Alone.
“Will you be okay in the guest room?” she asked him.
He shrugged, then tossed back the last of the Crown in his glass. “I guess I’ll have to be.”
He didn’t look too happy about the sleeping arrangements, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it at the moment. “Good night, Ford.”
“I’ll lock up,” he offered, then handed off his empty glass to her, just like he’d done hundreds of times.
She walked into the kitchen where she finished off her drink, rinsed their glasses and added them to the dishwasher. After turning on the appliance, she snagged them each a bottle of water from the fridge and her cell phone off the island.
“You calling Avery back?” he asked, taking the water she offered.
The accusation in his voice only heightened her guilt. She could lie to him, but she never had and wasn’t about to start now, even if it meant sparing his feelings. “Yes,” she admitted. “I’m sorry that hurts you.”
His hand flexed at his side. “I’m trying to understand,” he said, but the hardness in his eyes told another story. “This isn’t easy.”
“I know.” She headed for the back of the house. “Good night.”
“Matt?” he called to her.
At her bedroom door, she stopped and looked back. Despite the hardness that had crept into his gaze, there was still a vulnerable quality, as well, and it made her heart ache. In her mind, he was always so strong, so brave, so impossibly fearless. To see him this way, hurt, emotions exposed and raw, wasn’t right. It wasn’t Ford, and she hated that she was responsible.
“Tell me we stand a chance of making it through this mess,” he said. He let out a breath. “Just tell me you still love me.”
For the space of a heartbeat, she nearly turned around and ran into his arms. But she couldn’t. Not until she figured out what she needed to do.
She didn’t want to offer him false hope, not when their lives were on the line, but she had no other choice. Lying wasn’t an option, not for her. “I never stopped,” she said, then turned and walked into her bedroom—without him.
* * *
Trenton glared at the alarm clock on the bedside table, swearing a blue streak when the digits clicked over to read the midnight hour, a cruel, red, glowing reminder he was alone. With a grunt of disgust, he punched his pillow, then rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. Numbing his mind with Sports Center followed by the nightly news hadn’t helped. Even the two scotch on the rocks he’d indulged in earlier had proven useless in shutting down his rampant, twisted thoughts.
How in the hell had his life come to this? He was a careful guy. Strategic. Hell, even his contingency plans had contingency plans.
The only thing worse than the insomnia were the runaway visions that had his imagination working overtime. His visions had taken off in a bad direction, and he’d be damned if he knew how to call them back. But the truth was, there were just too many scenarios involving his wife and her dead husband living under the same roof, even if it was only temporary and platonic, for him to rest peacefully.
At least he hoped their living arrangements were only temporary. He really didn’t want to entertain the alternative.
He grit his teeth. What the fuck had he been thinking leaving Mattie alone with Grayson? What kind of dumbass willingly leaves his wife alone in the home she shared with her first husband where memories of their life together were littered throughout? Alone with the man he knew had been her one and only...until him. Alone with the guy he knew had been her first love, her childhood sweetheart.
His cell phone rang before he had to cop to being the dumbass in question. Out of habit, he checked the screen even though he knew it was Mattie, before he slid his finger over the answer button. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“Excuse me?”
He didn’t need to see her face to know he’d crossed a line. Her tone spoke volumes.
He let out a harsh breath. “I’m sorry.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m pissed off right now.”
“You think? Look, I get it, but bitching at me isn’t going to help.”
He kicked aside the sheet and swung his feet to the floor. “I tried calling.” He forced a more amenable note into his voice that he was in no way, shape or form feeling. “Several times,” he added, blowing the illusion.
“I was outside on the deck when you called.”
“With Grayson?”
“Trenton, don’t.”
Don’t what? Don’t torture himself by imagining all the ways his wife and her dead husband were reacquainting themselves after five years apart?
His gut tightened as he envisioned the man’s hands on Mattie. “Where is he now?”
“In the guest room, I imagine.” Her tone turned defensive. Distant. God, he hated Grayson. Why couldn’t the fucker have stayed dead?
But he wasn’t dead. He had a pulse and was currently residing under the same roof as his wife. His wife, not Grayson’s. His.
The minute the U.S. Navy had declared Grayson killed in action, Mattie was no longer bound by the bonds of matrimony. Except the marriage certificate declaring Mattie was his wife was now nothing but a worthless piece of paper. The Great Grayson Resurrection meant the past year and a half meant zilch, as if every moment they’d shared no longer mattered. Their vows had been nullified. Their marriage voided.
And his heart was breaking.
“I love you,” he told her, not to hurt her, but to remind her of what she meant to him. Of what he’d meant to her.
“I know,” she whispered. “I do love you, Trenton. You have to know that.”
Yeah, he knew. It hurt, but he also was aware of the fact she still loved Grayson. Mattie may have moved on with her life, but Grayson’s ghost had always been there, maybe not between them, but definitely looking over his shoulder.
“Have you talked to your dad?”
She let out a breath, no doubt relieved he’d changed the subject. “Calls go right to voice mail and he hasn’t answered mine or Griff’s texts. There’s no answer at the house, either.”
“Did you try the office?” Thomas Hart had been the town doctor in Hart, Texas for decades. Although now semi-retired, he still maintained office hours two days a week, as well as full hospital privileges. On-call duties he shared with the much younger physician he’d hired to replace him, but even those were slowly dwindling. “The answering service should know how to get in touch with him.”
“They won’t tell me anything other than he’s out of town and not expected back until tomorrow.” She let out another sigh. “It’s not like him. And it’s weird. He’s never been...not there.”
“Did you tell them it was a family emergency?”
“No. Because it’s not, not really,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to worry him. Besides, I’m a little too old to have my daddy slay my dragons for me.”
He made a sound that could’ve been mistaken for a chuff of laughter, although he’d be hard pressed to find the humor in the situation. “I took the condo off the market,” he said.
“Why would you do that?” Shock and disbelief filled her voice.
“I can always relist it.” At least that’s what he’d told his listing agent during their earlier conversation. It wasn’t that he didn’t have faith, he just wasn’t thrilled with the idea of strangers traipsing through his home while his future remained uncertain.
“Yes, but...are you sure?”
He stood and walked to the bank of windows to draw back the draperies, exposing the lights of the Dallas skyline. He’d bought the place for the view and the proximity to his office. Once he and Mattie had become engaged, selling his place had always been the plan, but not...
“It’s not a big deal,” he lied, staring into the distance from the twenty-third floor.
“Trenton...” she said, the disappointment in her voice evident. Or was it relief that he’d fired the first shot at what could v
ery well be the end of their relationship?
He wanted clarification.
He wanted confirmation.
No, you don’t.
He braced his forearm on the glass above his head. “I can’t sleep,” he admitted. “I’ve gotten used to having you beside me.”
Silence. For a minute, he didn’t think she was going to respond.
“I know,” she whispered.
“I miss you, Mattie,” he said quietly. “So much it hurts.”
“I...”
Her voice caught, and he briefly closed his eyes. So much pain and none of it their doing. No one had cheated. No one had lied. No one had fallen out of love.
“You can say you miss me, Matt. Just because Grayson’s alive doesn’t have to mean our relationship is over.”
She cleared her throat. “I really don’t want to argue.”
“Argue?” His temper instantly spiked, and his voice rose. “Or admit the truth?”
“I’m not having this conversation with you right now.”
“Fine.” He pushed off the window and stalked back toward the bed. The vast emptiness on the right side of the mattress mocked him. “Then when?” he demanded.
“Don’t push me, Trenton. I need time.”
Irritation settled around him at the hardness of her warning. “Dammit, Matt. I don’t want to live like this.”
“Like what?”
“You in Hart, me in Dallas.” And Grayson between them. “Without you.”
“It’s late. I’m tired. You’re obviously in a mood. It’s a mistake to get into this now.”
“Then when?” he asked again. He struggled to cool his temper. Maybe she was right, after all. He was in a mood. A damned foul one.
“I don’t know.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Trenton—”
“Don’t make me beg.”
“You know I’d never do that to you.”
“I’d just like some kind of definitive answer. Can you give me that much?”
She went quiet. Too quiet.
“Mattie?”
“Monday,” she finally said. “I’ll come to you. Around noon?”
“Tomorrow,” he countered.
“It’s Sunday.”
Which meant Mass in the morning followed by the long-standing tradition of a big family dinner at her dad’s place. Rituals. Traditions he’d become a part of until... “Have I been uninvited?”
“Of course not,” she said. “But, do you really think that’s a good idea? My dad doesn’t even know Ford’s alive.”
And his being there would complicate the happy reunion. Well, hell.
“Monday it is, then,” he relented. He didn’t like it, but he understood. Tom’s relationship with Grayson had been close. Logically, he understood Mattie hadn’t been the only one to suffer the loss when Grayson had supposedly been killed in action. Her entire family had mourned, as well.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll see you then. The condo at noon?”
“Yeah,” he reiterated. “Monday at noon.”
He disconnected the call and dropped onto the edge of the mattress. He set the cell phone on the bedside table and looked at the clock and that red, glowing reminder that he was very much alone.
* * *
Mattie smelled bacon. She lifted her arms over her head and stretched. Another deep breath and she swore she caught a whiff of freshly brewed coffee along with some other scent she couldn’t yet name.
Then it hit her and she smiled. Ford was making pancakes.
She didn’t care that the scents drifting down the hall and into her bedroom brought with them memories of dozens of other pancake breakfasts he’d made for her on his first morning back from a mission. From that first whiff of cooked bacon, all she cared about was the fact that he was finally home.
Before reality came crashing back and stifled her joy that her husband was truly alive, she threw back the covers. She hurried into the bathroom, then emerged a few minutes later, face washed, teeth brushed and hair pulled into a messy ponytail. As she padded barefoot down the hall to the kitchen, she was struck by the thought of Trenton, alone in the condo. She still didn’t know what she was going to do, but as she rounded the corner into the family room and spied Ford and Phoebe, she stopped to take in a sight she’d never thought she’d see—father and daughter. Together.
As it should be.
She drew in a deep breath and swiped at her moisture-filled eyes. Composed, she walked toward the kitchen just as Ford used the soup ladle to pour batter onto the hot griddle.
“Like this?” he asked Phoebe.
“No, Daddy. Make them smaller,” Phoebe instructed. “They’re too big.”
“This isn’t how Mommy makes them?”
“Oh, no.” Her daughter let out a gusty sigh. “Mommy says it’s not good to dulge.”
Ford chuckled. “Since when?”
Phoebe shrugged her little shoulders. “I dunno,” she said as she handed Ford a pot holder. “Bacon, Daddy.”
Mattie forced a smile as she walked around the island and approached the pair. “Once in a while it’s okay to indulge,” she said to Phoebe. “Like on special occasions.”
Unlike her sister, who relentlessly counted calories and carbs and exercised religiously, she’d been blessed with a fast metabolism. Despite what Griffen believed, she did work out, but she’d never had to worry too much about putting on weight.
“Everything in moderation, right, Pork Chop?”
“Right!” Phoebe stretched her arms for a hug.
Mattie snuggled her daughter close and lifted her off the counter. Phoebe’s legs went around her waist and she hung on tight as Mattie swayed to the strains of Lady Antebellum’s latest hit playing on the iPod dock. “Did you sleep good?”
“Bestest ever,” Phoebe said. “You?”
Mattie twirled around with Phoebe. “Second bestest ever.”
Phoebe giggled, then asked. “What about you, Daddy? Did you sleep bestest ever?”
He stood with his back to the counter, hands resting on the countertop, ankles casually crossed. The smile on his face momentarily stole her breath. He looked happy. Happy to be home. Happy to be spending a morning making pancakes for his wife and daughter. “You bet I did,” he said, then he turned and opened the oven door to peer inside.
Mattie looked around him to the bacon sizzling on the broiler pan. “Give it another couple of minutes,” she told him when he reached for the pot holders. After giving Phoebe a quick kiss, she settled her on the stool at the kitchen island with a coloring book and tin of crayons.
Ford handed her a mug of coffee. “Half French vanilla, half hazelnut,” he said. “Sit. Breakfast is almost ready.”
Mattie grinned her thanks and took the mug from him, surprised he remembered how she took her coffee. “I see you found everything okay,” she said as she climbed onto the stool at the far end of the island.
“Phoebe helped.” He flipped the pancakes on the griddle, then turned to look at her. “I like what you’ve done to the place. It’s hard to remember what it looked like before.”
Once she’d come out of her depression and the fog had lifted, she’d been hit with an overwhelming need to make changes to the house. While there had been no mortgage to worry about, with the survivor’s benefits and her teacher’s salary, she’d been able to afford to take out a home improvement loan to make serious upgrades to the house. Along with the major renovations to the kitchen, dining and family rooms, she’d overhauled the bathrooms, ripped up carpet and had the hardwood floors refinished or replaced throughout the house. She hadn’t done any of the heavy lifting herself, but she’d painted and sanded and demoed. Because her sister had owned an antique store at the time, with Griffen’s help, they’d scoured estate sales and flea markets until she’d replaced most of the old, outdated furniture at rock bottom prices.
“I was, uh...a little obsessed,” she admitted. She’d started with the master bedroom, ditching th
e king-sized bed she’d shared with Ford for a smaller queen. What furniture she hadn’t swapped out, she repurposed, refinished or put in her sister’s shop on consignment. She’d brightened, lightened and added feminine touches formerly absent. But most importantly, she’d eradicated Ford’s presence from her bedroom. There were plenty of reminders of him throughout the rest of the house, but she’d needed to remove him from her bedroom as an essential part of her survival. It wasn’t that she’d stopped loving him, but the constant reminder of what she’d lost was just too much.
He carried his coffee to the island and took the seat nearest hers. “I’m glad you kept the house.”
“I didn’t have the heart to sell it.” Initially, she’d attempted to convince herself she’d kept it for Phoebe, that Ford’s childhood home was her daughter’s legacy, left to them when his mother had passed. But that hadn’t been the whole truth. It’d been their home, and she couldn’t bear to part with it.
For the most part, they’d initially kept the house their home base, the place they had come to between assignments, where they stayed when they returned to Hart each year for his month long period of leave. Later, those trips home hadn’t been as often as she would’ve liked. But when she’d come back to stay when Ford had been shipped out on his final mission during the end of her pregnancy, she’d had no inkling then that she’d end up living the remainder of her life in the house without him. Instead of being mired down by memories, making changes to the property had been a necessity, not just to maintain the value of the home, but to maintain her tenuous grip on an uncertain future as a widow and single mother.
The major renovations weren’t so much about erasing memories as it had been about making new ones. After taking another sip of coffee, he slipped off the stool and went back to the stove.
“Besides, you have to admit,” she said, “the house was dated and needed upgrading.”
He added the pancakes to the small stack already on the platter, then placed them back in the warming oven. “I like it,” he said, opening the cabinet and counting out three plates.
Playing Dirty Page 9
