When had she become so important to him?
What the hell was he going to do without her?
“Don’t go,” he said softly, kneading her upper arm with his thumb.
“Hey, it’s not like we won’t see each other anymore,” she said. “I’m not saying we can’t have sex, we just can’t be living together . . .”
Because the baby will know if they’re living together, but won’t know when they have sex? Her disjointed logic rattled him, but he didn’t say so. He wasn’t that stupid.
“I don’t want you to leave, Mike. Especially now.”
“I have to go,” she said sadly, looking up at him. “Especially now. This . . . arrangement we have, it was never about us being a couple. You said so yourself. Remember?”
He closed his eyes against that memory and wished he could wipe it away. Things had changed since then. He’d changed since then.
“This was about neither one of us being alone.” She lifted the duffel bag and slung it over one shoulder before he could stop her. “Well, you don’t need me as a buffer against Justin anymore. And I’m not alone, either. I’ve got little Rocky.”
“Rocky?”
She smiled. “I can’t stay, Lucas. Not now. Not anymore.”
Desperate to keep her there, he said, “You’re moving back home? But your father’s still at Grace’s . . .”
If he could just convince her to stay, they could work this out. They could find a way. She had to give him time. Time to find the words.
That sensation of panic was rising within again, then just as it blossomed, it bled away, leaving behind an emptiness he hadn’t expected. Hadn’t been prepared for.
He had to fight for air. Mike. The woman who’d stomped all over his life in her clunky work boots, changing it forever, was now walking out of it again. And taking his child with her.
His child?
He couldn’t really wrap his brain around that concept. It was too ephemeral. Too new.
But losing Mike.
That was different.
She’d become such a part of his life over the last few months, he couldn’t imagine not having her around to drive him insane. Couldn’t bear the thought of going back to the quiet, boring life he’d led before they’d met.
“Papa’s with Grace,” she said, “but it’s okay. I’m not going home home.” She lifted her chin and swung her long blond braid back over her shoulder. “I rented Stevie’s old apartment. Over the Leaf and Bean. Doesn’t have much of a roof right now, but it’s close to coffee and it’ll be good. Good for me. Good for little Anastasia—”
“Anastasia?”
“Good for you,” she finished. “Spend more time with your brother. Enjoy him while you can.”
“I can do that with you here,” he pointed out.
“No you can’t,” she said and started past him. “Not anymore.”
“Wait.”
She stopped and Lucas came up behind her, sliding the duffel bag off her shoulder and taking it himself. “This is too heavy for you. I’ll carry it.”
“Okay,” she said, giving him a smile despite the regret pooled in her eyes. “Thanks.”
Lucas looked down at her and knew something was slipping away. Somehow, he’d lost his tenuous grip on the threads of his life and they were all unraveling.
He was losing his twin.
He was losing his child.
He was losing Mike.
“Don’t ask me to stay again, okay?” Her eyes displayed every emotion she felt and he knew that despite her joy at being pregnant, she was as close to the ragged edge of misery as he was.
So he swallowed his own wants, his own needs, and nodded. “There is one thing, though. Bree and Justin are getting married tomorrow.”
“Really?” She gave him a wide smile and it was breathtaking. Her whole face lit up. “That’s great. I’m so glad for Bree. And for Justin.”
“Will you come?” he asked. “Tomorrow. At two. It’ll be just the four of us.” He lifted one hand and reached to touch her cheek. But he stopped short and let his hand fall empty to his side.
She swallowed hard. “Sure. I’ll be there.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Then she touched his face, gently, briefly, and whispered, “God, I hate us being so polite.”
Turning abruptly, she walked out, headed for the hall. Lucas stood alone in the sun-washed bedroom, fisted his hand around the duffel strap, and reluctantly followed.
Mike shivered as the minister took his place in front of Justin and Bree. Here on the back deck at Lucas’s house, the wind was cold and the sky was gray. As if even nature were already mourning a marriage that would be too brief.
There were vases filled with chrysanthemums and a string of white lights ringing the deck railing. Autumn leaves provided the music as they brushed together in the sighing wind.
Standing beside Lucas, Mike tried to keep her mind on the ceremony, but it wasn’t easy. She’d been up half the night. First, trying to feel comfortable in a place that didn’t—and would probably never—feel like home. The apartment over the shop was lovely, mostly wood and glass and a few braided rugs for warmth. It was furnished with a big, comfortable bed, a TV, some chairs, and it had a small kitchenette.
Mike had been unpacked in about five minutes, then she’d spent the next hour trying to figure out why she was there—and not with Lucas. Oh God, she’d wanted to come back here, to him. And knowing she couldn’t—shouldn’t—had made her head hurt and her stomach spin.
Then Papa had arrived and bad got worse.
He’d come by her new apartment, demanding to know what was going on. Why she was moving out on her own. Why Jo and Sam wouldn’t tell him anything.
When she explained about the baby, he’d been torn between real pleasure for her sake and pure fatherly fury. He wanted to know when she was getting married, and when she’d told him she wasn’t, that had really set him off. Watching his face turn bloodred, she’d worried for a while that he was going to have another heart attack.
But true to his nature, she thought, his anger went white-hot, then fizzled out just as quickly.
“Michaela, I worry for you.” Papa looked into her eyes and shook his head slowly. “You know about Jack. You know what a hard time Carol has had, raising him mostly alone.”
“I won’t be on my own, Papa. I’ll have you. And Sam. And Jo.”
“It is not the same as having the one you love beside you.”
“I know, but—”
“Don’t make my mistakes, Michaela,” he warned.
“Papa, it’s not that simple.” She stepped away from him and wandered the gleaming wood floor of the apartment that felt too empty. Too new. Too unwelcoming.
Oh, she wished it were simple. Wished she could tell Lucas that she loved him, and be sure that he would say those three words back to her. But how could she? They hadn’t made any promises to each other. There’d been no talk of a future.
So instead of being with the man she loved, she was here. In an apartment she didn’t really want, preparing to be a single mother.
And since she’d have to be tough to pull that off, she thought she might as well start working on it now.
“You don’t have to worry, Papa,” she said again firmly, not sure if she was trying to convince him or herself.
He walked to her. “It’s my job to worry. You’ll see. That doesn’t stop just because your child is grown. Your child will always be your child. And to see that child hurt or in pain is a hard thing.”
Mike wrapped her arms around him and held on, finding comfort in the familiar strength of him. Papa patted her back and dropped a kiss on top of her head.
“You want me to talk to your Lucas?”
“God, no, Papa,” she said, snuggling closer, content for the moment to feel a little less alone. “This is for me to figure out.”
“But you love him?”
“Oh yes. I love him. Enough to know that tel
ling him now would be the most wrong thing I could do.”
He leaned back and looked down into her eyes. “How is loving wrong?”
“There’s too much now,” she said. “Too much in his life. His twin brother is dying. He needs to take care of Justin. I can take care of myself.”
Her father held her and sighed. “Sometimes you can be too strong, Michaela. Sometimes it’s better to lean a little. To hold and be held. To give the one you love a chance to be strong for you.”
“I will,” Bree said softly, and her voice brought Mike out of her memories and back to the house beside the lake.
A little disoriented, she drew in a long breath to steady herself. Then Lucas, standing beside her, took her hand and gave it a squeeze.
Mike’s heart turned over in her chest, but she clung to the warmth of Lucas’s touch as Justin promised to love Bree until death did them part.
20
Lucas opened the front door a week later and found Mike standing on his front porch. She was wearing a dark green sweatshirt over her T-shirt and her jeans were still clean—too early in the morning for her to have come from work.
Just seeing her again was a gift.
She’d only been to the house twice in the week since the wedding and both times she’d been there to pick up Bree and get her out of the house for an hour or two. Mike had come and gone so quickly during those brief visits, he’d had no chance at all to talk to her—and a part of him wondered if she’d arranged it that way purposely.
To avoid him. His hand tightened on the edge of the door, in an attempt to keep from reaching for her. Looking into her eyes, soft and open, was like falling into a cool lake on a hot day.
“Lucas?”
“Mike.” God, he’d missed her. Missed being able to talk to her. Argue with her. Missed everything about her. “You here to take Bree out for coffee again?”
“No . . .”
“I phoned her. Asked her to come.” Bridget’s voice, soft and hurried, came from directly behind him.
Spinning around, he faced his brother’s wife. Something cold and dark opened inside him as he registered the pain in her eyes. “What’s going on, Bree?”
She wiped away a single stray tear that rolled along her stark white cheek. “I called Mike because she should be here. With us.”
“What?” He cleared his throat, but it didn’t help.
“It’s time, Lucas,” Bree said. “Justin will want his family near.”
His family.
That’s what they’d become, the four of them. Family. And since Mike had left, that family had been broken. He hadn’t been able to touch her, hold her, and God, he’d missed that. Missed having her close. Missed turning around to find her blue eyes fixed on him.
Suddenly, something else Bree’d said hit him hard, like a punch to the stomach, exploding his breath.
“Time?” His throat closed up tight. He felt it shut down and wondered how he was still able to breathe. “Now? Already?” He swallowed hard enough to push a tangled knot of emotion down his throat. Glancing at the staircase and the guest room above, Lucas felt a clawing instinct to run. To just bolt out of the house and sprint into the trees. To somehow escape the helplessness that had him in its grip. How could he stand by and watch his brother die?
Why couldn’t he do . . . something?
As if she could read his mind, Mike whispered, “Sometimes the only thing we can do is be there.”
“Not enough,” he muttered, blindly reaching for her hand and holding on as he looked at her. “How can that be enough?” Then desperate, he shifted his gaze to Bree. “How do you know? How can you be sure?”
A tired, wistful smile brushed her lips, then faded. “I love him,” she said simply, her voice a sad shadow, flavored by Irish music. “How could I not know?”
“You’re wrong.” He pushed the words past his throat, shaking his head, fighting the inevitable even as he knew he couldn’t win.
“I’m not, no,” she said sorrowfully. “Wish to heaven I were.”
Tears pumped inside him, but he couldn’t let them through. Couldn’t let loose the howling grief that wanted to rattle the windows and rage at the sky. Couldn’t do a damn thing but let Justin go.
“Ah, God . . .” Lucas’s head dropped, banging into the door behind him. Eyes closed, he stood perfectly still for a moment, concentrating on the small ache in his head, because otherwise he’d have to focus on the enormous pain in his heart.
And he wasn’t sure he’d survive it.
Mike stepped closer, laid her free hand on his forearm and left it there, as if she knew how much he needed that connection. That warmth, streaming in to ease the tremendous cold filtering through him. He pulled in a long breath, steadied himself and nodded, as if to reassure himself that they would get through this. Somehow.
“Come now,” Bree said, stepping back and turning for the stairs. “Quickly.”
“Lucas . . .” Mike whispered his name and then stopped, as if she didn’t know what to say. But she didn’t have to try. Because there was nothing she could say. Nothing any of them could say to stop the pain. To hold back time. To change the past.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” He squeezed her hand and held on. Pulling her inside, he swung the door closed and took off after Bridget, Mike keeping pace with him, their heels on the tiles clattering loudly in the still, silent house.
His heartbeat raced, his blood rushed, and the roaring in his ears was deafening. Fear chased him up the stairs, reaching for him with grasping, greedy fingers, and he didn’t know how to fight it. Didn’t know that he could.
When they reached the guest room, Bree was already inside, sitting beside Justin on the bed. She held one of his hands in hers, stroking his skin in long, smooth caresses.
Early morning light sifted into the room as gently as a promise. One of the windows was partially opened and a breeze ruffled the pale green sheers, making them dance lazily. Outside, the ducks on the lake quacked and squabbled, bringing life into the room where death hovered.
One look at Justin’s face and Lucas knew the truth. He felt it, just as surely as Bree must have. She was right. When you loved someone, you just knew.
Mike’s hand in his felt warm, strong. He held on tighter, using her to anchor himself.
The connection was that strong.
And he thanked God for it.
Moving to the bed, Lucas stood beside Bridget, laid one hand on her shoulder, wrapping his other arm around Mike’s shoulder, unconsciously drawing her tightly into the circle they’d formed around Justin. Lucas watched, unable to look away, as his brother’s chest moved in a faltering rhythm.
Each breath following the last just a little slower than the one before.
Seconds ticked past, marked by the heartbeats of those who watched and waited.
Justin opened his eyes, and for the first time in days, his dark eyes looked clear, almost overbright. As if he were already seeing something none of them could imagine and couldn’t quite focus on the vision. He looked at each of them and managed a smile.
His voice, when it came, was hardly more than a breath.
“I don’t know why I was so afraid of this.” Another brief smile as he looked at his brother. “Thanks for . . .” He paused. “Hell. You know.”
Lucas nodded, tightened his grip on both women, and blinked back the moisture clouding his eyes. He forced a smile that he feared was more of a grimace, but damned if he’d cry when the man dying was being so brave.
“Bree . . .” Justin looked up at her. Smiled. “I know. About the baby.”
“Aw, love . . .” Her voice broke, and tears streamed down her face.
“I’m so glad,” he whispered, still smiling as he closed his eyes and sighed his last breath.
As Bridget wept and Mike turned her face into his shoulder, Lucas felt . . . humbled. He’d always thought that no matter what, everyone died alone. But it wasn’t true.
The lucky ones died with fami
ly.
With love.
He bent his head to Mike’s and quietly mourned his twin and all the tomorrows he had lost.
A few hours later, while Lucas was on the phone, making . . . arrangements for Justin’s cremation, Mike spotted Bree, standing alone at the edge of the lake. The ever-present wind lifted the woman’s long, red curls into a tangle around her, but she seemed oblivious. Staring out at the ducks on the lake, Bree might have been a statue, carved by an empathetic sculptor to represent sorrow.
Every curve and line of her body wept.
And Mike’s tender heart fisted in her chest.
Slipping out the French doors, she quietly crossed the deck, and took the stairs to the grass below. She felt as though she were intruding, but she simply couldn’t stay away. Bree was alone, now. Horribly alone, and the pain was so new, so fresh, that Mike couldn’t turn her back.
“Bree?”
The woman slowly turned her head to look at her and smiled. Though her green eyes were filled with anguish and the shimmer of tears unshed, her smile was steady—surprising the hell out of Mike.
“Are you okay?” she asked, even knowing how stupid it sounded. People always asked that: Are you okay with the way your world just ended?
Idiot.
“I’m sorry,” Mike said softly. “Ridiculous question.”
But Bree reached out one hand to her, and when Mike took it, she said, “No it isn’t. And I’m fine, really.”
“I wish there was . . . something I could do,” Mike said, waving one hand helplessly.
A long moment ticked past before Bree smiled again, even as a solitary tear trickled down her cheek. “There’s no need for you to feel sorry for me, Mike.”
“Bree . . .”
She shook her head, drew in a short breath and let it go again on a sigh as her gaze shifted back to the lake. The wind danced across the water, ruffling the reeds at the bank and rippling the surface until it looked as though each ripple moved into the next and the next and the next, moving into eternity.
“I’ve lost Justin,” she said and her voice broke on the words.
Mike squeezed her hand a little tighter and let her own tears flow.
A Crazy Kind of Love Page 25
