The look on his face when recognition dawned flashed in her mind. No, he knew he was wrong. Horribly wrong. That by no means excused him.
A honking horn made her jump and she realized she’d gone through a red light. Great. She checked the rearview mirror. No cop. No Nick, either.
What the hell was wrong with her? She didn’t want him to follow. She really didn’t. Confrontation was something she tried to avoid. Anything he said would make matters worse, anyway. She’d abandoned the idea of asking him to help her reconstruct the time and dreams they’d lost. It wouldn’t work. Not only did she not trust him, she didn’t want him around reminding her of what a fool she’d been.
Brenda had warned her. Why couldn’t she have listened? She was as arrogant as Nick, that’s why. No man would ever get to her or interfere in her life. What a joke. She’d practically wrapped herself up in a package with a big bow. God, she’d been easy picking.
Especially for someone as astute and charming as Nick.
It hurt like hell to think of him. To picture that sexy grin that always made her knees weak…those dark seductive eyes, full of intelligence and humor…that mouth of his, how it knew just what her body wanted.
Lust. That’s all it was. She’d been a victim of lust more than anything else. The idea made her feel marginally better. Nick was a good-looking guy with a great body and very skillful hands. She was a healthy young woman. Why wouldn’t she have been interested?
Who the hell was she kidding?
The light didn’t turn yellow until she reached the intersection, but she stopped anyway, thankful for the couple of minutes to pull herself together without being a menace. Her head spun with self-disgust and anger at Nick and herself and fear that she would never get her thesis done. She had no business being on the road.
After crossing the intersection, she pulled over to the side, crossed her wrists on the steering wheel and laid her forehead on them, eyes closed. Even if she had all the correct data, she was in no condition to complete the project. Her nerves were shot and her hard-earned ability to concentrate, her most crucial defense against certain failure, would be put to the test. She honestly didn’t know if she could handle it without ending up in a psych ward.
A bitter laugh escaped her. The irony was too much. Here she was supposed to be a psychologist and she couldn’t even get her own act together.
And worst of all, she was going to miss Nick.
She took a couple of deep breaths before lifting her head. Blinking several times helped clear the haze of depression that was doing a number on her weary eyes. She looked around, amazed to realize she didn’t know where she was.
But what the hell, she didn’t know who she was anymore, either.
16
FOR TWO DAYS Nick had felt like crap, the biggest heel east of the Mississippi, but now he was pissed.
Two days and he hadn’t heard from her. He’d left a dozen messages on her answering machine, even drove past her apartment and the lab. Her car hadn’t been at either place. So where was she? And why hadn’t Brenda laid into him yet? Obviously Emma hadn’t told her about what a dirtbag her brother was, because Brenda had never been shy about pointing out when he screwed up.
The worst part was she’d always been a confidant if he needed one. They’d been close since their teen years when he’d decked Billy Werner for making a nasty crack about Brenda’s thighs, and she’d erased Nick’s name and number off the girls’ locker-room wall. He would’ve rather she left the information there, but he knew she’d been well-intentioned.
He sat in front of the TV, massaging his aching temple with one hand, a bottle of beer in the other, and not giving a crap if the Panthers beat the Vikings, even if it looked as if they could go to the Super Bowl.
He couldn’t talk to Brenda about this. She’d be more likely to help Emma dig his grave than lend support or advice. Of course he’d deserve it, but he also deserved a hearing. He needed to talk to Emma.
Hell, he needed to talk to somebody, before guilt ate him alive. Or before he drank himself silly, or started talking to the walls. Because the problem had gotten a lot worse, or at least more complicated than him being a horse’s ass. He thought he might be falling in love with Emma.
God, he never thought that would happen. The idea scared the hell out of him. But it wouldn’t go away. He missed her. He hurt because he’d hurt her. He thought of nothing or no one else but her. Did that all add up to love?
How was he supposed to know? No one had ever made him want to slay dragons before. Not that she’d asked. She’d only wanted him to honor his commitment, and he’d failed her.
He took another long pull of beer, tempted to drink himself into a stupor. But he’d disappointed her enough. Hell, he’d disappointed himself—a new experience for him. It sucked.
Leaning his head back, he stared at the ceiling instead of the TV. He didn’t know what the score was, didn’t care. Even though he had a bet with Marshall.
He brought his head up.
Marshall.
Nick could talk to him. He didn’t have to cop to the whole sordid story but he could still get some feedback. In some ways, his friend was like Emma. Driven, focused, always knowing what he wanted to be, where he wanted to go in life. Everyone knew he’d marry Sally when they both graduated. That had been one of Marshall’s goals.
He was the most dedicated family man Nick knew. His kids and wife meant everything to him, and he worked hard to give them a nice home and the kids a good education, yet he still made time for friends and tennis and football. The guy had it together, a totally balanced life. And he was happy.
Nick picked up the phone he’d set next to him in case she finally called, and he dialed Marshall’s number. Maybe Nick had believed his own propaganda for too long. Maybe there actually was life after commitment.
“I HOPE I DIDN’T DRAG YOU away from some family thing,” Nick said as soon as Marshall got a beer out of the fridge and came into the family room. “It’s already the fourth quarter.”
“Nah.” Marshall sank into the burgundy leather couch and twisted off his beer cap. He looked tired. “Who’s winning?”
Nick snorted. “Shit!”
Marshall laughed without humor. “I don’t know what’s going on, either.” He took a deep drink. “I’m glad you called.”
Nick frowned at the seriousness in his voice. “What’s up?”
Marshall shook his head and sighed. “I did something really stupid and it’s eating at me.”
Join the club. Nick nearly laughed out loud at the irony. Instead, he waited while his friend took another gulp.
“This is hard for me to admit.” Marshall straightened from his slouched position, leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. He stared down at the carpet while he spoke. “I’ve been having an affair.”
The words knocked the wind out of Nick. The world tipped precariously to the right. He tried not to react. He didn’t even know what to say. Marshall was the last person he’d expected to do something that stupid.
“You look surprised.”
“Nah.” Nick shrugged. “Well, yeah, hell, yeah, I am. What happened?”
Marshall hung his head and stared hard at his tennis shoes. “I’m an ass. What can I say?”
“Does Sally know?”
“That I’m an ass?” A smile tugged at his friend’s mouth. “She knew when she married me.”
Nick chuckled, mostly because he was expected to, and Marshall didn’t look as if he needed anybody else beating up on him.
“She doesn’t know. At least I don’t think she does. Shit! It would serve me right if she found out.” His eyes were bleak and scared when he turned to Nick. “God, I hope she never does. It would kill her.”
“Is it over?” Nick asked quietly, still shocked, still not sure what to say.
Marshall nodded. “For over a month. The money I borrowed from you—” He stared down at his shoes again. “It was for an abortion.”
&nb
sp; “Jeez.”
“Yeah.”
“The woman, is she okay with the breakup, or is that another problem?”
“The reason I borrowed so much money from you is that I sent her to Aruba to recover after the—” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I never thought this could happen to me.”
“Tell you the truth, pal, I didn’t, either.” He winced at Marshall’s shamed expression. “I only meant that you and Sally were the couple. You guys have been together forever, and I figured…I don’t know…”
“Yeah.” Marshall pointed his beer bottle at the wide-screen TV. “You caught the score yet?”
Nick laughed. “I can’t even remember who’s playing.”
“Sorry to bum you out like this. I know how much you think of Sally.”
“I’m not bummed.” That was a blatant lie. If Marshall couldn’t cut married life, stay committed, then Nick didn’t stand a chance. He was bound to fail. “I wish there was something I could do.”
“You already have. Keeping it inside was eating me alive.” He gave Nick a wry smile. “I hate to admit it, pal, but you were right all along.”
Nick didn’t like how that sounded. “About?”
“Staying single. Sticking to the flavor of the week instead of having the whole damn gallon of ice cream at one time.”
“You’re tired of being married.”
“Hell, no. I made a mistake, but I still love my wife. I hope Sally doesn’t find out about Melanie and throw my sorry ass out into the street. I just wish I’d sowed a few wild oats after college instead of rushing into things. Maybe then I wouldn’t have been so curious and flattered by Melanie’s attention.” His sigh was pure disgust. “It sounds like I’m making excuses.”
“Don’t we all.” Nick got up to get them each another beer. Maybe he would drink himself into a stupor after all. Marshall. Of all guys.
“How’ve you been doing?” Marshall asked, eyeing him with sudden interest. “You don’t look so hot yourself.”
“Me? Fine. Couldn’t be better.” He was the golden boy, wasn’t he? Lots of money and women at his disposal, and not a care in the world. Until two days ago, when his entire life had gone straight to hell.
WHOEVER WAS AT THE DOOR wasn’t going away. First two rounds of doorbell chimes, knocking and then the idiot started pounding. Nick knew it wasn’t Emma, or he would have answered it right away. But it had been four days without a word from her.
For the sake of his headache and neighborhood peace, he opened the door.
“About damn time.” Brenda pushed past him. “What the hell is going on?”
Ignoring her, he returned to the couch, the wide-screen and his lukewarm bottle of beer.
She picked up the remote control and turned off the tube. Big deal. He wasn’t following the game anyway. “Nick, you’re going to talk to me.” He grunted.
“What happened between you and Emma?”
“Get me a cold beer while you’re up.”
“I get that beer and it’ll end up over your head.” She sat beside him on the couch, concern creasing her face. “What’s going on?”
“I’m sure Doc told you all about it.”
“Emma won’t say a word. She wouldn’t even return my calls. I had to track her down.”
That got his attention. “Where is she?”
Alarm flashed in her eyes. “Answer me first.”
Two days ago, Nick would have told her to kiss his butt. But forty-eight hours of little sleep and too much thinking had knocked him down a peg. “Is she working on her thesis?”
“I don’t think so. She’s been working double shifts at the restaurant.”
He groaned.
“Nick.” She gently touched his arm. “Tell me.”
He passed a hand over his face, cupped his mouth and blew into his palm. Sighing, he let his hand fall to his lap. “I screwed up, Bren. Bad. Really bad.”
She said nothing, only stared at him with dread clouding her features.
“I did something that might have jeopardized her study.” He shook his head in self-disgust. “Has jeopardized her study.”
“On purpose?”
“Of course not.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Not really. It’s complicated.”
“What did you do, Nick?” Not a speck of sympathy in her eyes. Nor did he deserve any.
“You know I wasn’t crazy about the whole thing from the beginning, and a few days into the study, I thought I’d cleverly found a way to get thrown out.” He winced inwardly at the angry disappointment in Bren’s face. “I figured you wouldn’t penalize me if it was Emma’s choice that I didn’t continue.”
“What did you do?”
He explained about the magazines, his chest tightening as the look of disbelief on his sister’s face turned to panic. Anger, loathing, contempt, any of those he could take, but not the fear and misery he saw growing.
She sank back, genuinely shaken. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”
“I’m beginning to.”
“Emma is never going to finish her thesis on time.”
“She could if she—” Brenda’s grim shake of her head stopped him. “Why not?”
“I think I told you about how Emma struggled with a learning disability while growing up.”
“Yeah, she mentioned it, too.”
“She did? That’s unusual. She never tells anyone about that,” Brenda said, her expression speculative.
Great. Emma had trusted him with something she held private and he turned around and screwed her. This kept getting better.
“She had a moderate case of dyslexia, which unfortunately wasn’t detected right away. Her mother and teachers gave her a terrible time, accusing her of being lazy and stupid.”
He cringed at the thought of any child being subjected to that sort of abuse, but especially Emma.
“Yeah, I know,” Brenda said, clearly in tune with his reaction. “Anyway, her mom worked with her, or I guess a better word would be badgered, but it was Emma who realized the only way she could overcome the handicap was to learn to concentrate. Really concentrate, keep totally focused. Only then did she begin transposing letters and numbers less and less.”
“Isn’t there medication or therapy or something for that sort of thing?”
“I don’t know. But this was fifteen to twenty years ago in rural Utah, don’t forget.”
“And now?”
“She still has some trouble. It takes her longer than you or me to read anything. But she’s a hard worker, so as long as she stays focused she’s okay.” Brenda’s gaze held no condemnation, but she wasn’t pulling any punches, either.
He’d screwed up and she wanted him to own up to it.
He looked away, and muttered a pithy four-letter word. “The letters might have been made up but there’s got to be some value in analyzing them. They’re someone else’s fantasies, just not mine.” At least that’s how he’d justified it at the time.
“Dreams and fantasies are two different things.” Brenda gave him a measuring look. “You think Emma would compromise her study like that?”
He sighed. Of course she wouldn’t. “Go ahead, kick my ass. I deserve it.”
“That would be too easy.”
“I feel like shit.”
“You should.” Jackson had jumped up on the couch between them, and Brenda idly stroked his thick black coat. “What are you going to do about it?”
“She won’t even talk to me.”
“And that’s stopping you? You’re going to turn tail and run the first time something doesn’t go your way or things get difficult?”
“That isn’t fair. My life isn’t perfect.” He got up and headed to the kitchen for another beer.
Brenda followed. “It’s not easy, is it? Feeling helpless and frustrated. Emma’s felt that way most of her life. But she’s not a quitter.”
Now she was pissing him off. “Shut up, Bren. You don’t know what you’re talking about.
” He grabbed his beer and then shouldered past her.
She stayed on his heels. “Do you like Emma?”
He hesitated, thought about ignoring her, but he knew his sister too well. She wouldn’t let up. “Of course I do.”
“How much?”
“What kind of question is that?” The couch seat was dented where he’d camped out for the past four days. He sank back down and uncapped his beer.
Brenda sat right down next to him. “Do you like her but if you never saw her again it wouldn’t matter? Or do you care what happens to her?”
“Yeah, I care what happens to her, dammit.”
Brenda’s lips turned up in a small grin.
He scowled at her. “What?’
“Maybe we could use a little stronger word than like?”
Nick took a deep breath. A funny feeling fluttered in his chest. He took a big gulp of beer. “I don’t know.”
“Okay, that’s honest.”
He laid his head back, and closed his eyes. “She’d never once asked me for a damn thing.”
“Not exactly. She asked you to participate in the study.”
“You know what I mean. But thanks for rubbing it in.”
Brenda’s soft chuckle drew his attention. “I didn’t mean to. I’m merely pointing out that all Emma wanted from you was your commitment to see the project through and—”
“And I failed her. Gee, thanks, Bren, but I already figured that one out for myself and I’m not even a psych major.”
“Since I am a psych major, let me finish.” She poked his arm hard when he closed his eyes again. “I’m listening.”
“Even if you hated how the study was going, I know you too well, Nick Ryder, you would not screw it up.”
“News flash. I did.”
“I didn’t get to the unless part.” Her expression softened. “Unless you were scared.”
“Right.” He snorted. “Why didn’t you major in French?”
“Maybe Emma started making you see life differently, made you start thinking about change, and that scared the hell out of you.”
Extra Innings and In His Wildest Dreams Page 37
