by Jo Leigh
He stared at his almost clean plate. They’d been stupid jokes. The only reason she’d thought they were funny was because she’d loved him. He could say the exact same things now, and she wouldn’t even smile.
“After the puzzle, can we play Space Blaster, Dad?”
Mike nodded at Sam. “Sure.”
“Fortress, too?”
“I don’t know. One game is probably my limit. What about that puzzle?”
“I hate puzzles,” he said, pouting. “Puzzles are for babies.”
“Not this one,” Becky said. “It’s a really hard one. I'll need your help.”
“No you won’t. You're just saying that because you don’t like my computer. I don’t have to work on the puzzle, and you can’t make me.”
“You want to go straight upstairs to bed, mister?” Mike snapped. The minute the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to take them back.
Sam didn’t give him a chance. He scooted his chair back and ran out of the room.
Becky whipped around to face Mike. Her elbow bumped into a half-full glass of milk and it crashed to the floor, spreading liquid and glass shards everywhere. Becky didn’t even look at it. “For God’s sake, Mike.” She got up and went after Sam, but only after giving him a look that told him just where he could go.
Then he was alone. He lifted his napkin off his lap and tossed it on the table. “Damn.”
* * *
“Honey, you okay?” Becky sat down next to Sam. He pulled his computer onto his lap, then reached across the bed and got his joystick.
“Sam?”
He didn’t look at her. His lips were pressed tightly together and his cheeks flushed pink.
“Listen, Sam. Daddy didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”
“I don’t.”
He stared rigidly at the screen in front of him.
She scooted a little closer to him. “You know, Daddy and I both love you very much. He’s just worried about us, that’s all.”
Sam grunted and jerked the joystick back and forth. She couldn’t see the game screen, but she would bet he was killing off hundreds of little spacemen, or monsters or whatever evil creatures were in that make-believe world. What a powerful thing for a nine-year-old to do, she thought. It was no surprise to her that Sam preferred his computer friends to his schoolmates.
“I bet if you go downstairs and ask Daddy, he'll come up and play.” She reached over and touched him, just under the chin, and lifted his head until he looked at her. His eyes were too old and sad. He was just a little kid. He shouldn’t be hiding in a stranger’s cabin, afraid for his life. Afraid of his father. He shouldn’t have to pay because she and Mike had failed each other.
“He’s mad at me,” he said, shaking free with a toss of his head.
“No, he’s not.”
Sam didn’t look at her again. He just played his game until his parents and the cabin and Mojo were far, far away. At least he had that. She wouldn’t say any more. She would just sit with him for a while and let him know that she was here for him.
Her thoughts went back to Mike, but not to the dinner. Before that, when he’d come close to her by the sink. When he’d smelled her perfume.
She’d lied to him. She hadn’t been wearing the rose perfume before. She wasn’t even sure why she’d put it on. For old time’s sake? Maybe she’d just wanted to see if he would still react to her in the old way. She hated to admit it, but she’d liked it when he’d touched her. She’d felt the warmth of his fingers and she’d felt safe. Until she’d realized that she was playing with fire.
It was all so confusing. She shouldn’t want to be near him, yet she did. She shouldn’t want to care about him, but she couldn’t help it. The truth was, he was a part of the fabric of her life, and that would never change. He was the only man she’d ever loved. That’s why it hurt so very much.
She stood, and looked at Sam’s beautiful face, with the dark eyes and dark hair he got from his father. She wished she could promise him that everything would be all right. But how could she, when she didn’t believe it herself?
She wrapped her arms around her waist. The branches of the pine tree outside hammered at the window. The storm had hit, and she hadn’t even noticed. She looked back at Sam. Better to leave him to his world, for now. She’d give him some time alone, before she sent Mike up. Besides, the kitchen wasn’t going to clean itself. “I'll be right downstairs if you need me.”
He didn’t even nod.
She saw Mike when she got halfway down the stairs. He was at the fireplace, lighting kindling with a long match. At least he was holding a lit match in the general area of the fireplace, but not near anything that could actually catch fire. He just sat on his haunches, his elbows on his knees, staring at the pile of wood and newspaper. It was clear he was deep in thought, and it startled her to realize she had no idea about what.
It wasn’t such a long time ago that she would have known. He always accused her of having a sixth sense, but it hadn’t been that. She’d just known Mike. What made him tick. What bothered him and what made him happy. Now she knew nothing about him. He’d closed himself off to her long ago. The only thing familiar about him was his touch, and that was too dangerous to contemplate.
She thought again of that moment in the kitchen. How her body had reacted before her mind could get a grip. How his touch made her melt. At least she knew, now, to be careful. To keep her distance from him. “You'll burn yourself,” she said as she reached the landing.
He came out of his trance with a jerk, and dropped the match into the fireplace. He picked up another, lit it with a scratch on the bottom of the box, and brought the flame to the paper. This time he got the fire started. He pulled the mesh screen closed, then stood up to face her. “Is Sam okay?”
“He’s hurt and frightened. You didn’t have to talk to him like that. All he wants is to spend time with you.” She hugged herself tighter, wishing the fire would hurry up and warm the room. She was freezing.
“I'm sorry I snapped at him,” he said as he sat down on the wing chair nearest the fireplace. He looked exhausted. The lines in his face were deep, and he was having trouble keeping his eyes open.
“Go on up,” she said. “Play with him for a while. I want him to go to bed soon. You both need some rest.”
He nodded, but he didn’t move.
She needed some sleep herself. Her bones ached with weariness and cold. She thought about the messy kitchen. “Who cares,” she whispered. She sat down at the edge of the couch and curled her feet under her.
“What?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. I should go clean up in there.”
“Don’t worry about it. I picked up.”
She stared at him. “Really?”
He nodded. “You cook, I clean. Remember?”
She did. She remembered the day they’d made that deal. It had been their second anniversary, and Mike had bought her a vacuum cleaner. She’d been so disappointed, she’d gone into the bathroom and cried. Mike had coaxed her out, telling her she didn’t have her whole gift yet. When she’d opened the door, he’d handed her a card. It said that from now on, he would share in all the chores. She would cook, he would clean. She would dust, he would sweep. They would be a team. Forever. Then he’d given her gold heart earrings.
“We were quite a pair, weren’t we?” she asked.
“A hell of a team.” He stared at her, and she saw a wistfulness in his eyes that she understood completely.
But it was foolish to let the past trick her into believing things had changed. They weren’t married anymore. They knew each other too well to simply forgive and forget.
A surge of sadness rose from deep inside her. She’d lost so much. Her whole world. And now she faced losing even more. “I'm scared,” she said. She covered her face with her hands, trying hard to stop the tears. But there was too much fear and hurt to stem the tide, and she wept.
He touched her shoulder. She hadn’t heard him get u
p, or felt him sit next to her, but when she took her hands away and opened her eyes, he was there. Right beside her. It was easy to lean back, to fall against his hard body. To take comfort in his strong arms. He lifted his hand to her face, and with a gentleness she’d forgotten he had, he wiped her tears.
“I'll keep you safe, Becky. I swear to God.”
She sniffed. “I know you'll try.”
He shook his head. “I'll do more than try.”
She took his hand in hers, knowing she shouldn’t, but needing to anyway. His long fingers, full of strength and dexterity, felt rough and masculine. She found the scar near his thumb that he’d gotten when he was seventeen, and traced it. “Why is he after us, Mike? What does he want?”
He became still and she looked up at him. The softness was leaving his face, his stony mask taking its place. “Vengeance,” he said.
She squeezed his hand, urging him to come back. “Because you caught him?”
“Because I didn’t kill him when I had the chance. Because I crippled him.”
“But why would he want to hurt me? Or Sam?”
He pulled his hand from hers, and she felt a terrible chill.
“Because he knows I loved you,” he said.
She made the mistake of looking at his eyes. He wasn’t telling her everything. “There’s something else,” she said. Her mouth was so dry she could barely speak. “Oh, God, it’s something terrible, isn’t it?”
Mike leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “He wrote to me. From prison. I got the first letter about four months after he’d been locked up. It came to my apartment.” Mike’s head drooped so he was looking at this feet instead of at her. “The letters were about me, about my life and how he was going to come after me one day.”
“And?”
He studied his hands for a moment, then brought his gaze back up to meet hers. “I got the last letter yesterday afternoon. It was about you.”
She sat back. She hadn’t even realized she’d been leaning forward, or that she’d been holding her breath, but now she took in a gasp of air. “Me? How does he even know I exist?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I didn’t want you to be scared.”
She laughed, although not one damn thing was funny. “Too late. Dammit, Mike, don’t try to protect me so much. You have to tell me what’s going on. I deserve that.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, just trust me. For once in your life, tell me the truth. You think I could watch my baby die and not be able to handle this?”
Mike stood up and walked over to the fireplace. He picked up the poker and knelt to stoke the fire. “It’s my job to protect you.”
“Says who?” She got up, too, and moved toward him. “I'm not your responsibility. We're not married anymore. Even if we were, it’s not right for you to treat me like a child. All I ever wanted was to be your partner, don’t you know that? To work through things together. But every time it got tough, you checked out. You disappeared inside yourself, and you never let me in.”
He stood up straight, with his arms at his sides. There was no remorse on his face, no guilt. Nothing. As if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said—or hadn’t cared. “I better go check on Sam.”
“Oh, don’t. Don’t leave now.” She reached over and touched his cheek.
He turned away. “It’s late. We both need to get some sleep.”
She let her hand drop. “For a brave man, you are one hell of a coward.”
He swallowed. That was all. He didn’t blink, or frown or get angry. Then she realized the man in front of her was an imposter. He looked like the man she’d married, but that was all. This man was a stranger. There was nothing she could do about it. And it broke her heart.
Chapter 4
“I don’t know what you want from me,” Mike said, struggling to keep still, to not let her see how her words were tearing him in two. “I tried to apologize.”
“You say you're sorry, but you still don’t talk to me. You don’t include me in the decisions. You came to my house in the middle of the night, and brought us to this godforsaken place. Did you discuss it with me? No. You said jump, and we jumped.”
“It was for your own good.”
“Since when are you an expert on what’s good for me?”
“I'm trying to save your life.”
Becky shook her head and walked over to the couch. She didn’t sit down, though. He guessed she just didn’t want to be so close to him.
He didn’t blame her. For any of it. He’d failed at the only thing that mattered—keeping his family safe. He hadn’t been able to save Amy; he hadn’t been there for Becky. And now he’d delivered his family to a madman. His wife and son might die because he loved them.
The worst of it was that, dammit, he still wanted her. That when she touched him, he remembered the feel of her hands and the taste of her skin, and that he could never have her again.
Let her be angry. Let her despise him. It would be easier for both of them.
“I'm going to see Sam,” he said.
Becky didn’t try to stop him this time. Mike felt her angry gaze on his back as he walked past her to the stairs. It was better this way. If she hated him, she wouldn’t let him touch her. One of them had to be strong.
He paused as he reached the door to Sam’s room. His son was on the bed, sitting cross-legged with the computer on his lap. He looked so serious. Mike remembered that little smile from dinner.
He’d done some job tonight. First he’d chased Sam away, then he’d run from Becky. He tried to blame it on lack of sleep, but he knew better. He was a bastard, plain and simple.
The least he could do was try not to act like one.
“Hey,” he said, as he walked toward the bed. “Why don’t you put that thing away and come downstairs? We can give that puzzle a try.”
Sam didn’t look up. “No, thanks.”
Mike walked over to the bed, and sat next to his son. Sam still didn’t look at him.
“I'm sorry I snapped at you,” Mike said. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”
Sam shrugged. At least he stopped typing.
“You don’t have to do the puzzle, but it would be nice if you would come downstairs.”
“Why?”
“Your mom needs you. She’s on edge, and she could sure use your company.”
“You were downstairs.”
Mike put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. It always surprised him how small his son was. How fragile. “I'm pretty lousy company. You know that. But I think you could save the day.”
Finally, Sam looked at him. He expected to see the hurt he’d put there at dinner, but Sam surprised him. His brown eyes were full of trust. The little guy didn’t expect much. Just a father he could count on.
He squeezed Sam’s shoulder and gave him the best smile he could. “Come on, sport. Let’s go make your mom happy.”
Sam nodded. “Will you do the puzzle, too?”
“You bet,” Mike said, as he stood up. “I'll do whatever you want.”
He watched his son put away his computer. He ached inside, as if he’d been punched in the gut. Sam was so young, and so innocent. He still wanted his dad to be a hero. But how long would that last? How long before he realized that his father was nothing but a fraud? That when things got really tough, Dad couldn’t do one damn thing about it?
He’d made peace with losing them a long time ago. When this was all over, he would make peace with it again. In the meantime, he would try to make things tolerable for both of them. He would act as if everything was going to be fine. That Mojo couldn’t touch them. He would spend time with Sam, and hope that his boy wouldn’t hate him for it later.
Sam walked in front of him down the stairs. Becky was still sitting on the couch. She turned to look up at them.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Sam and I thought
we would take a whack at that puzzle,” he said. He tried to make his voice sound cheerful.
Becky’s smile told him he’d succeeded. It was a start.
* * *
“You've got his eye in upside down.” Sam lifted the puzzle piece and put it aside.
“Come on,” Becky said with a laugh. “Where’s your creative spirit? If you push hard enough, anything will fit.”
Sam shook his head. “You are too weird. Dad, tell her.”
Mike looked at Becky sitting at the opposite side of the dining room table. “You're too weird,” he repeated.
“Thanks,” she said. “Both of you.” After a brief glance at him, she went back to studying her side of the picture.
She had spent most of the last hour talking to Sam. She’d been pleasant to Mike, but she hadn’t looked at him. Not really. He’d tried to ignore her, too, but he hadn’t been very successful. He kept stealing glances. Whenever their gazes met, she turned away.
Sam didn’t seem to notice. He was sitting on his knees on the kitchen chair, leaning over the table. Although he’d groused about the puzzle, he was the one doing most of the work. He picked up a small piece, a corner of a mouth, and slipped it in place. “See?” he said. “If you're careful, you can make it work right.”
Becky nodded. “Ah,” she said. “A million apologies. I'll try to be more careful in the future, Professor.”
Sam snorted. “Geez. Women.”
Becky’s mouth came open in a loud gasp. “What did you say?”
He giggled.
Becky stood up, her mouth still open in mock surprise. “What did you say, young man?”
Sam scrambled off his chair and backed away from his mother. Mike knew he wasn’t scared, though. No, he was feeling that incredible mixture of delight and anticipation that precedes a major tickle. Mike recognized it with his own blend of pleasure and remorse. He hadn’t tickled Sam in years.
The boy continued to back away. Becky wasn’t even close to him, and he was already protecting his vulnerable parts by keeping his arms up tight against his chest. Mike couldn’t hold back a smile as he listened to his son’s laughter. Becky kept on moving toward him, wiggling her fingers to show him what was in store as she chased him into the living room.
