by Nicole Helm
“Is there more to that?”
“Yes, but I think Thack should be the one to tell you.”
Mr. Lane nodded and went to work in his shed.
Then Summer spent the rest of the day trying to make Kate smile and eat. It was slow progress, but by the time Thack came in for dinner, Kate was almost her old self. A little more clingy to Thack, so quick to crawl up into his lap at dinner, still not quite one hundred percent seven-year-old exuberance, but she wasn’t crying, and she wasn’t silent. Most importantly, she wasn’t broken.
Helping the Lanes put up the remainder of their Christmas decorations while Rudolph played on the TV—Kate happily squealing every time the Abominable Snowman came on—was like something out of a dream.
In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t perfect. Summer could see that even more clearly after all the upheaval this morning, but that this morning could be followed by Christmas decorations and hot chocolate and happiness was a miracle.
“All right, Katie Pie, bedtime.”
“But, Daddy, what about Frosty and—”
“School bright and early tomorrow, kiddo.” He scooped her up in a way that made Kate squeal and giggle, and Summer could only sit on the couch and smile at them, at the love there. Even when things were hard, even when Thack didn’t think he had any more room in his life, there was so much love between these two that it could only make Summer happy.
Thack caught her gaze. “Would you mind sticking around? I’d like to talk to you.”
She nodded, even though it sent a jitter of nerves down her spine. What was there to talk about? Kate escaping? More help with Christmas maybe? That kiss from two nights ago that she couldn’t get out of her head?
Probably not that.
She made one last check that everything in the kitchen had been put to rights. Mr. Lane retired to his room to make a “private phone call” to someone she had a sneaking suspicion was Mrs. Bart.
So, Summer settled herself on the couch, enjoying the twinkle and color of the Christmas lights and the way they sparkled off the different ornaments. She leaned her head against the back of the couch, “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” stuck in her head on repeat, and apparently promptly fell asleep. Because the next minute, Thack’s hand was on her shoulder, gently shaking her.
She blinked her eyes open, realizing most of the lights had been turned off. Only the tree was lit, casting a magical glow over the room.
“Sorry,” he offered sheepishly. “Would have liked to have let you sleep, but I’m not sure this is the place for it. You’d get quite a crick in your neck sleeping like that.”
She pulled her head up, trying to think past the fuzzy sleep brain. The only solid thing she could focus on was how handsome he was in the glow of the Christmas lights. So tall and sturdy and infinitely amazing.
She let out a dreamy sigh before she remembered this was real life, not her imagination. “Oh, right, well you wanted me to stay.”
“We can talk about it tomorrow.”
“But if we wait until tomorrow, I’ll never sleep.” She flashed him a grin and patted the spot next to her. “Sit. I’ll rub your shoulders, and you can tell me what’s up.”
“You’ll rub my shoulders?”
She tried to pretend that was a totally normal offer, not a ridiculous mistake on the part of her still-dreaming brain. “Sure. You’re always so tense. You could use someone to rub your shoulders. No funny business. I’m just going to give you a little massage. It’s been a long, trying day—let someone do something for you.”
He looked at her skeptically, but she offered her hands, palms up. After a moment of hesitation he slid onto the cushion next to her, back toward her.
What she really wanted to do was lean her cheek there between his shoulder blades and tell him how strong and wonderful he was. But that would cross a line. They might have kissed, he might have even thanked her for the role she played with Kate this morning, but that didn’t mean his no room for romance edict had changed.
But him allowing this gesture was a step toward something. So, breathing deeply, she rested her palms on his shoulders. Much like when she’d touched his face the other night, his posture immediately relaxed. Not fully, but enough that she could notice.
She dug her fingers into his shoulders, trying to loosen some of the muscles he held so tight. He groaned, and the sound hit her where it absolutely shouldn’t.
“Sweet pickles,” he muttered.
She couldn’t stifle the laughter that bubbled out of her mouth. It was just so ridiculous when he said that.
But he laughed too. “You have no idea how badly I wish I could go back in time and stop myself from ever starting to use those words, never mind using them enough that they became part of my regular vocabulary.”
“I think it’s adorable.”
“Adorable. I say sweet pickles, and beautiful women are calling me adorable. I’ll have you know, once upon a time, I was considered smooth and cool.”
She giggled, couldn’t help it. Smooth and cool. He was ridiculous, and adorable, and she wanted to slide into his lap and do not-adorable things.
She kept rubbing his shoulders instead, working out the kinks of those tight muscles, so gratified when he relaxed and all but slumped forward. It felt like she’d done something for him, which warmed her heart, and the massage allowed her fingers to explore all those firm, contracting muscles. Hot and sturdy under her hands, carrying such a great burden.
That jittery feeling that centered itself in her chest so often when he was around intensified—an awareness. An intense need to know what those shoulders might feel like without the shirt.
Smooth over steel, still warm, capable, and endlessly strong. What might it feel like to explore him completely, everywhere?
Summer’s cheeks were on fire by this point, a coiling, needy want centering itself deep inside her. Something no number of platonic shoulder massages or chaste, friendly hugs would ever assuage.
“Thank you,” Thack murmured, shifting so he was no longer sitting sideways on the couch. Her hands had to slide off his back, and she sighed over not being able to touch him anymore.
You could hold his hand. You could touch his face. You could kiss him.
No. No, she’d promised not to do that. Of course, if he wanted to…
He let out a gusty sigh, eyes closing as he leaned his head and rested it on the couch back.
She almost opened her mouth to ask what he had wanted to talk to her about, but he seemed so peaceful. She stayed where she was instead, wondering how this moment could feel so perfect. Exciting and nerve-racking and still a little raw from this morning, but still…somehow that all together made it perfect.
His breathing evened out, and his body relaxed even further. Her fingers nearly twitched with the desire to explore.
“Thack?”
Nothing. Not a change in breathing or a flicker of response. Now she was the one wishing she could let him sleep. He deserved some rest, but that probably shouldn’t be found on a sofa when he was so close to a bed.
She really needed to not think about his bed.
Still, instead of talking louder or poking him or doing anything that might actually wake him up, she rubbed her palm against the scruff of his chin, soaked in that rough scrape against her palm.
Still nothing.
She sat back, watching his even breathing, noticed the way his face looked at least five years younger in sleep, with the low, warm light from the Christmas tree softening all his hard edges. Unable to resist, she leaned over and brushed her lips across his cheek.
“Liar.”
She screeched and jumped, high enough that coming back down made an audible thump against the couch cushion. When she’d caught her strangled breath, her eyes met his green ones, and she couldn’t even be mad because there was a tiny glimmer o
f humor in his eyes.
Had she ever seen that in him before? She’d seen some moments of ease and hope and happiness, but never humor.
“You promised not to kiss me.”
She tried to glower and probably failed. “I never said anything about where I promised not to kiss you.”
His mouth curved into a smile, and it was possibly one of the top five most wonderful things she’d ever seen. It hovered somewhere around the blazing sunset behind a mountain that she’d seen her first night in Blue Valley, and just behind the smile of her niece. Especially after this morning.
As if he’d read where her thoughts went, he sobered up. “I couldn’t have managed this morning without you. I really couldn’t have.” He reached out and cupped her face, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to breathe when he willingly, purposefully touched her.
“I didn’t do anything special.”
“You did.” Only two words, but they were emphatic. His gaze never broke from hers, his hand didn’t leave her cheek, and she never wanted to change this moment where she mattered. Where she’d done something that truly mattered.
* * *
It was hard to know what to do in this situation, when all Thack wanted to do was keep touching her, keep telling her how much she meant to him right now. He wanted to forget about this morning, about two nights ago, and bury himself in Summer. He wanted to kiss her, and not in that angry, desperate way he had the other night. He wanted to sink and explore, to lose himself in something that wasn’t dark or hard.
Summer’s smile had never been either of those things.
What held him back wasn’t what he’d said the other night. If there was any positive to take out of this morning, it was that he realized he’d lost sight of things. He’d lost at least half the answers he thought he’d found in therapy those first few years after Michaela’s death.
He’d forgotten, somehow, that his happiness mattered. His happiness affected Kate. And he couldn’t get over the idea that his happiness might be tied up with Summer. He still wasn’t sure it was the best idea, but he was…less opposed.
He deserved something too, right? To be the example, to show Kate she deserved things for herself, that it wouldn’t do for her to be the martyr. Worse yet, for her to think she was to blame, to think she held the responsibility to keep him from being sad.
It might be that every time he reached out for something for himself, his hand got slapped, but if he put Kate in his shoes, he would want her to keep reaching. He also knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the wonderful, loving women he’d loved and lost would want that for him too.
But even if he needed to be better about finding his happiness and not taking everything so seriously, that certainly didn’t mean Summer wanted to fling herself into all of this.
But she was here, and she wasn’t moving away from his hands on her face.
“Um, well.” Summer cleared her throat. “I’m so sorry. For blubbering all over you this morning. My heart just breaks thinking about it, but that’s unfair. She was your wife. Kate was so little.”
“Yes, I recall.” The anguish on her face made him sorry. “What I’m trying to say, badly, is…it means something. That you care. It does.”
“I…love her,” Summer said, looking at her lap. But he couldn’t take his hand away. He couldn’t stop touching the soft skin of her cheek. Couldn’t stop himself from leaning in or feeling the full impact of her words, even if he didn’t know what to do about them.
His world, Kate’s world, it had all become so small. He’d been so intent on keeping her safe, keeping her away from all the bad things life could bring. What good things might he have been keeping her away from as well?
“I know that may seem strange since she’s not mine,” Summer said softly, still avoiding his gaze. “But she reminds me of myself. And she’s so sweet, so open, and to have that little piece of absolute shit say something so horrible to her at school when she’s seven… Oh, I wish I could strangle him. And burn every possession that means anything to him.”
It was such a strange thing to watch his own feelings be expressed by someone else. His own hurt. His own anger. Quite honestly, he hadn’t given as much thought to the boy who had done this to his daughter, because he’d been caught up in the damage control.
He didn’t want to tap into that anger though, because he was afraid if he thought too much about it, nothing would stop him from punishing the kid himself. “I’m going to do my best to talk to his parents without throwing any punches.”
She laughed, though it was harsh, not joyous. “I’ve seen a lot of people do terrible things, but to be so young and be unnecessarily vicious to someone younger still. I am not a violent person, but I can imagine doing a lot of violent things. If you did punch someone, I’d probably applaud.”
He didn’t know why that moment in particular prompted him to move. Why were those words the ones that made touching her face not nearly enough? Whatever it was, he lowered his mouth to hers and took what he should have been so much more careful about taking.
But she made it hard to remember caution when she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed closer, touching her tongue to his bottom lip. Caution flew out the window under the lulling warmth of her mouth, the way her eyes fluttered to closed, and the bright colors from the Christmas tree lights reflecting there and against the glossy strands of hair that teased her jawline.
He let his hands travel over her face, into that hair that smelled of flowers and felt like silk between his fingers. He slowly tangled his tongue with hers, pulling her closer, his own eyes closing as he sank into that sweet, dizzying taste of Summer.
He lost himself in the lazy, sensual kiss. It had the same effect as the angry, frustrated one of the other night. It held the same danger, just a softer danger, and he was more inclined to try to navigate it, to dive deep into the sizzling heat that somehow mixed with the comfort and softness that seemed so essential to who this woman was.
She made a little sighing noise into his mouth, and he shifted so they could be closer, so he could hold her soft chest against his hard one. He held her closer so he could delve deeper into the beautiful mystery and comfort of her mouth. Her slender arms tightened around his neck, and he could feel the press of her bangles into his skin as she held him just as close as he was holding her, meeting exploration for exploration.
All the muscles she’d relaxed with her back rub tensed tight with a new kind of burden. Hard, unrelenting want.
But there were things that had to be said before he could allow want to take over, and more importantly, there were things Summer needed to understand. Things that had to be untwisted before he could even think about trying to be the kind of person she would need. So, he pulled away a hair. Just a hair, their mouths still so damn close.
The lights from the tree twinkled in the moisture on her lips, and he wanted to sink there again. Again and again.
Was talking really necessary before more kissing? More Summer?
She didn’t unwind her arms, just blinked up at him. “Was that a particularly seductive statement?”
The laugh that escaped his mouth was rusty. “No.”
“Right. Um. So. As much as I hate to point it out, because I’d prefer to keep doing this, the last time I kissed you…”
“I know.” He forced himself to sit back, to remove his hands, to remove hers. To be a rational, reasonable adult. He’d made a promise not to pile blame on himself, but that didn’t mean he should jump into things he wanted without thinking, without weighing the consequences. His life would always be complicated by the challenges that had come before, and they could never totally go away.
He blew out a breath. “After Michaela died…I did a lot of counseling. Made Dad do it too. I knew we had to be one hundred percent healthy with everything to give Kate what she needed.”
Summer’s hand slid over his and squeezed. “You have no idea… Not all parents would put their children first. Not like you do.”
He blinked at the emotion in her voice, the admiration. He felt unworthy, but so damn pleased by it.
“Thack…what did you mean? When you said that it wasn’t as untrue as you’d like?”
He looked at her hand on his and wondered how he would get through this explanation without feeling like… Well, just feeling, he supposed.
But, at this point, there was no choice or going back to a time when she didn’t have a right to ask him that. “During one of Michaela’s exams after she found out she was pregnant with Kate, they found a tumor. It turned out to be colon cancer. Because most of the interventions posed a risk to the baby, Michaela refused treatments until Kate’s chance of survival was greater than her own.”
Summer made a sound, not as dramatic as a gasp but something close to it. Her hand gripped his tighter.
He never thought he’d have to explain this to someone. Not for himself. Maybe for Kate, but never for him. He could stop or gloss over the rest, but as hard and painful as it was to say, he was finding that doing so also lightened the load.
“It was an impossible situation, but Michaela didn’t think she would have found out about the cancer in time if she hadn’t been pregnant, so she refused to risk Kate. Her parents weren’t particularly supportive. They wanted me to change her mind or do what I could to override her decision.” He wanted to kiss Summer and forget this. He wanted to walk away, but the months, maybe years, of tenuous, strong-armed over-control seemed to have been a way of doing just that.
He didn’t want to set that example for Kate. He wanted her to be able to move forward, blameless, happy, even if she would always wish she could remember the mother who had sacrificed so much for her.
Which meant that was what he had to give himself. He had to move forward, blameless and happy, even when things were hard. “The thing is, sometimes I wanted to. I wanted to fight her and beg her to give herself more of a fighting chance, but I couldn’t… She was dying—how could I argue with her? I’d been down the cancer road. I knew where it ended up. And I blamed myself, because it seemed like every time I stepped out of line, someone I loved suffered the consequences.”
