshep made figure eights around her ankles, making her focus again on her feet. Right, they were only feet. They were designed to walk, each toe, bone, and tendon working in perfect harmony.
She calculated the number of steps to the sofa in her sitting room. Twenty-five, give or take. Steeling herself, she sucked in fresh air and took the first step, keeping her eyes on the floor. Hatshep padded ahead of her, leading the way. Boru stayed by her side, barking softly as if to cheer milestones like her eighth step, her tenth step. She was crying now, heart beating out of her chest, sweat burning her eyes.
“Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen,” she said aloud, her feet tingling.
She felt like she was outside her body as she took the remaining steps, falling onto the back of her beloved purple sofa. Large, warm arms enfolded her in an embrace, and she distantly felt Trevor turn her in his arms.
“You did it!” His voice was hoarse. “Oh, Becca! Look at you. I love you so much.”
She loved him too, but she couldn’t get the words out. She started weeping, everything crashing inside her. Perhaps it needed to. This was a breakdown, a breakthrough, and she couldn’t hold back the tears any more than a dam could hold back a flash flood. She thought of her parents and all she’d lost, all the years of lonely isolation, thinking she wasn’t normal and never would be, fearing there would never be a man to love her like this one did.
Emotion ravaged her, swept her over and under until it thrust her up again. Exhausted, floating now on the warm light of release, she felt hollow yet whole at the same time.
She wasn’t cured. She knew that.
But she’d overcome, and that was a triumph.
Chapter 38
Trevor’s mother arrived like a sirocco, demanding an immediate family meeting on a neutral site. Assumpta Merriam was a force of nature, and her will was not to be denied. To Trevor, it came as a relief. Although he doubted this matter could be resolved so easily, if anyone could do it, surely she could. If nothing else, he was happy she was here with him. He’d told Becca he wanted her to hold off on introductions until after the impromptu meeting, hoping tensions would be alleviated. If not, Connor and Quinn sure as hell weren’t getting close to her.
J.T. flew in shortly after their mother, and they barely had time to exchange a quick, relieved greeting before the family meeting. Arthur and Clara wished them luck, and they drove to the town meeting hall, which Cian had secured for their use.
And now they waited together—Assumpta Merriam standing sentinel at the window while four of her children sat around the table, a tray of tea and biscuits between them.
“Mom looks tired,” Caitlyn whispered to Trevor. “And mad. Really mad. As bad as that time she caught all of us in that mud pit when we were kids.”
“She looks madder to me,” Trevor said, shifting in his chair. “I can’t believe Connor and Quinn are late.”
“I can,” Flynn said, cracking his neck. “They’re playing corporate games with Mom. Big mistake.”
Making people wait to show power and strength was a common business tactic. But it was less effective when used on family, particularly on their mother, who knew precisely what they were attempting.
“She looks fierce,” J.T. said, also in a low voice, “and sad. If she hadn’t looked so sad, I would have made her let me change clothes at least.”
“You look fine, J.T.,” their mother said from across the room, turning her head and staring at them. “And so far I agree with everything you’ve said. I am madder than that time with the mud pit, and Con and Quinn made a real mistake making me wait to talk to them.”
Caitlyn’s eyes turned to saucers, and Flynn cleared his throat.
“I have super-sonic mom hearing, remember?” she said, turning back to the window. “And eyes in the back of my head.”
No shit.
Caitlyn grimaced and poured everyone tea, rising to take a cup to their mom. She took it and patted their sister’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, honey.”
Trevor wondered if she was saying that to herself as much as Caitlyn. Hard footsteps—ass-kicking ones—sounded in the hall and then Connor and Quinn stalked in, decked out in full suit and tie action like they were meeting with hostile strikers demanding better wages.
“You made me wait,” their mother said flatly, leaning back against the window. “Not a good way to start, boys. Sit down.”
Connor raised his brows before saying, “Hello, Mother.”
She pushed off the windowsill. “Don’t ‘mother’ me. How do you think I felt to have to up and leave Corey’s wife and children and fly across the pond so I could force my own children to talk to each other?”
“We were working it out, Mom,” Quinn said, crossing and kissing her cheek. “They weren’t listening.”
She crossed her arms, giving him the patented mom stare. “Don’t kid a kidder, Quinn Anthony Merriam. And don’t you dare try and handle me. You’re forgetting. I’ve been married to a Merriam for fifty years this June, and I know all the tricks. Sit down.”
Quinn was working his jaw like Mom had just knocked him back, but he sat down. Connor took his time unbuttoning his jacket before dragging out a chair loudly and sitting across from Trevor. He stared at him, and Trevor stared right back. Don’t be such a dick, he wanted to say but held his
tongue. His mom wouldn’t appreciate his interference.
Mom came over and stood at the head chair, which everyone wisely had left vacant for her. “When your father handed over the company, he knew there would be some ups and downs between you all, areas where the personal and the business would mix like oil and water. This seems to be one of them. But if you think I’m not going to find a way to make this into the best damn salad dressing ever, you’re mistaken. So it’s like I told you when you were kids… We can do this easy, or we can do this hard. Think before you start talking because I can tell you right now that this family and how we love and respect each other is the most important thing we need to remember right now. Not some piece of land or business deal. Got me?”
Mom’s crisp Midwest tone left no room for interpretation, and Trevor nodded, learning long ago that she liked seeing the positive response.
“Now we’re going to talk business,” Assumpta said. “Normally, I don’t involve myself with these things, but I made the mistake of not intervening between your father and Clara decades ago, and I’ve lived with that estrangement, wondering if I could have helped bridge the peace. I told your father that, and he understands why I’m here. You will also remember that Grandma Anna’s mother allowed grief to create a rift with her only daughter, and that is not going to happen here.”
Whoa. Mom wasn’t pulling any punches today, and Connor shifted in his seat. Trevor hadn’t known the rift between Clara and their father had weighed on her, but she’d talked some about never seeing her own grandmother. His gut sunk. What would it be like to never speak to one of his siblings ever again? He didn’t want to find out. For all the issues he’d had with Connor over the years, he loved his brother.
“Con, before you think I’m only doing this from an emotional angle, I’ve been advising your father since we met.”
Trevor had always loved the story of how his parents had met. Both of them had been students at the University of Chicago—his father, an economics major; his mother, a teaching major. Grandpa Noah had invited their dad to the house for dinner, something he did with his more interesting history students, and the couple had immediately hit it off. Trevor had always wondered if his grandpa had had an inkling about the couple being a good match, but Grandpa Noah had never given him a straight answer. Trevor thought again about the medallion he’d given Becca and realized he needed to share that with his mother. He’d wait for the right moment.
