“So what is wrong to bring you two here?” Mama demanded, hands at her hips. The clean white apron she wore tied around her thick middle twitched and danced against her blue flowered dress while she tapped her foot noisily on the linoleum.
Outside, the wind kicked up, battering at the windows, howling under the eaves. A storm was coming in off the ocean—but Stevie was willing to bet it would be just a spring shower compared to what was brewing in this tidy kitchen.
Carla glanced at Stevie. Stevie shook her head. She couldn’t say it. Couldn’t do it. She’d survived telling Carla. But she couldn’t do this. Couldn’t be the one to cut her ties to Mama forever. If it had to happen, let someone else do the breaking.
Sighing, Carla got the message, looked up at her mother, and said, “Stevie’s got a problem.”
One gray eyebrow lifted as Mama stared first at her daughter, then at Stevie. “And this problem means you can’t talk? To me?”
“No, Mama.” Stevie managed to squeeze the words past the knot in her throat, but she didn’t know if she could say much more.
But Angela Candellano knew her people too well. Giving her daughter a quick nod to send her off into the next room, the older woman took a seat beside Stevie at the breakfast booth.
“Oof,” she muttered as she squeezed between the table and the back of the seat. “This is smaller space than it used to be.”
Stevie smiled, but tears brimmed in her eyes.
“Tell me, what’s so terrible to make you cry?”
Her bottom lip quivering, Stevie took shallow breaths, air hitching in and out of her chest. “Oh, Mama, everything’s so messed up.”
“Your sister?”
“No, Debbie’s fine.”
Mama’s eyes narrowed and she slapped one hand onto the tabletop. “Is it Nicky? Is he making you cry some more?”
“No, it’s not Nick, either.”
“Is good thing. You cried enough over Nicky. Would not be good to do it again.” Mama turned Stevie’s face up to hers. “Tell me.”
And staring into those deep brown eyes that she’d loved and trusted for most of her life, Stevie took the biggest risk she could imagine. She told her surrogate mother everything, and when she was finished, she waited for the ax to fall.
Mama sighed, shook her head, then clucked her tongue in disapproval.
Stevie cringed inwardly and fought a fresh onslaught of tears. But despite her best efforts, they fell anyway, streaming down her face to plop onto the scarred tabletop. “Mama, I’m sorry,” she blurted, darting one quick look into the woman’s eyes before averting her own gaze. She couldn’t bear to see Mama’s rejection. Didn’t have the heart to watch the light fade from her eyes to be replaced with disgust or anger. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with him.” She sucked in air like a drowning woman. She’d gotten most of it out. But there was more she had to say.
More she needed Mama to know. Carla was right. Love was too important. Too big.
“Mama, I didn’t want to screw up the family. I love you all; you know that. And I didn’t want to make you mad—but even if you are, there’s something else you have to know.” She sucked in another breath and stared at her hands as she shredded a paper napkin she’d plucked out of the holder in front of her. Swallowing hard, she said, “As much as I love you—and I do, Mama, so much—I will always love Paul.” She exhaled and felt a knot of tension in her chest dissolve at the simple truth. And now that it was said, the rest came easier. “Even if it means I lose you guys. Even if nothing works out between Paul and me. I’ll love him anyway. I just—”
“Stevie,” Mama said, and cupped her cheek in a palm, turning her face up.
When their eyes met, Stevie’s breath shuddered from her lungs. Anger sparked in Mama’s eyes and Stevie prepared for the worst. Though how could you prepare for losing the only real mother you’d ever known?
“This is what you think of me?” Shaking her head, Mama sighed. “You think I don’t know about love? About how it comes?” She smiled softly. “I was seventeen when I met my Anthony.” Her eyes went dreamy with sweet memory. “I saw him and I knew.” Her smile widened. “He kissed me and I loved him. Will always love him, God rest his soul.” She crossed herself quickly as the sparkle of tears glimmered in her eyes. “You think I would not understand?”
“But Nick and Paul are your sons, Mama.”
“Yes, they are. And Carla is my daughter.” She pulled Stevie in close and wrapped her arms around her for a comforting hug. “As are you.”
Stevie melted into Mama’s ample chest, overwhelmed by the relief crashing through her. Love, pure and simple, rushed through her, surrounded her, and Stevie knew. She wasn’t an adopted member of the family. She was family. No matter what happened between her and Paul, this would always be hers.
“Mama—”
Mama clucked her tongue. “I’m ashamed you would think so little of me, Stevie.”
“I just—” Her words came muffled as she fought past the tears to try to tell the woman holding her just how much this meant. “I was so afraid of losing you, Mama. I couldn’t bear it.”
“You don’t lose family, Stevie. Family just … is. You are part of this family. No matter what my idiot sons do.” Giving her an extra pat on the back, Mama asked, “So, do you want me to slap their heads?”
“No.” Stevie laughed at the image of Mama clanking Paul’s and Nick’s heads together but knew it wouldn’t solve anything. “It’s all over now anyway.”
The back door crashed open, slamming into the kitchen counter, and Nick stood in the doorway, flowers clutched in one tight fist.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“GO HOME,” MAMA SAID.
“Not yet.” Nick looked at Stevie, and all she felt was disappointment that he wasn’t Paul. But she might as well get used to that right now, she thought. Paul wouldn’t be coming back. He had his list to keep him from doing anything stupid like following after her.
Slipping out of Mama’s comforting embrace, Stevie scooted out of the booth seat and stood on her own two feet to face her past. “What do you want, Nick?”
“First,” he said, holding out the half-wilted bouquet of roses, “to give you these.”
Red roses. Stevie took them and looked down at their curled petals. The heavy, cloying scent of them drifted to her and she wondered how she could have spent so much time with a man who didn’t even know that she hated red roses. But it was the thought that counted, right? Too bad he’d never thought of bringing her flowers when they were actually together. “Thanks, but—”
He held one hand up and shook his head. Stevie stared at him and realized he looked … different. Maybe it was the wind-ruffled hair or the loosened tie hanging at a weird angle around his neck, or maybe the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. But for the first time since she’d known him—not counting the times lately when he’d been drinking—Nick didn’t look picture-perfect.
“There’s something I want to say to you and—”
“No more,” Mama cut in, grunting as she shoved her way out of the breakfast booth. “No more talking, Nicky. Stevie’s had enough.”
He ignored his mother, keeping his gaze locked with Stevie’s. And something she saw there in his eyes prompted her to say, “It’s okay, Mama.”
The older woman hmmphed, folded her arms across her chest, and took root in the kitchen. Clearly, she had no intention of leaving the room.
Nick’s eyebrows lifted and a wry smile curved one corner of his mouth. “Look. I wanted you to know … I didn’t get that CBS job.”
So that was it, Stevie thought, vaguely disappointed in him. But true to himself, in his failure, he’d come running back to her, looking for comfort. Well, she was fresh out. Her heart ached, but she felt stronger than she had in weeks. She’d faced her biggest fear and survived it. Now she could take on the rest of her life and hold her own. Behind her she heard the swinging door to the living room open, and she guessed that now Carla had joined the crowd.
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you, Nick,” she said, “but—”
“No.” He interrupted her and took a step closer, never breaking eye contact. “That’s not why I’m here, Stevie. I came to tell you I’m sorry.”
“Ah, good boy,” Mama murmured.
Stevie hardly heard her. She was just too stunned at Nick’s declaration. “Sorry for what?”
He laughed shortly. “You want specifics? For screwing with your life, Stevie. For hurting you. For letting you down.” Reaching up, he pushed one hand through his hair, then shrugged and sighed. “For a lot of things. See, it finally hit me this morning, when I got shuffled out of that meeting so fast I left skid marks on the guy’s Berber carpet.” That half-smile she knew so well drifted across his face again as he sighed.
“What hit you?” she asked quietly.
“That I’m not God’s gift to the universe,” Nick said. “That I had a pretty good thing going—my career, and you—and I screwed it up.” He scraped one hand across his jaw as if trying to rub away the foul taste of the words he was saying. “I was an ass, Stevie. I didn’t see it then, but I do now, believe it or not. And I needed you to know that I’m sorry—really sorry. For all of it.”
Surprise hit her first. He actually meant it. And she couldn’t remember a time when he’d been sincerely sorry for anything. A couple of years ago, she would have given a lot to hear him say these things. And even now, when it was too late for them, she could be glad he’d found himself.
“Nick,” she said softly, “thank you.” Smiling at him, she said, “That wasn’t easy for you and I appreciate it. It’s just, I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you forgive me?” he suggested.
Touched and amazed by his sincerity, Stevie set the roses down onto the tabletop and crossed the room to him. Giving him a hug, she felt his arms go around her. A few years ago, this man’s touch had fed her dreams—now, there was only the sensation of warmth shared between friends. So, just for a minute, she enjoyed the sensation of having something turn out right.
But just for a minute.
“What the hell’s going on here?” Paul stopped dead in the open doorway and stared unbelievingly at his twin, wrapped around Stevie. Rage pumped through him and he finally understood that old saying about “seeing red.” Blood in his eyes, the whole world looked bright red, with splashes of darkness at the edges.
“Paul?” Stevie stared at him over Nick’s shoulder just before jumping back and out of his embrace.
Mama shouted something Paul couldn’t hear over the roaring in his own ears.
Carla called out to him, but she looked like a mime to Paul. He couldn’t hear anything but his own heartbeat, thundering out like a bass drum in a marching band. Seconds ticked past. He stared at Stevie—looking into her red-rimmed deep blue eyes, wide now with surprise. Then he shifted a glance at Nick, who looked too damned pleased with himself.
And that was it. Paul yanked off his glasses and tossed them to Carla, who caught them in one hand as he dashed past her.
“You son of a bitch!” Paul shouted, and crashed his fist into Nick’s face.
Damn, it felt good.
But this time, Nick didn’t just stand there and take it. This time, he fought back. With a wild bellow, Nick caught Paul in the belly with his shoulder and drove him back out the door. They fell down the porch steps and rolled onto the lawn.
When Paul jumped to his feet, he was braced and waiting for Nick to make a move. Hell, he wanted Nick to rush him. He needed to pummel something. Needed to do something with the fierce fury pumping through his bloodstream—before he exploded.
Nick came in hard and Paul ducked under the blow, landing a solid right cross to his twin’s eye. Nick howled but didn’t pause before slamming a solid punch into Paul’s belly. Pain ripped through him, but it only seemed to feed the rage within.
He stared at his twin, but all Paul could see was Nick wrapped around Stevie. Paul had come looking for Stevie, prepared to declare his love and take his chances. He’d never expected to find Stevie and Nick locked in a hug, being beamed at with fond approval by Mama and Carla. That mental image sent Paul’s closed fist plowing into Nick’s jaw again.
Pain shimmered up Paul’s arm and tingled clean up to his shoulder. Muscles sang, blood pumped, and when Nick fought back, a primal, clamoring need to pound him into the dirt took over and the computer genius gave way to the Neanderthal. No way was Paul going to lose what he’d just found. He’d fight whoever he had to, to keep Stevie in his life.
Because the thought of living without her was just too unbearable. The yawning emptiness of his life would swallow him whole. Without her, there was darkness.
“Stop it!” Stevie yelled from somewhere far away.
“Are you guys nuts?” Carla’s voice screeched into the war zone, but it didn’t stop her brothers.
“Let ’em go!” Tony shouted, and Paul stopped, shook his head. When the hell did Tony get here?
Nick’s fist got Paul’s attention again quickly, though, and he countered, slamming an uppercut to Nick’s chin that had the man’s head snapping back.
Stevie grabbed Tony by the arm and shook him as soon as he walked up. Glancing back over her shoulder at the two men beating each other senseless, she shouted, “Stop them! They’re gonna kill each other!”
“Nah, it’s just a fight.”
“Tony, you’re a cop. You have to stop them! It’s your job!”
Tony shook his head and laughed. “Not a chance in hell I’m gonna stop this. Today I’m not a cop. I’m just a brother. And I’ve been waiting years for this.” He looked down at her briefly. “Nick’s had it coming a long time. And Paul’s just the one to give it to him.”
“You’re nuts, too.” Stevie let him go and shook her head. She loved Paul desperately; she knew that. From the moment he’d walked into the kitchen with fire in his eyes, she’d wanted nothing more than to throw herself at him.
Then he’d turned into an idiot.
She watched from the sidelines, following Paul with her gaze, keeping an eye on him and wincing every time Nick landed a punch. Nick was getting in some good ones and she was worried. Yes, Paul was an idiot. But he was her idiot.
At least he had been.
Nick swung wildly; Paul dodged and brought his fist up into his twin’s belly. The blow knocked the air out of Nick and sent him sprawling to the grass, wheezing, trying to suck air into lungs shuddering with its lack. Paul stood above him, swaying, one eye already swelling, blood pouring from his split lip. He looked like an ancient warrior, and just for a second, Stevie’s heartbeat quickened in response to his battered, bloodied victory.
Then she remembered reality.
“You’re happy now?” Mama shouted, hands at her hips again, in her favorite battle stance.
“Ecstatic,” Paul said, and winced as assorted aches and pains made themselves known. Damn, it had been a long time since he and Nick had gone a few rounds. It was pure hell getting older.
“And your brother? He’s alive?”
“Yeah,” Paul said, glancing down to where Nick was already stirring. And groaning, Paul noted with some satisfaction.
“You’ve got a good right,” Tony said, “but your left hook needs work.”
“I’ll work on it,” Paul answered his older brother, but his gaze was locked on Stevie as he left his twin lying in the grass and, stumbling, headed for her.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” she said, getting that stubborn glint in her eyes.
God, he loved her.
“Good. You listen, I’ll talk.” He didn’t look at his family. He could only see Stevie. And in his mind, he saw her wrapped in Nick’s embrace, and he blurted out, “No way am I gonna let you go back to Nick.”
She blinked.
“No way is that gonna happen, Stevie.” Paul kept right on talking, unaware of the sudden tension in her shoulders and the defiant tilt of her chin. “He only wants you becau
se he can’t have you. He’s no good for you, Stevie.”
“But you are?” she asked, and took a step closer to him.
“Hell, yes,” he snapped, completely oblivious to the interested stares of his family. “We’re good together. You know it. You felt it. And I’m through pretending that I don’t care. I love you. I need you. And I’m not gonna let Nick have you. Not this time.”
“You’re not going to let Nick have me?” she countered, and finally Paul noticed the sparks flashing in her eyes. “Now that you’ve decided you love me, everything’s okay and I should just fall into line? Who the hell do you think you are, anyway? You don’t let me do anything.”
“That’s not what I meant. I just—”
The wind pushed her hair across her eyes and she reached up to pluck it free so she could glare at him clearly. “You come storming in here, uninvited, and punch Nick in the face while he’s apologizing to me for hurting me.”
Paul blinked and tried to clear his head and his vision at the same time. Sweat streamed into his eyes, stinging like fire, but his brain seemed to be even more blurry. Nick? Apologizing? Christ. Was it a sign of the Apocalypse?
“Something,” Stevie added, taking another step closer to him until Paul wisely stepped back a pace or two, “I’d like to point out, that you didn’t bother to do.”
“I tried to apologize this morning, but you wouldn’t listen.” Crap, his mouth hurt like hell.
“I’d already read what you thought of me,” she reminded him.
Paul cringed at the thought of that damn list. But there was nothing he could do about it now. “Stevie,” he said, lowering his voice as he at last noticed the avid interest from their audience, “I love you. And I think you love me.” Tears swam in her eyes and something inside Paul ached harder than the jaw he thought just might be broken. Damn, Nick’s left was still a powerful thing.
Shaking her head, Stevie said, “It’s not enough, Paul. It’s just not. I won’t be the juicy bone you and your brother fight over, for God’s sake.” She planted both hands on his chest and shoved. “Besides, who decided you two could pass me around to the winner of some dumb-ass contest?”
Knowing You Page 26
