by Elise Faber
She giggled. “When you were going to make Max’s birthday cake.”
I nodded. “Yup. Just like that. Did it bother me at all?”
Her head bobbed like a marionette. “Oh yeah.”
“But did I get mad about it? Did I yell at you?”
“No.” She frowned. “You helped me clean it up, and . . .” I watched her mind work, smiling at the little v that formed between her eyebrows as she concentrated. “We went and bought more milk.”
“Exactly.” I stroked her hair back. “There was an issue, and we made the best of it. Max got his birthday cake a little late, and you helped me make the decorations a little extra special, right?”
“Right.” Allie nodded firmly. “So Aunt Kelly and Uncle Justin can’t go with me. But I can go by myself!”
She started to push off me.
I snagged her arm and sighed.
Sometimes when you thought you had it all figured out as a parent, your kid decided to throw you a curveball.
“And she couldn’t decide if she wanted to be a land narwhal or a sea unicorn . . .” I read to Allie a few hours later.
“Look!” She pointed at the picture. “Rainbows come out of her horn.”
“That’s cool,” I said and read on about the little unicorn that couldn’t decide where she belonged, but discovered in the end that sometimes the place you end up belonging might be the place you least expect.
Damn. Sometimes kids’ books were deep.
My lips twitched, and I glanced over at Rob who was sitting on the floor next to the bed and reading emails on his cell phone.
Not that cell phone, thankfully. Though my stomach still clenched at the thought of Celeste and the case and what Rob had actually done with her in the name of “case work.”
He must have felt my gaze on him, because he put the phone down and met my eyes. His were earnest, the typically unfathomable black depths, strangely clear, and I knew it was his attempt at a truce, at putting the past behind us.
See, they seemed to be saying. I’m not a mystery. I have nothing to hide.
I wanted to believe that. For sure, I did. It would be simpler for me to shove it all away and just move forward, but I couldn’t help but feel as though something between us was irrevocably changed.
And based on the way his eyes flitted from mine, focusing on the plush area rug near Allie’s bed, he seemed to think the same.
Sighing, I closed the book and fussed with Allie’s blankets, tucking her and the ragged Mr. Tails under her arm and pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“Night, sweetie,” I said and carefully found my feet.
Rob stood, no doubt to continue carrying me around the house like I was his personal parcel, but I waved him away. Justin had brought me the crutches we’d forgotten at the hospital, and I could maneuver fairly easily between them and walking on my heels.
Much easier than the previous night, that was for sure.
I bent, snagged them up, and slid them under my arms. “I’m going to say goodnight to Max.”
Carefully, I maneuvered through the shared bathroom and into Max’s bedroom. He was lying on his floor, reading a graphic novel about underwear and a superhero. I rolled my eyes, wondered how many times he’d reread that one, and said, “Time for bed, little dude.”
“Aw, Mom!” he groaned.
“Nope,” I said, crutching closer. “No whining. It’s late and it’s lights out.”
He wrinkled his nose, but set the book aside and crawled into bed.
I put the crutches on the floor and perched next to him. This was usually our time for a chat about the day or whatever random topic he decided he wanted to quiz me on. I’d already discussed the three branches of government, global warming, and the qualities of diamonds versus gold—and that was just this week.
Thank God for our local library, or I would have never survived the inquiries. Me not knowing the answer to his plethora of questions made for a great excuse to visit.
But today he didn’t ask me about executive privilege or when the national parks were first established. Today, he asked me something much harder.
“Are you and Dad going to be okay?”
My throat tightened. Especially when he stared up at me, his eyes so similar to Rob’s.
He was a mini-me of my husband, a portal to the past, to how Rob and I had been twenty years earlier.
And it was that history that made the question both the easiest and the hardest of my life to answer.
I tucked the blankets up to his chin, reached to pull the bottom up, exposing his feet to the fresh air.
Another thing that was just like his dad.
I smiled down at Max, knew in my heart my words were the truth. “Yes, buddy. We’ll be okay.”
36
I’d just wobbled my way into the kitchen when Kelly walked in through the back door. She was trailed by two men from the security company Justin had hired.
“Hey,” she said as I plunked myself into one of her wooden chairs and set my crutches within arm’s reach. “You’re awake.”
“I am.”
She grabbed a bowl of watermelon from the fridge and came over to sit at the table with me. Her eyes flicked to Rob, who was standing guard behind my right shoulder and didn’t seem to plan on sitting any time soon.
“How are your feet?”
A shrug. “Better than expected. Can you tell Justin thanks for the crutches?”
She nodded, squeezed my hand, and dug into the melon.
I smiled. “Can I risk snagging a piece? Or will you gnaw off my fingers?”
“Funny,” she said, a dribble of juice running down her chin. “These babies, they just make me so hungry all the time.” She paused, her hand coming to her stomach. “Either that or nauseous. Ugh.” She pushed the bowl away, wiped her mouth, and leaned her head back to glance at the ceiling.
“Rob,” I said and all but shoved the bowl at him. “Take that away and grab the saltines from the pantry. They’re on the top shelf.”
“I haven’t had time to go to the store,” she said.
I carefully patted Kel’s knee. “I hid an extra box in there last time I was over.” I smiled when her relieved eyes met mine. “For emergencies just like this.”
Rob was back before I finished speaking, a sleeve of the cardboard-like crackers in hand.
I swear, there was nothing better for any stomach ailment than saltines.
I opened the package, thrust a few crackers at Kel, and turned to ask Rob for a glass of water, but he was already there, cup in hand.
Without a word, he set it within Kel’s reach.
My eyes shot to his, and I felt the band around my heart, my lungs—the one that had been making it impossible for me to breathe, to feel anything deeply . . . I finally felt that band snap.
I had to look down, to take a couple of deep inhalations as I studied the grain pattern on the table and willed the tears away.
Was it relief I felt? Or fear?
Fear that I’d opened myself up to Rob again, that I couldn’t continue to hold myself separate and safe.
That I’d go back to being the Melissa of the last few months.
Shut down. Distant. Weak.
Rob cupped my jaw in his palm. He shook his head, just once, as though he knew what I was thinking . . . as though to say, “Never again.”
And then he kissed me.
It could have been our first kiss all over again. His lips were so gentle, so softly coaxing against mine. As if he were scared I’d pull away. As if he had to convince me to stay and give him a chance.
But here was the thing.
This was Rob. This was me. This was us.
I tilted my head to deepen the contact, to shatter all those walls I’d erected against him. I pressed closer, wrapped my arms around his neck.
There could never be anyone else.
Only Rob.
We broke apart, maybe a minute, maybe an hour later. I’d lost all track of time in hi
s arms.
He panted slightly as he rested his forehead against mine.
“Miss, I’m sorry.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry too.”
We stayed like that for a minute, huddled together in our perfect slice of the world.
But all things had to come to an end.
And this one, the first good one between Rob and I in what seemed like an eternity, was shattered by a text message.
How fitting.
37
Rob put down the phone and turned back to his wife, but he couldn’t bear it. His eyes flicked away, around the kitchen that had mysteriously emptied when he’d started sucking his wife’s face.
Fuck. He stood, thrust a hand through his hair, knew he was making it stand on end but not able to give a damn.
Not about his wife. He fucking loved having her in his arms. There was nothing better.
But he didn’t usually do it in public.
He glanced back at her, ignoring the slice of hurt in her eyes, ignoring the cell phone on the table.
It wasn’t the secret one. No, he’d given that one to the FBI when they’d showed up earlier that morning and told him they’d taken over the case. That they were the right big shots for the job, and all would be wrapped up in a nice little package soon. He just needed to sit at home and twiddle his thumbs like a good boy.
Never mind that his wife had been hurt. That she’d been targeted twice. Never mind that his blood was boiling and he wanted to cut the fuckers into little pieces for daring to harm a hair on her head.
He bit his tongue and forced his inner Neanderthal to stop raging and his brain to start working.
Rob had been a cop a long time. He understood the chain of command.
He knew this case was out of his league. The department didn’t have the right resources, and clearly his cover had been blown.
But . . . Celeste was still in.
And she’d just texted begging for his help.
“Rob,” Miss said, and he turned back to his wife. The beautiful woman he’d just finally started rebuilding bridges with, their peace tenuous at best.
“You have to go,” she said.
His knees wobbled. Actually felt like Jell-O until he got his shit together and manned up.
“Miss, it’s not—”
She pushed to her feet and took a step toward him, stopping with a wince and an annoyed breath. “Come here.”
He closed the distance between them, pulling her off her feet, and sat in the chair, trapping her in his lap so she couldn’t get away.
Not that she’d get far with her feet—
And damn, didn’t that guilt feel great?
What had he gotten his family into?
“Hey,” she said softly, touching his jaw and forcing his stare to hers. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be good at guilt trips, not you.”
He snorted. “Hilarious, Miss.”
“I understand now, honey.” She dropped her head to his shoulder and sighed. “I still think the way you went about everything was wrong. That we should have talked it out, but I made lots of mistakes too.” Lifting her chin, she met his eyes again. The hurt wasn’t completely gone, but it was tempered with regret and . . . with hope.
God, he sounded pathetic.
“But this”—she touched the cell on the table—“this is what you are. If someone needs help, you go. You have to. I know it, and I think you know it too.”
“I—” Except the words wouldn’t come. How could he leave his wife again after everything had happened?
How could he leave her for Celeste?
“It was never about—”
“Her.” She shrugged. “I know that. Now.” Melissa gave him the softest, sweetest smile. “It was about us.”
He nodded, started to shift her back to her own chair.
“But,” she said, and her voice took on an underlayment of steel he rarely heard. “You’re not running off half-cocked. I know you can’t bring the department back into this, not after handing off the case. So you need to talk to Justin’s security team. You need to have a plan.” She glared at him. “You have to do this as safely as possible.”
“I will,” he promised and felt his lips twitch up. “Half-cocked?”
Melissa sighed. “Oh my God. You’re impossible.”
“You love me.”
She touched his chest, where his heart beat a rhythm that only she could create. “I do. Heaven help me, I do.”
38
I watched my husband’s back as he left the house after several hours of planning with Justin’s security team, and although the view was familiar as of late, it wasn’t accompanied by all the angst and hurt of the past months.
This time I was nervous for him and praying that he would be safe.
But I wasn’t hurting.
For once I wasn’t hurting.
My heart that was. I grimaced, tucked my crutches under my arms, and hobbled back to my bedroom. My feet were screaming for another pain pill, and my brain wanted sleep.
I knew I probably wouldn’t get it, not with Rob out there, facing who knew what, backed by Justin’s former military comrade’s security team. I knew the men were capable, that they trained for just these matters. And I understood that Justin would never put his family’s safety—or mine for that matter—at risk. But that didn’t mean I would be able to relax until I saw with my own eyes Rob was all right.
So I put some boring documentary on Netflix and tried to ignore how slowly time was passing.
The kids would be up before I knew it and then I’d be suitably distracted, I thought as I broke a pain pill in half and took a sip of water to swallow it.
For now, binge-watching.
I must have dozed off during the documentary on Nixon’s impeachment in the seventies—riveting content I know—but then I was suddenly wide-awake.
I sat up in bed, pressing the button on my phone to see what time it was.
Blinking against the bright screen, I saw it was just after five in the morning. Barely two hours after Rob had left, and yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there had to be a reason I was awake.
I grabbed my crutches and aided by the pain pill—which was only making me feel slightly high and squidgy . . . which I didn’t even know for sure was a word and was probably a sign that I was high as a kite—I made my way to the bedroom door.
It wasn’t the most graceful journey, but I got the job done.
Then I carefully made my way down the stairs. But since I was drugged and could practically hear Rob’s growling voice in my ear, I did it by sitting down and scooting on my tush the entire way.
No headers down the stairs for me, thank you very much!
I made my way to the fridge and started pulling out ingredients for a breakfast casserole. I was awake and might as well make the most of it. But just as I’d set the milk on the counter and was reaching for the carton of eggs, my new phone rang.
Loudly.
“Dang,” I muttered, realizing that I hadn’t programmed the settings on the new cell Danny had given me. I lurched for it, swiping my finger across the screen. “Hello?” I huffed, leaving my crutches for a moment and using the wall to make my way out the kitchen door and on to the back porch.
“Melissa!”
“Tammy!” I said. “Hi!” My voice was too bright, and I knew it.
So, apparently, did Tammy. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Why are you out of breath? Oh, God. Did I interrupt something with that hubby of yours—”
“No!” I said quickly. “I hurt my feet is all.”
“Your feet?” she said, incredulous. “As in both of them?”
“Yes.” I waved a hand. “It’s a long story. I’m fine. Anyway, I was trying to go outside so I could talk without waking the house.”
I heard rustling, imagined her looking down at her phone to check the time. Then more rushing, and she was back. “Oh shoot, honey. I didn’t realize it was so early out there. So
metimes I lose track of the time zone thing. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
I smiled. “It’s okay. I was already awake.”
“Cooking?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“What recipe?”
I shrugged, silly that it was since she couldn’t see it, then said, “I wasn’t really going to follow a recipe. I was just going to make a breakfast casserole with bacon and potatoes and eggs.”
She swallowed, and I could practically hear the drool through the airwaves. My talk of bacon and potatoes was making me hungry too. Especially when she asked, “Cheese?”
I chuckled. “Of course.”
“Yum.” Then her voice went stern. “I’ll need pictures after you’re done of course and”—she laughed—“maybe to come visit.”
“You sound like Kelly now,” I said.
“Aw. How is your sister?” Tammy asked.
“Pregnant,” I said. “With twins.”
“What?” Tammy shrieked a little. “Omg! Those babies are going to be adorable.”
I sighed. “I know, right?”
“So right.” She laughed again. “I feel like I’m jumping all over the place here, but we always seem to get off topic when we talk, like we’re old friends just phoning for a chat.”
“I feel the same,” I told her.
“I’m glad. And doubly so because the network feels the same! They want to offer you a contract.”
“What?” My voice was shrill. Happy. Shocked. But still shrill. “Are you serious?”
“Do croissants have butter?”
“Oh my God!” I slumped back against the wall. “I can’t believe this. I—just—oh— This is amazing! Thank you, Tammy. Thank you so much.”
“You did it on your own, honey. I’m just happy to be part of the process,” she said. “I’ll send the contract over. Take a look then have a lawyer review it. I’d still like to use the ranch to film if possible, but we can talk more logistics later. I’m sure you want to share the news with your family.”
We said goodbye, and I leaned against the house for a moment, feeling almost numb.
Had that really happened?
