by Brenda Novak
Dylan chuckled at the memory, but Mack couldn’t laugh. Natasha had made her feelings plain, all right, and, Lord help him, he’d managed to keep his own feelings under control for many years. But all the wins didn’t matter; he’d succumbed in the end—and Lucas could be proof of that.
Did Natasha get pregnant without telling him, and then marry someone else? Once he’d learned of the pregnancy, he’d tried to ask her, but she’d insisted the child belonged to Ace—and if they were happy together, he couldn’t get in the way of that.
“I’ve got to go.” Mack was suddenly anxious to get off the phone. Today, everything his brother said seemed to upset him. “We’re in a store.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you later. Give Natasha my love.”
“Sounds like you two stay in touch.”
“So...”
“I guess you can do that yourself.” After he disconnected, he regretted the curtness of his response. If not for Dylan, he would’ve been put into foster care when he was just a boy. He loved and admired his oldest brother more than any man in the world.
Besides, the way he’d acted just now would only confirm that Dylan had hit a tender spot. But Mack had always been torn when it came to Natasha. The way he’d met her, and her young age at the time, had set them both up for a tug-of-war that had left him facing something he’d never anticipated.
“Are we done with this shit?” Lucas asked, once again hitting one of the racks with his sword.
Mack couldn’t help smiling in spite of being all twisted up inside. What a little hellion. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you are my son,” he muttered to himself and started going through the windows.
* * *
It felt nice to have a break from Lucas. As much as Natasha loved him, it was so much harder to deal with her own emotions while she was also trying to make sure he was happy, well cared for, entertained and shielded, as much as possible, from the more difficult aspects of the divorce. She’d thought her ex would help more, but the divorce had brought out the worst in Ace. Determined to be free to focus on his own life, he was pretty much expecting her to take care of Lucas, even when it came to child support, since he didn’t have a job. His wealthy parents were helping him get by, and she had no one to lean on until she could get back on her feet, but he didn’t seem to care whether she had money, even though it wasn’t just she who would suffer if she couldn’t buy groceries.
She supposed she shouldn’t be too critical of him when it came to money matters, however. After all, she’d been the primary breadwinner. It made sense that he’d expect her to take care of herself. But he knew that she was struggling, and he knew why. That should’ve made a difference.
He just didn’t care. That was the bottom line. And she suspected he preferred she be the one who had to babysit so she wouldn’t have the opportunity to find someone else.
Little did he know, she didn’t want to get into another relationship. She’d never marry again, never risk her peace of mind or her financial well-being, let alone her heart. She was so done with that. Since she was sixteen, she’d tried to give Mack everything she had, and he hadn’t wanted it. So she’d tried to give Ace everything she had left. And it hadn’t been enough.
She refused to keep trying, to wind up as a carbon copy of her mother, who’d been with so many different men over the years that Natasha couldn’t even remember them all.
Exhausted, she stopped sweeping and rested her head on her hands. How many “fathers” had she had? Some of her mother’s lovers had only been around for a few weeks, and yet Anya had insisted Natasha call each one Daddy. It was a pathetic attempt to draw the man in and get him to commit. But it never worked—at least, not for long. J.T., Mack’s dad, was probably the longest relationship she’d ever had, and that was because he was in prison for the first part of the marriage.
Natasha was going to live her life differently—with some dignity—even if it meant being alone.
All she wanted to do was collapse into a chair, but, drawing a deep breath, she summoned the energy to finish sweeping. She had to keep putting one foot in front of the other and appreciate all the little things. That was how she’d get through this dark time. In this moment, she could clean without having to worry about Lucas getting near the rat droppings or trying to escape out the front gate, where he could get into the street. That was something.
Thank God.
Actually, she could thank Mack. He was the one who was helping her—the only one who’d come to her rescue. That meant it would be difficult not to be too grateful to him. Having his support when she felt so lost and broken would naturally soften her heart toward him. He always did things like that, things that made her believe he cared.
He probably did care to some degree, or he wouldn’t do anything, but she had to remember that it wasn’t in the way she’d always wanted him to care. She couldn’t let the nice things he did cloud her judgment. No way would she put her son through anything remotely similar to what she’d been through as a child. The only father Lucas knew was Ace, and it was going to stay that way.
She’d opened the windows to air out the place, so she could hear the car when Mack and Lucas returned. She wished the errand had taken them longer, wished for an additional couple of hours in which she could take a nap. But at least she’d had ninety minutes of silence in which she’d been able to accomplish a few things.
“Mom! We’re back!” Lucas yelled as he came running up the steps and into the house, letting the screen door slam behind him.
“Were you able to find the right window?” She turned, expecting her son to rush into her arms, but he had his hands full, and he was so eager to reach her that he nearly tripped.
“No, but we got you these!”
He was holding a bouquet of red and white tulips. Her favorite.
The sight of them—the simple beauty of them—made her throat grow tight.
It was the exhaustion, she told herself. She hadn’t gotten enough sleep for months, and it was beginning to bring her emotions to the surface.
Afraid Mack would be able to tell that she’d choked up for no reason, she was careful not to look at him when he came in.
“Thank you,” she told Lucas as she took the flowers. “They’re beautiful.”
Her son smiled proudly. “Uncle Mack said you used to plant them in the front yard when you lived with him.”
She’d forgotten about that. She’d tried to add a few feminine touches to the all-male home—had cooked and cleaned and planted flowers to spruce up the place—in an attempt to repay them for taking her and her mother in. They’d basically been homeless. What would’ve happened to her if Mack and his brothers hadn’t done that? Her own mother had been too caught up in getting her next fix, whether that was a man or the drugs she used, to keep a roof over their heads or even notice what her daughter needed.
Mack was carrying a bag of groceries in each arm, which he put on the kitchen counter. “We couldn’t find the right size of window,” he said to her, “but I’m going to check online. You hungry? I got stuff to make sandwiches.”
She was starving. She hadn’t had anything to eat today except the carrots Lucas had refused to finish from the sack lunch she’d given him on the drive. But she didn’t want to rely on Mack in any way, not more than she could help it, at least. “No, I’m fine. I ate on the drive,” she lied and pretended to be completely uninterested in what he’d purchased as she searched for a container for the flowers.
There were a couple of dusty old mason jars in the pantry. She rinsed one out and carefully arranged the flowers before putting them on the counter with the groceries. She had to admit, the splash of color lifted her spirits. As insanely busy as she’d been, she hadn’t stopped to admire a bouquet of flowers in...forever. With summer coming on, she’d all but missed spring.
As she set to work cleaning the kitchen, Mack made he
r a sandwich anyway. He used a plastic fork to spread the mayonnaise and mustard and put the finished sandwich on a paper towel on the counter.
Since she was hungry, and it would go to waste if she didn’t eat it, she took it and sat on the floor, where she could use the wall to support her back while she ate.
The sandwich was made with sourdough bread and filled with thin layers of honey ham, and she’d never tasted anything better. She hadn’t quite finished when a bottle of beer came into focus. She’d been enjoying her food so much she hadn’t realized Mack was standing over her, trying to hand her a drink. “Hasn’t been in the fridge long enough to be cold quite yet,” he said, “but it tastes okay.”
This time she didn’t even try to refuse. He’d already popped the top.
Once she finished her sandwich, she just sat there, slumped against the wall, watching him play with her son while slowly drinking her beer.
“You all set?” he asked, after she was done, and offered a hand to help her up.
Surprisingly, she’d regained some of her strength. Who knew a sandwich could make such a difference? But she still had a problem with the fact that she was once again relying on Mack Amos. The last time she’d accepted his help, she’d fallen so deeply in love he’d ruined her for all other men.
But she was going to be much smarter this time.
They needed to get far enough on the cleaning that they could unload the beds, at least, so they’d have somewhere to sleep tonight. Telling herself that his touch did nothing for her, she let Mack haul her to her feet.
Three
After being awakened by Lucas at three in the morning and getting him back in bed, Natasha couldn’t drop off again. Pulling on a cardigan over the gray silk tank top and matching shorts she’d received at her bridal shower almost seven years ago, she slipped down the stairs and past Mack, who was sleeping on the old couch from the den, to go outside and sit on the front steps, where she could gaze at her new town and feel the cool breeze rustling the leaves of the maple tree taking up most of the front yard.
So much had changed in her life. And in such a short time. Only eighteen months ago, she’d been getting her credentials and negotiating contracts with the various health insurance companies that were popular in LA, signing a small business loan for financing and investigating medical record software so she could run her office as efficiently as possible. She’d also been spending a great deal of time with a commercial real estate agent, searching for the perfect location for a pediatrician. Instead of buying into an existing practice, or purchasing the practice of a doctor who was retiring, she’d chosen to start out on her own. She’d been eager to set the tone for how her patients would be treated from the very beginning. Even though Los Angeles was a big city, she wanted to offer small-town care, the kind where a doctor took a greater interest in getting to know her patients and maintained a lasting relationship with each one.
She’d expected her first few years to be tough, knew it would take time to build a practice, and cash flow would be a challenge. Being a doctor wasn’t only difficult when it came to getting through school and paying back a mountain of student debt. Insurance companies took so long to pay after she’d seen a patient. And it was difficult to collect from people who left the office without taking care of their share.
But she’d known the challenges she’d face and had still been optimistic, especially when, in her first three months, she’d outpaced all her projections. She’d thought she was going to make it, that she would continue to grow and become an important part of the community—had never dreamed that something she couldn’t have planned for, something unforeseen, would bring her down.
When it could’ve been so many other things—why was it that?
She sighed as she leaned back and stared up at the sky. If not for Maxine Green, she’d probably be back in Laguna Beach, giving babies their immunizations and helping sick kids get well before going home to Ace and Lucas at night. Her marriage could’ve withstood her success; it just couldn’t withstand her failure. Ace wasn’t capable of supporting her, financially or emotionally. He’d always relied on her to support him, and she’d done her best to play that role—until she just...couldn’t.
The screen door creaked and she twisted around to see Mack. He was barefoot, like she was, but wearing shorts he’d made himself by cutting the legs off a pair of sweatpants. They rode low on his narrow hips, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt, so she could see his well-muscled torso—something that would be better for her not to see.
Besides being only half-dressed, his hair was mussed from sleep, but he didn’t seem remotely self-conscious. She’d never known him to be self-conscious. Vain, either. That was part of his appeal. He was just himself, always. With thick, curly hair he often let grow too long, a prominent chin and jaw—one that sported a five-o’clock shadow almost immediately after he shaved—eyes that somehow saw the best in everything and a pair of dimples that gave him a megawatt smile, it was sometimes difficult for her to look away. His teeth weren’t quite straight, and one of his incisors had a slight chip, but even those imperfections added to the overall character of his face.
Damn him, she thought, wearily. After everything she’d been through, she should not be feeling the same old attraction.
She supposed some battles she’d have to fight forever.
“Having trouble sleeping?” he asked.
Mustering what she could of her defenses, she wrapped her cardigan tighter around her. “Lucas woke up. He was disoriented, what with being in a new place. After I helped him find the bathroom, I couldn’t go back to sleep. What about you? What are you doing up?”
He sat on the step beside her. “He must’ve come downstairs after you took him to the bathroom.”
“He woke you?” she asked in surprise.
He lifted a hand. “It’s fine. He’s on the couch. I’ll take his bed when I go in. At least he’s back to sleep.”
“His bed will be way too small for you. I’ll move him. I’m sorry.” She’d have to risk waking Lucas again when she carried him upstairs; it wasn’t as if Mack had many options. Other than boxes, the beds and that couch were all they’d brought in. By the time they’d cleaned the house, they didn’t have the time or energy to haul any more.
“He’s quite a kid.”
She was glad Mack liked Lucas, couldn’t help wanting him to. “A handful,” she acknowledged. “But I never dreamed he’d bother you. The divorce has him missing Ace, I guess.”
She’d never seen Luke take to someone so quickly. Of course, it would be Mack.
His sidelong glance gave her the impression he had something weighty to say, something beyond the parameters of what they’d discussed since he’d come to LA. Afraid for what that might be, she stiffened, but when the intense expression left his face and he turned away, she could tell he’d decided not to go forward with it and relaxed.
“Must be tough to deal with what your nurse did,” he said instead. “Is that what keeps you up at night?”
She generally avoided talking about this, as well. It was too fresh, too painful. But with Mack, she preferred this topic to some of the others he could’ve chosen. At least this had nothing to do with them. “Part of the reason.”
“What’s the rest?”
“The divorce. The loss of my practice. Having to move and work as a school nurse after all the effort I put into becoming a doctor. Take your pick.” She frowned, feeling the terrible burden of regret, which somehow grew heavier at night. “But mostly what my nurse did.”
“I’ve never heard of anyone doing anything like that before. You must be devastated.”
“There are so many emotions zinging around inside me I don’t know how to cope with them all, so I try to ignore the crushing pressure on my heart. I have a son who’s depending on me. I can’t give way.”
“You’re going to be fine,” he
said. “You’ll get over this.”
“Maybe I will, but what about the family who lost their little girl? I doubt they will. I became a doctor because I wanted to help people, especially children. To think that my nurse would purposely harm my patients...” She squeezed her eyes closed as she remembered all the times she’d had to call an ambulance to her office, not realizing that Maxine was capable of doing the things she’d done—and then the worst day of her life, when the child she’d been trying to save didn’t survive. “That’s just...beyond my understanding.”
He rested his elbows on his knees. “I don’t get her motivation. What did she have to gain?”
“Attention. The adrenaline rush of causing the alarm. Feeling important and in the thick of it. In some misguided way, I believe she wanted to put these children in danger so that we could then be praised for saving them. That’s the closest I can come to explaining, after reading everything I can find on Munchausen by proxy.”
“So she was doing you a favor,” he said sarcastically.
“She painted it that way once I confronted her.”
“That’s crazy. I don’t know how she lives with herself.”
“I don’t, either. After what’s happened, I can barely go on.”
He nudged her knee with his own. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She would’ve said nothing and let it go at that, but she felt obligated to clarify. She knew he was especially sensitive to any reference to suicide. His mother had killed herself with pills when he was just a little boy, and he’d been the one to find her. Natasha hadn’t been intimating that she’d do anything like that, but because of his background, she could see why his mind might automatically go in that direction. “It means I can’t help feeling responsible.”
There. She’d said it. What she felt in her heart but had been terrified to say for fear just speaking the words aloud would establish them as fact. Had she been more aware, more diligent, more intuitive—instead of focusing so much effort and energy on her crumbling marriage—maybe she would’ve recognized what was going on much sooner. And that could’ve saved little Amelia Grossman’s life.
