by Susan Crosby
Her smile seemed normal and easy, which validated his choice of activity for their date. He hadn’t been sure he would ever see that again.
Plus there was the bonus of watching her rear end constantly and no one could accuse him of crossing an invisible line of public good taste.
It was a good start.
* * *
Felicity loved bowling alley sounds, the crash of the pins, the whoops and hollers and groans. And the food. Best ever. She’d been in a league from the time she was eight until she was eighteen, and had eaten more bowling alley food than home-cooked a lot of that time. For her it was like going home.
“I’ll bet you’ve never had a chili dog before,” Felicity said to Michael as Sarah-Jane stood poised to take her turn. Wyatt took it upon himself to curve his body behind hers, showing her how to swing. Never mind that they were in the last frame of their second game and Sarah-Jane had scored more points than Wyatt....
“I’m not a complete snob,” Michael countered. He was leaning back, his arms stretched out along the top of the seat. his fingertips almost touching her shoulder. “I go to Super Bowl parties. And baseball games.”
Felicity had fallen in love with him all over again. He’d shown her a side she hadn’t seen, interacting with others, even players on other lanes. He did know how to have fun without spending a lot of money, without a whole lot of planning.
She wanted to sit on his lap and loop her arm around his neck, as Sarah-Jane had done a few times with Wyatt. Every time it’d been her turn, Felicity could feel Michael’s gaze follow her every move, a kind of foreplay she hadn’t experienced before. To be that wanted was new.
“Hey, Champ, you’re up,” Michael said.
She didn’t know how it happened. She took her usual four steps, then her feet went out from under her—
* * *
“Felicity!” Michael was bending over her, his face upside down to her, but a frantic expression there. Sarah-Jane leaned over his shoulder, wringing her hands.
She tried to stand, but no one would let her. “What happened?”
“You slipped in some water, maybe a melting ice cube. Your feet went out from under you and you fell,” Michael said, taking hold of her hand. “You were unconscious. Scared us all. Sarah-Jane, you have her purse?”
“Got it.”
“Why?” Felicity asked.
“We’re going to the E.R.”
“I’m fine.”
“You were unconscious.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. It seemed like an hour.”
“Seventy-two seconds,” Wyatt said.
They all looked at him. “Advanced first aid in high school,” he told them with a shrug. “Where I also learned that head injuries are nothing to mess with.”
“There, you see?” Michael said to her. “I’ll help you up.”
She sat with help, felt a little light-headed. “Can’t I just go home and see my own doctor?”
“It’s Sunday, sweetie,” Sarah-Jane said. “Besides, she’d just send you to the hospital anyway.”
“I can’t go there.” She pushed away everyone’s hands, then grabbed her head. Suddenly she was being eased to the ground again. A few strangers were hanging around at the fringes of their lane, employees, she guessed. She hated being on display like that.
“I can’t afford a hospital stay,” she whispered to Michael. “I don’t have health insurance.”
She and Sarah-Jane both had decided to risk going without for a while. The premiums had risen so much, it was a choice of paying for insurance or eating. They chose to eat.
“I’ll cover it,” Michael said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“You’re not paying for my bill,” she said, not really feeling up to doing battle with him, but making a token effort for the moment.
“Yes, I am.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, Michael, you’re not.”
“Okay. Technically I’m not. You’re on my health insurance plan.”
“Why would you do that?” Sarah-Jane asked. “How is it even possible? She would have to be your—” She stopped, put a hand over her mouth, then stared at Felicity, her eyes wide.
After a few seconds, Michael finished her sentence. “Wife.”
Felicity groaned. Michael figured the sound of frustration had more to do with what he’d just admitted than how she felt.
He and Wyatt helped her to her feet, then Michael carried her. As soon as they were all settled in the car and Wyatt was driving to the hospital, Felicity said to the car in general, “Please don’t tell anyone.”
“I don’t understand. When did you get married?” Sarah-Jane asked, turning around.
“Valentine’s Day. Night.”
“You didn’t tell me.” Hurt shaded her eyes. “I’m your best friend.”
Michael took Felicity’s hand. “It was a spontaneous thing.”
“Obviously. Because you were a virgin?” Sarah-Jane asked. “You wouldn’t sleep with him unless he married you?”
“It was kinda the other way around,” Felicity said, putting Michael on the spot. “He wouldn’t, unless—”
“That’s enough,” Michael said. No one needed to know their business, even if it was to protect his reputation. He could take it.
“No, it’s not enough, Michael Fortune,” Sarah-Jane said. “You swoop into town, sweep her off her feet, marry her and now you have her lying, too. Felicity Thomas, who never told a lie.”
“That’s not true,” Felicity said. “I’ve lied.”
“About what? That you only floss six nights a week when you tell your dentist it’s every night? Everyone lies to dentists.”
“I floss every night,” Felicity said weakly.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. I was just making something up. My point being, if you lie, it’s not about anything important or so that someone else doesn’t get hurt. Getting married is rather important, don’t you think? Important enough to tell your friends and family. Unless you’re ashamed of what you did.”
“Calm down,” Wyatt said. “Let them explain.”
Michael had had enough. “We don’t have to explain. And Sarah-Jane, now is not the time. Felicity’s hurting enough as it is.”
Sarah-Jane turned around in a huff. “I knew you were trouble the first moment I saw you.”
“It takes two,” Felicity said quietly, her eyes shut. “He doesn’t get all the blame. I’m sorry you’re feeling hurt and left out, Sarah-Jane.”
They pulled up to the E.R. entrance. Michael wouldn’t leave Felicity’s side, so Sarah-Jane went in and got someone with a wheelchair. They sat in the waiting room, none of them speaking.
When the doctor examined Felicity, she yelped when he touched the back of her head. “You’ve got a doozy of a knot,” he said. “I’m not seeing any confusion, no nausea. We can do a CT scan just to make sure there’s no bleeding in the brain, but I’m betting it’s only under the scalp.”
“I’m good with that,” Felicity said.
“She’ll have the CT scan,” Michael said. No one said no when he used that tone of voice, and this time didn’t prove any different. The doctor didn’t even glance at Felicity.
When the scan proved negative, they headed for home with the instructions to be cautious, take ibuprofen only for the pain and to be awakened a couple of times during the night.
The drive back to Red Rock was made in silence. It wasn’t until they were inside the apartment that Michael announced, “I’ll be staying here tonight.”
No one challenged him.
“I just want to know one thing,” Sarah-Jane said to Felicity, ignoring Michael. “Why didn’t you tell me? All of us?”
“Because we decided to end it the next morning.”
“More precisely, she decided,” Michael said.
“Not good enough in bed for you?” Wyatt asked Felicity, making her laugh, then a moment later, grab the back of her head an
d groan.
Michael knew his cousin had just been relieving the tension in the room. It was a good time to part company. He tossed his rental car keys to Wyatt. “I haven’t checked into the hotel, so my bag’s in the car. If you wouldn’t mind getting it, then putting it outside Felicity’s door?”
“Sure.”
Michael picked her up and headed for the staircase.
“I can walk, Michael.”
“Probably so, but you’re not going to. Good night, Sarah-Jane.”
“I can relieve you. We can take shifts,” she said.
“Not necessary, thanks.” She’s mine to watch over. Mine to protect. Mine.
“Which room?” he asked, then went where Felicity pointed.
He was wrong. It wasn’t like walking into pink cotton candy, as he’d predicted. It was...nice. Girly, but nice. No frills, and no pink at all. The color reminded him of her shop, even her truck. Aqua, she’d called it, but balanced with ivories and beiges. A soothing space, he thought. Three large trophies shaped like bowling pins sat on a shelf, with other mementos scattered about—photos of her family, posters of Italy and Spain. A framed picture of him making cotton candy rested on her vanity, a single dried red rose lay in front of it.
She hadn’t let go of him completely....
“Welcome to my world,” she said.
“You have a picture of me.” He let her down next to the double bed so that he could fold back the aqua-and-yellow bedspread.
“A memento of a good day. Your sister Wendy took it and emailed it to me.”
“Why aren’t you fighting me about staying with you tonight?” he asked.
“Would it do me any good?”
“No.”
“Well, then. Talking makes my head hurt. Arguing would be excruciating. I just want to sleep.”
“You know I have to wake you every couple hours.”
“I heard what the doctor said.” She perched on the bed. “My nightgowns are hanging in the far right of my closet. Would you mind getting one?”
He saw the white negligee she’d worn on their wedding night first, touching it as he reached for the blue cotton one behind it, memories slamming into him of that night. That glorious night.
Followed by that horrible morning.
He crouched beside her to pull off her boots, then took off her socks, which had red balloons printed all over them.
“I can do the rest, thank you,” she said, grabbing the gown and heading to her en suite bathroom.
After she shut the door, he collapsed on the bed, shaking, his head in his hands. The hideous sound of her head hitting the wood floor stuck with him. What if she’d died? He’d heard of that happening from a hard fall. When she didn’t come to right away, he almost went crazy as he knelt on the floor beside her, holding her hand, willing her to open her eyes.
Trying to settle himself, Michael ran his hands through his hair and blew out a breath. He could hear the buzz of her electric toothbrush. When it finally stopped, he picked himself up off the bed, and tried to look calm, as though the accident hadn’t shaken him. He told himself he would be okay for the rest of the night. He had to be strong for her.
A few seconds later, the door handle turned. He didn’t want her to see him in the aftermath of his meltdown, so he went to the bedroom door and grabbed his suitcase from the hall. She climbed into bed and closed her eyes.
He took his turn in the bathroom, then pulled off his boots before he dragged a little upholstered chair close to the bed. He set alerts on his cell phone to wake him in case he fell asleep, but he didn’t see that happening. He reached over to turn out her lamp.
She opened her eyes and looked right at him.
“Do you need something for the pain?” he asked.
“I’m okay for now. Are you planning to sit in that chair all night?”
“It’s the only one around.” It was ridiculously uncomfortable, too. He couldn’t even lean back.
She levered herself up on her elbow. “Don’t be stupid. There’s half a bed here not being used.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Oh, quit being such a Fortune.”
“Exactly what does that mean?”
“It means you’re human. You need sleep, too, superhero. You’ve set your alerts. That’ll be enough, don’t you think?”
Michael slid down in the chair, stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. “What’s the best gift you’ve ever gotten?” he asked.
“Christmas, birthday or for no reason?”
He smiled and shook his head. “One of each.”
“Christmas when I was four—a bald preemie Cabbage Patch doll named Herbie. I carried it everywhere for a year. My fifteenth birthday—a push-up bra my sister Lila gave me. We giggled about it for days. And for no reason? A dozen red roses from you, because they made me feel pretty. How about you?”
“Your virginity.”
He got out of the chair and crouched beside the bed. He saw in her eyes how much his answer had affected her. “I could sleep in the half of your bed that’s not being used, but in some ways it would be more uncomfortable than that chair.”
“I won’t do battle about it, Michael. I just want you to have as easy a night as possible.” She brushed her fingers across his cheek. “I know if the situation was reversed, I would be doing the same as you. And that you would talk me out of it.”
“A compromise of sorts, then,” he said. He got into bed and sat with his back against the headboard, keeping his clothes on and not getting under the covers.
After a minute, she shifted closer to him, until her forehead touched his hip. He tried to think about anything other than how close her lips were to his skin, only a layer of denim away. As it was, he could feel her breath, warm and steady through the fabric.
Oh, what the hell, he thought, giving in, not fighting his natural reaction to her nearness. Felicity and arousal went hand in hand. She should be flattered.
“Michael?”
“I’m here.” He stroked her hair. As long as he didn’t touch the back of her head—or unless she told him otherwise—he figured it was okay.
“When I fell, was it before or after I rolled the ball?”
He vaguely recalled the ball leaving her hand, but whether the sound he remembered was the ball landing or her head, he wasn’t positive. But she wanted an answer. “It was after.”
“How many pins did I knock down?”
He laughed. “You got a strike, Champ.”
“Are you making that up?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s so sweet.” She shifted a little, adjusted her pillow. She rested her arm on his thigh, her fingertips grazing his inseam.
Michael sucked in a breath as she moved her hand over his zipper, then stopped.
“Just checking,” she said, sounding satisfied.
“There are assorted descriptive words for women who tease like that.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
He liked that there was humor in her voice. She sounded alert and competent. “I’m too much of a gentleman to say them out loud. And you’re in no condition to follow through.”
“I could be on top.”
A laugh burst from him, not just at the suggestion itself, but also at her playful tone of voice. He hadn’t expected that. Had she decided to keep him, after all?
“I enjoyed that position,” she added.
So had he, but— “We have the rest of our lives, Champ. Try to sleep now.”
“Do we, Michael?” Felicity moved back and sat up, which took some effort and his help. She’d been feeling all cozy and warm, but now she didn’t. She wanted cozy back, but she also wanted straight answers, the honesty they’d promised each other before. “Have you changed your mind?”
“I haven’t changed my mind about anything, Mrs. Fortune.”
His reminder that they were married was unnecessary. She didn’t forget it for a minute. But was he still not acknowledging that he loved her? Reall
y? Because the way he acted with her seemed loving. Or was she that wrong? Was it just that she was his wife, and that was that?
“Why do the words matter that much?” he asked.
“They just do.” She’d heard other women complain now and then that their husbands never said the words and how much that hurt them. Liz had gotten swept into a relationship believing she was loved, then learned not only was she not loved but was also expendable and replaceable. Because he’d never told her he loved her, he figured he hadn’t played her false. Wasn’t it strange what people considered wasn’t a lie?
No matter what promises Michael made about never leaving her, if he didn’t love her, why would he stay? Why would she want him to? Why would he be faithful? How could they be happy? Marriage was supposed to be a partnership. If only one person loved—
“I promise I will never leave you,” he said, as he had before.
“It’s love that gets couples through the trying times that everyone faces, Michael. Love. And a husband and wife who love each other show their children every day in every way what they should be seeking for themselves for a marriage. Did your parents do that? Mine did. That’s my example. That’s what I want for myself.” She was quiet a moment, then added, “Maybe you want what your parents have.”
“I don’t want to be like my father in any way.”
“Why not?” she asked quietly, although she was surprised. “You don’t admire him?”
“I admire what he’s done, creating a business from just blood, sweat and tears, keeping it a success all these years. But my parents aren’t like yours. If they love each other, they don’t show it in public. It wasn’t my example.” His jaw twitched. “You said before that you love me. Do you still?”
“Let me ask you this instead. Are you glad I’m in love with you? Are you glad I told you? Does it make a difference?”
She couldn’t read his expression, and suddenly her head began to throb.
“You’re in pain,” he said, climbing out of bed and heading for the bathroom. “You need to rest, Felicity. We’ll talk more in the morning.”
She heard him filling a glass. He came back, gave her water and an ibuprofen, which she hoped would take the edge off the throbbing and help her sleep because she had way too much on her mind. She didn’t think she could turn off her thoughts.
