by Maggie Way
For once, doing the right thing was also the easy thing.
A broad smile split Noah’s face. “All right then. When’s the party?”
“Noah!”
He lifted his shoulders. “Who am I to interfere with true love?”
“I’m not saying we should interfere, but marriage? Marriage is so…” Mina’s hand flitted through the air, as if she might pluck the word from the sky. “Permanent.”
Noah’s mouth twisted with a wry smile. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Stammering, Mina blushed an attractive shade of pink. “Of course not, it’s just…”
Noah planted a kiss on her mouth. “We can’t do a thing about it, baby. He’s determined.”
Luke smiled around a mouthful of cereal. “Thank you, brother.”
Mina scowled. “I’m not done arguing about this.”
“How can I deny him wedded bliss?” Noah dropped a kiss on Mina’s forehead. “It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
She visibly melted. “That’s not fair.”
Noah grinned and shot Luke a glittering glance. “Are you taking notes?”
“I taught you everything you know,” Luke said.
Mina’s serious round eyes swung to Luke. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think we ought to wait until Emily is, uh, informed of her impending engagement before we book the church. If she doesn’t agree—”
A cold dread started in Luke’s chest and snaked through his veins like a dark taint. “She’ll agree.”
“You may be right,” Mina said. “But if she says no—”
His heart slammed against his breastbone and he stood abruptly. At the sink, he rinsed his bowl. “She won’t say no.”
He planned to make her an offer she couldn’t refuse.
While Luke slept, Emily lay wide awake in the darkened room as the 3:00 a.m. hour ticked away.
A baby.
A week since she’d taken that pregnancy test, she still couldn’t wrap her brain around this new reality. Yesterday, she’d reached for her phone to call her mom, only to remember her mom was dead. She was going to have to do this alone.
Fear clamped around her heart. She’d never done anything so big, so critically important, as bear full responsibility for a tiny, helpless person. With certainty, she knew she would mess it up, as she knew absolutely nothing about how to be a mom.
Light from the lamp threw a soft glow into the room and allowed her to make out Luke’s features. His mouth was slack and his hair rumpled, his bare chest rising and falling with his deep, even breaths.
A baby. Luke’s baby.
Would they have a boy or a girl? Would he or she be shy and awkward like her mother, or charming and affable like her dad? Would she stutter?
Beneath the bruise on her heart, a tiny seed of wonder sprouted.
Her baby. Someone she’d love forever and always, with the whole of her heart. A family.
She’d never been one of those girls to pine for a baby. The mere thought struck terror in her. But after living so long with impending death, the hope of new life was irresistible.
Luke lifted his head and his hand smoothed over her stomach. “What’s wrong? You all right?”
She squeezed his forearm. “I’m all right. Just restless.”
His head dropped back down on the pillow. “Want me to distract you?” His voice was groggy with sleep and suggestiveness.
“Your distractions get us into trouble.”
“Can’t really get into any more trouble, can we?”
The laughter that came so easily around him trickled from her.
They let the quiet fall between them, until he pressed two fingers to the spot between her eyebrows.
“What’s this?” he asked.
She wanted to fall into his arms and let his warmth melt away all her worries. It was a ludicrous thought, so she rubbed her forehead, as though she might erase the lines of worry there.
“How did y-you know?”
Green eyes landed on her face, searching out the meaning of her question.
He lifted one shoulder. “You’d been sick for a while, and I remember when Isobel was pregnant, she had strange aversions. Strong smells would set her off, and there was this one song that made her ill every time she heard it.”
Biting her lip, she ducked her chin. “I made a doctors’ appointment.”
He propped up on his elbow and peered down at her. “That’s good.”
She folded and unfolded one corner of the sheet. “It’s not until next month, if you want to come… But y-you don’t have to come if you don’t w-want to,” she rushed to add. “I don’t think anything too exciting will happen for a while yet.”
“I’ll be there,” he said softly.
In the troubled silence, he reached out to toy with a strand of hair at her temple. “I think we should get married.”
She sucked in a sharp hiss of air and whipped her head in his direction. The soft light threw shadows across his face, obstructing her study of his features.
She elbowed him in the ribs. “W-would y-y-you be serious? I’m trying to talk to you.”
“I am serious.” He rolled away, drew open the nightstand drawer, and then slid it shut again.
Twisting back around, he set a small black box on her stomach.
Over the thundering of her heart, she heard herself ask, “Wh-what is that?”
“It’s a ring.”
After a beat of stunned disbelief, she sprang from the bed, sending the little box tumbling through the sheets. “But-but-but w-why?”
Slowly, he eased himself to a sitting position, flipped on the bedside lamp, and reclined against the headboard. “Because I just asked you to marry me and it’s customary to offer a ring as a testament of my devotion.”
Her heart, lacking logic as it did, started to soar. She ruthlessly squashed it back down. “Okay, you got me. That was a good one.”
“I’m not joking.”
“You know what? Let’s do it. Let’s get married.”
He eyed her skeptically.
“What do you say to St. Patty’s Day? It’s a little sudden, I know, but just think about it—I’ll wear a gold dress and you can wear a green tuxedo, but instead of walking down the aisle on a red carpet, I’ll slide down a rainbow-colored one.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “Are you finished?”
“You don’t like that idea, I can tell. How about Valentine’s Day? It’s a little predictable, sure, and I should warn you, I do not look good in red. It totally clashes with my hair.”
“Valentine’s Day is more than two months away. I don’t see any reason to wait that long, do you?”
“You don’t see any reason…?” She trailed off as her racing thoughts slowed and thickened to tree sap.
“We could get married next weekend.”
“Next weekend?”
“But if you’re willing to hold off, we could do it the week before Christmas. Jack will be home, and Leo’s supposed to make an appearance. I’d like it if they could be there.”
The breath she’d been holding erupted from her like the air from a burst balloon. “We’re talking about getting married. Not taking a weekend road trip or trying a new hairstyle. We barely know each other.”
“I know enough.”
She was shaking her head. “It would never work. We’re too different.”
“We’re not that different.” Somehow, he managed to say that with a straight face.
“You’re gorgeous and charming and-and-and everyone likes you and I’m…”
His features darkened. “You’re what?”
She lifted her shoulders. “I’m not any of those things. I’m the opposite of those things.”
“You know what they say, opposites attract, and all that.”
“Or someone ends up murdered in their sleep,” she muttered.
“I promise not to murder you.” He crossed to her and slipped his hand beneath the curtain of her h
air. “Marry me.”
Her heart thrashed inside her chest cavity. “Why?”
Uncertainty crept into his expression.
Her heart lurched. “Because I’m pregnant.”
“No.” His denial came quick and he pushed up off the bed. “That’s part of it, of course, but not all of it. I like you. I like us. I want to marry you, Emily.”
She liked them, too, but— Wait, he liked her?
“We’ll make each other happy, Em. I know we will.”
“People will think—”
Storm clouds gathered on his face. “Do you honestly believe I give a fuck what anyone thinks?” Just as quickly as the clouds had gathered, they scattered. “You’re smart and sweet, and I can’t wait to watch you become a mom.” He scraped the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. “And I’m more than convinced you and this mouth will keep me quite contented until the end of my days.”
The lure of him was so incredibly seductive. She couldn’t stop her heart from imagining what it’d be like to marry him. If she’d allowed herself, she’d have dreamed this dream a thousand times already.
Instead, she experienced the thrill of all her secret longings at once. She swayed slightly.
She wouldn’t have to be alone anymore. No more fear. No more soul-crushing loneliness.
He doesn’t love you.
He dropped a light kiss on the tip of her nose. “Marry me.”
In all her life, she’d never wanted to say yes to anyone for anything more than she did in that moment. Maybe one day, he’d grow to love her.
Except, other than her mom, no one who knew her had ever grown to love her. Not even her own father.
She opened her mouth to deny him, but he spoke first.
“I can make you happy, Em.” A thread of vulnerability disturbed the tranquil pools of green in his eyes. “Please, give me a chance.”
Emotion tightened her throat. He cradled her head in both his hands.
“Say it,” he whispered.
The hole near her heart filled to overflowing.
“Marry me, Emily, and let me give you a last name you can be proud of. One that nobody can ever deny you.”
Chapter Twenty
She said yes.
It’d taken his full power of persuasion, and a touch of manipulation, but he’d won.
The smug smile still lingered on his lips when he entered the station the next morning.
He made her say it again, and again, and spent several long, languid moments tasting the flavor of the yeses on her tongue. Then he’d gone to the bed for the little black box and tossed it to her.
Caught by surprise, she batted the box around a few times before reeling it in. Her head bent, she cracked it open. She didn’t speak, or smile, or sigh dreamily, or even reach out to finger the delicate ring.
He’d grown self-conscious. Maybe he should’ve spent more than ten minutes picking out the round-cut solitaire with the simple white-gold banding, but as soon as he saw it, he knew it was her ring. Flawless and unpretentious. Incomparably beautiful, like her.
He’d scratched a phantom itch on his shoulder. “In a couple of years, I’ll be able to upgrade to something a little bigger.”
She’d pressed the box to the center of her chest, over her heart, and her eyes shone when she looked up at him. “I love it. I’ll never wear another.”
The gut punch knocked the breath from his body.
He reached for her, and soon lost himself in her soft, warm body. His release building, emotions he couldn’t name rioted though him, and he knew, no matter what happened, he’d never come to regret his decision to marry her.
Now all he had to do was settle in for a life of easy, wedded bliss. No drama. No deception. And as long as he didn’t fall in love with her, no despair.
At his desk, he pulled up the day’s log. Already, he was counting the minutes before he could get his soon-to-be wife naked again, and touch and tease her until they both collapsed in contented exhaustion.
The figure of a man appeared before him and Luke looked up into Captain Davison’s grizzled face. Behind him, Chief Brown came into view.
“Good morning, Detective,” she said. “We’re ready for you.”
Shit.
In the chaos of the last few days, he’d forgotten about the job interview. Dread crystallized into a heavy ball in the pit of his stomach as he followed his bosses into the conference room.
The interview started well, with Captain Davison posing a couple of questions about Luke’s educational background and experience, which he answered with ease.
Then Chief took a turn asking questions. “It’s no secret there is an enormous amount of stress in our jobs. How do you handle stress and avoid burnout?”
Luke’s mind blanked. He blinked at her while his mouth filled with sand.
But the Chief and Captain were staring at him, waiting, so he started to talk. “You’re absolutely right, Chief. In my career, I’ve experienced stressful periods and have had to find various ways to decompress.”
Wrong.
Unless heavy drinking and insomnia counted.
“I spend time with my friends and family, particularly my niece and nephews.”
Wrong.
Since the shooting, he’d avoided close contact with any of them, particularly his niece and nephews, for fear he’d be unable to keep it together in their presence.
“I enjoy several hobbies, including music and playing in a hockey league.”
Wrong.
He’d didn’t rejoin the league this year and he never played music, except when others forced him to do so.
“Finally, I guess I’d say I find comfort in talking to my colleagues and those close to me about my job and its challenges. Their understanding and support is an invaluable gift.”
Wrong and wrong.
He had a sharp distaste for Sloane and, by design, no relationship with the rookie, Newberry. Neither of them would ever replace Anthony.
He flashed his charmer’s smile. “Oops, I lied. I have one more.”
Chief and Davison smiled, perfectly at ease.
“This department has been on the forefront of providing assistance and access to mental health professionals, which has been both a surprise and a blessing.”
Not entirely wrong. At least the seminars he’d been pushed to attend helped him come up with all the bullshit he was now spewing.
The remainder of the interview progressed without incident. Until the last question.
“Where do you see yourself in five years?”
Not working here.
The thought arose reflexively. Naturally. He muttered some bullshit answer about continuing to grow his responsibilities and serve his community, and soon the interview ended.
On the drive to Emily’s at the end of the day, a clear winter sunset painted the horizon in lavender and pink while a gusting wind blew a blinding white canvas of fresh snow across the frozen landscape.
Dusk in winter. It brought to mind memories of That Day. Like parasites, crawling and wiggling under his skin, they harassed. He turned up her driveway and pulled to stop in front of the house.
Lost in his inner battle, he failed to notice the threat until it was upon him.
Red blood splattered over pure white snow. Dark, nasty, brutal.
A massacre.
He stumbled back. The screaming inside his skull drowned out his ability to think, to assess, or to search out options. His vision narrowed.
Emily’s snowman lay in scattered pieces. His head severed from his body. His torso hacked into tiny bits.
Blackness closed in on him. He was underwater, the surface fading away. He gasped for air, an instinct his body couldn’t let die even as hope faded. It was too heavy, this burden.
Wet snow seeped through his blue jeans.
Get up, you piece of shit. Get up right now!
At the water’s surface, huge brown eyes stared down at him. She lifted her hand under her nose. “It’s
ketchup. They’re filming a scene.”
“I killed him.”
Her dainty features pulled into a frown. “Who?”
“The fifteen-year-old.” Horror rushed through his veins along with the self-hatred. “I fucking killed him.”
“Oh. Luke….”
Dread and hopelessness crashed over him, dragging him down, down. All was lost. A weight pressed down on his chest, pinning him to the ground beneath a large object and he clenched her small hand. His grip clamped so tight around her fine bones, it had to hurt her.
But he didn’t let go, and she didn’t complain.
“I think about it every day. Every goddamn day I relive that moment I pulled the trigger.”
The pad of her thumb stroked back and forth over his palm.
“If just one thing had happened differently, maybe I wouldn’t have killed him.” Wetness smeared his cheeks. “If just one fucking thing had gone differently—if the kid’s friend hadn’t said something shitty on Facebook. If his mom didn’t get on him about his attitude that morning. If they hadn’t left the gun safe unlocked. If it’d been sunny instead of cloudy for the fourth day in a row. If he hadn’t been called on in class.” His voice broke. “If the kid had forgotten his Kevlar and gave up his insane plan, or his gun had jammed, or he’d turned just a little to the right rather than the left, my bullet would’ve caught his arm instead of his chest cavity. Anything could’ve made the difference. He didn’t have to die. None of them had to die.”
But they did die.
Tears fell from her cheeks and plopped onto his hand. “You had to s-stop him from killing those other children. It was the only choice.”
“Maybe, but that doesn’t help me sleep at night.”
Nothing did.
“How many other children are alive because of what you did? How many other parents didn’t have to mourn their babies?”
“You want to know the worst part?” He could see she didn’t, but he couldn’t hold the words back any longer. “Fuck him.”
“Wh-what? Wh-who?”
“The fifteen-year-old. Fuck him. He killed eight people that day. And I killed him, a fucking child. He killed my friend and I fucking hate him.” His voice trembled with his soul’s seething. “Do you hear me? I hate him.”
