by Holly Jacobs
"Hello."
"Mr. Danning?" an unfamiliar voice had asked.
He remembered the stab of dread. He didn't believe in premonitions, but he remembered a feeling in his gut that had told him something was terribly wrong, he'd answered, "Yes," and had held his breath.
"This is St. Kathryn's Hospital. Your brother, Ian. . ."
Today, Conner could still feel the rush of fear, and couldn't remember a minute of the drive to the hospital, or the doctor patiently explaining the injuries his brother sustained when his car was hit head-on by a drunk driver. A few terms like CT, MRI and compression fractures had penetrated, but most of it hadn't.
Conner had eventually cut the doctor off. "I just want to see him."
The man had nodded. "Yes. But I want you to be prepared. It's not as bad as it's going to look."
And it wasn't as bad. It was worse. Ian had been in traction, a mass of bruises and cuts. What followed were months of surgeries and rehabilitation.
But they'd made it through all that.
Ian was now moving into his own place.
And Conner had started putting out feelers, hoping to get back to building the career he'd always dreamed of.
He'd postponed that dream and didn't regret it. But he was ready to pick up his life at the point where he'd left it.
He pulled up in front of their Lawn Street rental, parked and hurried in.
He'd been so pleased when he'd found this place. His old apartment had been on a second floor, and Ian's had a flight of stairs from the street to the front door. Neither had worked for Ian's new circumstances.
This place was surrounded by predominantly college housing, but there was a bedroom and bath on the first floor, and only three stairs to the front door. Given the hilly nature of Pittsburgh, the lack of stairs was what had sold Conner on it. A small ramp was all it took to make it work for Ian.
The light was off in the living room. The house seemed unoccupied. "Ian?"
"In here." His brother's voice came from his bedroom.
Conner hurried back. "So, what's up?" He opened the door and didn't need to ask anything else. "What happened?"
"I just took a small spill. I think I need a few stitches. I'd drive myself over to the E.R., but I figured you'd be back soon, and remembered how you enjoy feeling useful."
Ian grinned, but it was forced and they both knew it. He was pressing a cloth to the gaping slash across his forehead.
Conner knew better than to show any sympathy. Ian would read it as pity. Not much could anger his easygoing brother, but that would.
So Conner forced his own smile and tried to infuse levity into his voice, which he didn't actually feel. "So, what's the other guy look like?"
"The shower. It doesn't look any the worse for wear."
"Well, let's get down to the hospital. I know this is your lame-ass attempt at picking up women."
"Hey, if I'm lucky, the doctor will be hot, single and. . ."
"Hopefully female?"
Ian grinned. "That's a given."
"Then let's go meet the future Mrs. Ian Danning."
Conner pushed Ian's chair, which only showed that his brother was hurt worse than he was letting on. Ian hadn't used the wheelchair in months, and even then wouldn't have tolerated being pushed.
"Thanks," he said, the humor gone. "You'd finished, hadn't you?"
"Yeah." Conner thought about Morgan at the door. "Yeah, I'd just said my good-nights and was on my way home."
"Great. Sorry. I just didn't realize how tired I was and. . ."
"Hey, don't worry about it. Let's go see if we can find that gorgeous female doctor."
"If you're lucky, maybe there will be a cute nurse as well."
Conner didn't say anything, but he didn't think it would matter how cute the nurse was, his interests were definitely elsewhere.
Yes, his sights were set on a certain brunette with reddish highlights, a quick smile, an aging ex-humping bulldog, invisible cats and an offbeat mom. Morgan Miller packed a wallop with her kisses.
Conner wasn't interested in a long-term anything, but she was planning to go back to. . .San Diego, was it? So maybe that didn't matter.
Since she was planning on leaving Pittsburgh as well, she couldn't want long-term, either. But if things went further than a mere kiss, he'd have to be sure.
Tuesday night.
Maybe he'd need to know on Tuesday night.
CHAPTER NINE
ANNABELLE HAD FELT ELATED AFTER leaving Morgan and her photographer date. She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep, so she'd headed to the Oakland Café. It was one of the few bars in town that catered to an older clientele, rather than the college crowd.
She scanned the private room at the back of the bar. She hadn't come here intending to crash anything, but the party was too tempting to not at least have a look.
There'd been a discreet, tasteful sign on the door: Aldous Markam. She wasn't sure what milestone good old Aldous was celebrating, but she'd seen too many well-dressed, salt-and-pepper-haired men—some with obvious dates or wives, but a number who were tantalizingly solo—go into the private room not to check it out.
She followed, walking into the large room as if she owned it. That was part of the trick to crashing she'd tried to share with Morgan: own whatever party you're crashing and no one will question your right to be there.
Not that Morgan paid attention to her mother's sage advice. If she had, she might not have spent the last few years so far away from home, her family and friends.
Annabelle pushed aside worries about her daughter and made her way through the crowd, picking up snippets of conversations.
". . .and that time Al got us tossed out of that casino in Vegas. . ."
". . .he said, no, officer, I just like it like that. . . ."
". . .women. Never met a man who could sweet-talk a woman out of her lacy underthings as quickly as Al could."
Annabelle decided then and there that Aldous might have been cursed with an unfortunate first name, but he'd overcome it and become a man worth knowing. A man who could talk her out of her lacy underthings and her current lack of a man status.
She scanned the guests, looking for this depantsing Al. The gathering was predominantly people in her age bracket, so she felt confident he was within her dating range.
She tugged at her sage-green dress. She knew it didn't do much for her coloring, but more than made up for that by what it did for her figure. She was ready to take on Al, if she could just find him.
Annabelle spotted a very nice looking man in the back corner, to the right of a buffet table. Tall, obviously not one of those older men who had grown into a couch potato, with dark hair, and only a touch of gray at the temples. Yes, that gray was ample enough to declare he was well within Annabelle's dating range. And the fact that no woman was clinging to his arm, or even flitting about in the vicinity, proclaimed him fair game.
She hoped—really hoped—that this was pants-talking Al.
She gave him the look she'd practiced throughout her teen years and had finally perfected in her twenties. During the intervening decades it had grown rusty. Her husband hadn't required feminine wiles. Come-and-get-me looks had been replaced by much bolder whispered invitations.
But now she was pulling the look back out and hoping it hadn't lost its punch. She added an extra oomph before she said, "Hi," in her lowest, sexiest voice. The man she hoped was Al regarded her with a look she hoped meant interest. "Are you a friend or colleague of Al's?"
Damn. Wrong Man. Still, he was cute. And there had been that look that flitted across his face as he'd said hi.
"I'm Paul," he added.
"Annabelle. A friend. . ." She didn't want this man to think she was one of those kinds of friends to Al, so she added, "A casual friend."
"I'm sorry for your loss, then."
Loss?
She turned and scanned the room. She spotted a small table with flower arrangements and a picture.
&nbs
p; A wake.
She had inadvertently crashed a wake.
Never one to let an opportunity pass her by, Annabelle turned back to Paul, her mind made up. "So, Paul, how long had you known Al?"
CHAPTER TEN
E.J., No word about any of my résumés. I hate waiting, hate having my future in limbo. And speaking of limbo, where are you? I called the hospital and they said you're fine, but in some small village for another few weeks. I'm glad you're okay, but an occasional phone call would be nice.
If you'd phone, I know you'd ask what's up. Well, I have a meeting with Mark on Monday. Although since we're meeting over dinner, and not in an office, maybe it's more than just business. Do I want it to be more than just business? He's definitely my type. Then I have a date with Conner the-hunky-photographer-who's-not-my-type on Tuesday.
In the meantime, I'm having breakfast with friends again today. They crashed the wedding I worked last night. I'm torn between wanting to hear how it went, and wanting to yell because they almost blew it for me with Conner. . .
I'm falling into a routine here. Things are starting to feel comfortable. Normal in a rather abnormal way.
That makes me nervous.
ON SUNDAY MORNING, DESPITE the fact that working for Conner last night had been exhausting, Morgan found her steps were light as she walked into the diner. She was anxious to hear all about Nikki and Tessa's crashing experience. Of course, after she'd heard the details, she planned to warn them off future crashing. . .at least of any reception Conner was working.
Sunny was the only one at the table.
"Hey, where is everyone?" Morgan asked as she took her chair.
"Nikki called and croaked that she was going to be late. And Tessa's always late, but never calls. So it's you and me for a bit."
That was fine with Morgan. She scooted her chair closer. "So, I got the fun version last week at breakfast, and we've really just surface talked at OCDR. This gives me a chance to ask, really, how are you?"
"Really?" Sunny repeated. "Really, I'm fine. Johnny is healthy and wonderful. He spends most Saturday nights with Mom so I can go out and date. . .at least that's always her hope. In actuality, I tend to catch up on the housework, enjoy the bit of quiet, then come here Sunday mornings for my friend fix. Work is fun—which, knowing your mother, you understand—and pays the bills. So, to repeat myself, really, I'm fine."
That all sounded well and good, but Morgan worried that good wasn't enough for Sunny. Her friend deserved more than cleaning her house on Saturday nights, then meeting friends for Sunday brunch. She deserved so much more. Unbridled happiness at the very least.
Sunny deserved someone who would love her as her ex never had.
Maybe she sensed Morgan's thoughts, for she quickly continued, "My life might seem small to you, Tessa and Nikki, but I'm content."
"Maybe," Morgan said softly, taking her friend's hand, "maybe we all want more than contentment for you."
Sunny shrugged. "And maybe once upon a time I had bigger dreams, but then there was Johnny and now all my dreams are for him. I'm—"
She didn't get to finish the sentence because at that moment Nikki practically tiptoed up, wearing dark sunglasses. Without saying a word she took her seat and put her head down on the table with an audible thump.
"Long night?" Morgan said with a laugh.
Nikki just growled in response.
"I don't think she wants to talk about it," Tessa said as she approached the table and took her own seat. "But I don't mind."
"Do tell." Sunny leaned forward with definite interest.
"Well, we crashed the party Morgan was working, and there was this lawyer—" Tessa's sentence stopped dead in its tracks.
Morgan realized she wasn't going to hear about the lawyer today because there was someone sitting in the seat across from her. The seat that had remained empty last week.
The seat Morgan had never wanted to see filled again.
"Excuse me," she said stiffly as she stood. "I'll get the details some other time. I have to go."
"Morgan, please wait," said Gina, as she jumped up from the table. The fiancé-stealing, ex-best-friend. The woman responsible for Morgan's very broken heart.
Although, come to think about it, her heart had long since healed. But still, it had been broken, and Gina was responsible for it needing to heal.
"I have to go," Morgan repeated. She forced herself to walk to the front of the restaurant, when what she really wanted to do was run.
"Morgan," Gina called from behind her.
"We've got nothing to say."
Gina grabbed her elbow and Morgan turned, ready to tell her to keep her fiancé-stealing hands off of her. But the words died in her mouth when she noticed the tears in Gina's eyes. "Please?"
Morgan wanted to say no.
To scream no.
But she couldn't force that small word out. It died in her throat, and no other took its place. With nothing left to do, she simply nodded.
Gina sank into a chair at the nearest table, and Morgan found herself following suit, almost against her will. Still, she couldn't bring herself to speak.
When the silence grew pregnant and Morgan was struggling to think of something, anything, to say to fill the void, Gina said, "I'm sorry."
Morgan had never planned on talking to Gina again, so she hadn't given much thought to how a conversation between them would go. But if she had, she'd have expected excuses, not an apology, and certainly not the tears that were forming in Gina's eyes.
"I loved him. I still love him." Gina's voice was all but a whisper. "But I hurt you and I'm sorry for that. So sorry. I've missed you so much. All the things I wanted you with me for, I realized I didn't have the right to ask. Wanting you there was selfish, but knowing that didn't stop me from wishing you were there. I understand your feelings and we all decided that until you leave, we'll split Sundays. I won't come back on one of your mornings, but I needed to say, to tell you, that the thing I regret most in life is that I hurt you. That Thomas and I hurt you."
Morgan didn't know what to say to that, and before she could put together any coherent thought, Gina stood. "That's all I wanted to say. Thanks for listening."
She left.
Morgan sat at the table for several long minutes.
"Morgan." It was Tessa's voice.
Morgan didn't want to see Tessa or Nikki at that moment any more than she had wanted to see Gina.
"I've got to go," she said, hurrying out of the restaurant, starting the long walk home. Her heavy thoughts weighed down each and every step.
For the last five years she'd remembered Thomas and Gina with bitterness. But today, seeing Gina, listening to her apology. . .
Morgan could still feel the pain, but it wasn't as raw as it had been. As a matter of fact, it was just a faint memory.
She was well and truly healed.
What she'd felt for Thomas had been real enough, but looking back, she realized it had faded over the last five years. So had the anger. Now there were just sweet memories.
If Thomas and Gina truly loved each other, if they were truly meant to be together, maybe it was better that Morgan had learned it then, rather than further down the road.
Maybe.
It was a thought to consider.
A thought that plagued her the rest of the day. She finally gave up pretending to work and decided to walk Gilligan.
During the school year, Oakland was crowded with college students from Carlow University, Pitt, Carnegie Mellon. The small section of Pittsburgh was filled with the prestigious universities and their students. But now, in early June on a bright Sunday evening, there were very few young people around. There was still hustle and bustle—four major hospitals, plenty of businesses, along with the Carnegie Museum, were all in the area. Despite the activity, the usual vitality seemed missing without all the college kids.
She tugged at the lead. "Come on, Gilligan, keep up." They started back home.
Home.
>
She realized that in just the short amount of time she'd been there, Uncle Auggie's house—a house that held so many happy memories for her—felt like home.
As if she'd come home.
Which was silly.
San Diego was her home now.
She had friends there, a life there.
Her time in Pittsburgh was just a short diversion. She wasn't home, just on a visit.
But that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy her time here, really make use of it.
Maybe she'd make peace with Gina and Thomas.
Today was a start, Morgan mused, but talking to Gina wasn't enough. Before she could really put the past to rest, she'd have to face Thomas. She knew it was about the last thing on earth she wanted to do, but she also knew it was one of the things she probably couldn't avoid.
All the self-help gurus talked about closure.
She was pretty sure that's what she'd achieved today with Gina. Now, all she had to do was confront Thomas and she could close the book on that chapter of her life.
Without realizing she'd made a decision, Morgan pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and flipped it open. "Hi, Sunny. I need Gina's address."
She thought about taking Gilligan home, but Gina and Thomas's house wasn't very far away. Not far at all. She decided to get this confrontation over with.
Even with Gilligan's less than speedy gait, she reached the small gray-sided house within a few minutes. Before she lost her nerve, she walked to the front door and knocked. Gilligan flopped to the ground in a state of exhaustion.
Gina opened the door, her surprise quite evident on her expression. "Morgan?"
Thomas followed her. "Morgan?" he echoed.
Morgan waited for the once familiar spurt of attraction, of love. But all she felt was. . .well, not much.
Oh, Thomas was okay looking, but he didn't even stir the ember of excitement that Mark had. There wasn't any hint of infatuation. Not a smidgen of lust. Just the same kind of glow she'd felt when she'd seen her old friends that first Sunday. A sense of familiarity, of happy recollections.
"Morgan?" Gina repeated.
"I just came to say I'm happy you two are happy. I grew up with you both. Gina, you were my best friend, and Thomas, you were a friend long before we. . . Before. . . Well, you were a friend, too. I'm just glad that you're happy, that things worked out."
