by Amy Olle
It was nothing short of ridiculous.
Luke reached the crescendo, and a heart-wrenching softness tinged his voice. He held the note and her heart lodged in her throat. Tears swam before her eyes.
The crowd’s eruption of applause jolted her. She turned away from the stage, devastated. Though she should be grateful she’d realized now how impossible a future would be for them, before she did something stupid like fall in love with him.
The green-eyed man who knew her heart.
His large, warm hand slipped to her waist and his low voice sent shivers up her spine when he spoke in her ear. “You wanna get out of here?”
She nodded because she couldn’t speak and, clutching her purse, shot from the barstool, frantic to be away.
He held the door for her and they burst into the chilly night air. She resisted the urge to melt into his warmth and solidness at her side, to disappear inside him and become a part of his soul.
No, good thing she didn’t love him.
At his SUV, he opened the passenger-side door for her. She climbed into the vehicle.
He stood in the door with a sheepish smile. “I’m really sorry about that.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. You can’t help it that everyone loves you.”
He frowned. “They don’t love me.”
“Yes, they do.” She reached for the door handle, but his grip on the car door remained firm.
“They don’t love me.” A thread of vulnerability disturbed the calm pools of green. “They don’t even know me.” He shut the door on that statement.
As he came around the hood of the car, he turned his head to peer at something in the shadows. He continued to the driver-side door and a blast of cold air swept into the cab with him.
“I’m sorry, but I need to check on something.” He started the car and cranked the heat to full blast. “Can you give me another minute? I swear I’ll be quick.”
“Take y-your time.”
He pulled his cell phone from his coat pocket as he bounded back out into the cold. The phone pressed to his ear, he backtracked down the sidewalk. He tucked the phone away and approached the figure of a man huddled on the ground in the mouth of the alleyway between buildings.
Buried under a heavy winter coat and stocking hat, his bare feet poked out from his too-short pants, exposed to the biting wind.
Emily’s heart constricted. She hadn’t noticed the man huddled there. Was he unwell?
Luke crouched beside him and, gripping his shoulder, gave him a firm shake. Slowly, the man lifted his head.
They talked a moment. Luke gestured toward her in the warm car, as though offering him a ride somewhere.
The man shook his head and his chin dropped to his chest.
Luke roused him once more. As he spoke, he pointed at something in the distance.
The man nodded.
Luke strode to the street corner and crossed the road. In her side mirror, Emily watched him disappear inside the convenience store. She debated going to help, but minutes later, Luke emerged from the store carrying something bulky in one hand. He returned to the sidewalk and stepped into the stream of light from the street lamps.
He crouched before the man again, working the laces on a pair of winter boots.
The man’s head came up when Luke slid a bulky ski sock onto one of his bare feet, and grew more alert as Luke worked the boot onto his foot and tied the laces. Together, they dressed the other bare foot.
Snowdrifts gusted and blew across the sidewalk while they talked another few minutes. A minivan pulled into a parking spot, catching them in the headlights’ beam. A young woman scurried to them. With Luke’s help, she guided the man to his feet and inside the minivan’s passenger-side door.
After a brief exchange, the woman ducked inside the van and Luke made his way back to her.
He fell behind the steering wheel. “Sorry.” Cold radiated off him when he put the car in gear and backed out. “Sorry, that took a little longer than I expected.”
Emily couldn’t speak past the emotion clogging her throat, so she shook her head and turned her face to the glass.
It was many long moments before she found her voice. “Y-you offered him a ride?”
He rolled his shoulders, as if to throw off the heaviness trying to cling to him. “He refused me. He always does.”
“You know him?”
“He’s sort of the town drunk.” Green eyes touched her face and then darted back to the windshield. “Like my dad was, when he was alive.”
The car’s headlights touched snowcapped sand dunes alongside the road as they passed by.
“That’s why they all love y-you, and they’re right to do so.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed and her eyes moved to the strong column of his throat.
She wanted to lay her head on his shoulder and hug him. To touch warm skin and breathe in his spicy scent, which teased her senses even now.
She wanted to love him.
She did love him.
Another wave of nausea rolled through her.
Chapter Eighteen
Luke yanked open the station door and tore through the glass-walled vestibule.
He was late. Again. For no reason, other than he couldn’t muster the will to leave Emily’s bed.
He pushed aside the thoughts troubling him about the sallowness of her peaches-and-cream skin tone more than a week after she’d recovered from the flu bug, and headed straight for the conference room.
Chief Brown sat in her usual seat at the head of the long conference table while Sloane’s focus was riveted to his cell phone.
“Nice of you to join us, Detective Nolan.”
Luke didn’t insult her with a half-assed excuse as he slid into a chair across the table from Sloane.
“Let’s start with the disturbance call at City Hall last week. Officer Sloane, you want to give the summation?”
Sloane flipped open a manila file folder. “The call came in at 11:15 p.m. when a dispute over payment of the DJ broke out at a work retirement party. I arrived at City Hall at 11:29 p.m. to find a crowd of approximately thirty people gathered on the front lawn. I placed a call for backup; Detective Nolan arrived at 11:49 p.m. The dispute was between the DJ and the employee in charge of organizing the event, with several individuals in attendance joining in. Detective Nolan and I calmed the crowd, and when we ran licenses, the DJ’s came back with an outstanding warrant for arrest. I took the suspect into custody without incident. At this time, the case has been turned over to the prosecutor’s office and arraignment is set for next Wednesday.”
Luke listened in silence to Sloane’s account of events.
“Anything to add, Detective Nolan?” Chief asked.
“No, nothing. Officer Sloane’s summary is complete.”
All except for one tiny detail. A detail no one but Luke knew.
When Luke and Sloane approached the milling crowd, several men shouted insults at one another, and a sudden flash of movement had caught Luke’s eye. The instinct that’d saved his ass too many times to count in his ten-year career screamed at him and he’d whirled in the direction of the disturbance.
His body reacted to visual confirmation of the gun before his mind fully assessed the situation. He would draw his weapon first and neutralize the threat before it struck. He almost did it, too, but for the slightest hesitation wherein his mind caught up with his instinct.
Not a man, but a child.
Not a gun, but a replica.
A motherfucking toy, cradled in the tiny hands of a young boy.
Luke stood with his hand on his weapon while waves of horror and shame poured over him. Drowning him.
He’d been a heartbeat from shooting a child. An unarmed boy.
The report didn’t include his break of focus, his misstep in procedure, nor his nearly fatal mistake.
In the days since, he’d tried talking himself out of a downward spiral of self-loathing. It was a heated dispute. Near midnig
ht. Why was a child even there, wide awake and running around playing pretend? Nothing about the situation made sense, so how could his reaction to it?
“While I have you both here…” Chief Brown broke into his thoughts. “I want to let you know we’re finally able to move forward with filling the position.”
The ball of dread in the pit of Luke’s stomach gave a hard wrench. He hadn’t minded the delay to the job search while the county argued over funding for the department.
Cynthia placed her hands on the table in front of her. “We’ve reviewed applications and will be contacting both of you to schedule interviews in the next couple of weeks. I look forward to discussing the position with each of you.”
He forced a plastic smile onto his face and pushed to his feet. “Thank you for the opportunity.”
He didn’t acknowledge Sloane’s peevish scowl when he left the conference room. He didn’t give a shit about the job just then. Though maybe he’d earned the chance to broaden his role in the island’s force, he couldn’t spend time thinking about a new position. He needed to stay focused on the moment before him, and not give in to the worry of more assignments, more responsibility, more doubt and despair and death.
Always death.
All he wanted was to get through the damned day and return to the inn.
To her.
Emily collapsed onto Luke’s couch.
His studio apartment, housed in an old warehouse, had exposed brick walls and a warm wood floor and ceiling. It was wide-open, with a small kitchen at one end, followed by a dining table, a living area, and at the far end, a bed rested before the patio doors. Outside, his beachfront property offered a breathtaking view of the harbor.
She closed her eyes. She couldn’t recall ever being so exhausted. The sound of running water from the bathroom where Luke was taking a shower lulled her.
He’d stopped at the inn on his way home from work just as Max and the gang were set to shoot a scene in the foyer. A disagreement about lighting quickly broke out between Max and Honey. They fought like mortal enemies, or as Luke described it, siblings.
So Luke and Emily decided to escape to his loft for a few hours.
The bathroom door swung open and Luke appeared in a cloud of steam from the shower. A towel was wrapped around his lean waist, and his hair stood on end from a hasty rub. He disappeared in the walk-in closet at the far end of the loft and emerged dressed in a sky-blue T-shirt and dark blue jeans.
“You hungry?” he asked. “I’m going to make some dinner.”
Her stomach let loose an angry growl. “I’m starving.”
She dragged her weary body off the sofa and settled on a stool at the kitchen counter.
A soft smile teased over his lips. “You sound surprised.”
“I am. This is the first time I’ve felt hungry in a while.” Though two weeks had passed since the flu bug hit, her queasiness had lingered.
He set a skillet on the stove and turned the heat on low. Then he retrieved a cutting board from the drawer and attacked an onion with expert skill.
“Thanks for letting me stay again tonight,” she said. “It’s chaos at m-my house.”
“How is the film going?” He diced the onion into tiny bits. “Any zombies popped out at you yet?”
She rolled her eyes. “Sort of. Yesterday, I walked right through the middle of a scene. I thought they were taking a lunch break, but I guess they’re using different foods for blood and internal organs.”
“Sounds appetizing.” He sliced into a green pepper. “I see Max and Honey are still going at it.”
At times, it got to be too much for Emily. Max had a short temper and when he went off, the urge to hide, as she had whenever Harrison started to yell, overwhelmed. After the yelling, came the hitting.
“I could do with less fighting, and I could do without Will’s cologne. The smell makes me want to gag.”
An odd expression chased across his features, but he said nothing.
Later that night, after they’d returned to the inn to sleep, she dreamed of charred meat and mayonnaise. Her stomach gave a sickening wrench that roused her from sleep. Luke lay by her side, his broad, bare chest facing her. By the deep, even rhythm of his breathing, she knew he slept. Her stomach roiled and sweat beaded on her forehead.
Shaken and disoriented, she closed her eyes.
Another wave of nausea hit her. She kicked off the covers and lurched from the bed. In the darkness, she stumbled to the bathroom off her bedroom. She closed the door behind her and dropped to her knees before the toilet, ill.
After, she flushed and sat back on the cold tile floor. She laid her head on her trembling arms and dragged air into her lungs while tears streamed down her face.
There was a soft, cursory knock on the bathroom door before it opened and Luke stepped into the small space. He knelt beside her on the floor and ran a hand over the crown of her head.
“Sorry to w-wake you.”
“Don’t be.” Without turning on the bathroom light, he retrieved a washcloth from the cupboard, wet it in the pedestal sink, and lay it over the heated skin on the back of her neck. Tendrils of her hair stuck to her damp skin. He sat on the edge of the bathtub and rubbed a hand up and down her spine.
When she was certain the nausea had passed, she sat back on her heels. “I think I’m okay now.” She removed the cloth from her neck and wiped her tear-stained face. “I thought I’d finally kicked this flu bug.”
He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and peered into her face. He was sleep-rumpled, but alert. Concern etched his features.
“Do you want to come back to bed?”
She nodded. He took her hand and helped her to stand.
At the cabinet, he withdrew the mouthwash and poured a capful. She used it, and then followed him to the bed on weak legs. He pulled back the covers and she crawled in. When he stretched out beside her, she turned toward him and buried her face in the hollow where his shoulder met neck, like a sick child seeking comfort.
His cheek rested against her forehead and his fingers toyed with the hair at her temples.
Soon, exhaustion reached out to claim her once more.
“Hey, Em?”
“Hmm?”
“Is there any chance you’re pregnant?”
Her eyes shot open in the dark.
Chapter Nineteen
She’d been locked in the bathroom for a long time. Too long.
Luke flicked away a heap of wet snow and set his coffee mug on the patio table she’d neglected to store inside the garage for the winter. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his fleece and ducked his chin inside the collar to shield against the chilly breeze coming off the lake.
At first light, she’d slipped from the bed and snuck out of the inn. She’d returned twenty minutes later with coffee and muffins from the bakery in town and then faked her way through a stilted conversation with him about the driving conditions of the roads before she disappeared into the bathroom with her purse.
As if he didn’t know what she was up to.
A smile played on his lips. He shot a glance over his shoulder, through the patio doors and across her bedroom. The bathroom door remained shut.
He knew she was taking a pregnancy test.
He also knew what it would say.
Despite the life-altering ramifications, or maybe because of it, his smile cracked open and he had to wipe it away.
With a last look at the whitecaps churning toward shore, he turned away from the landscape and stepped into the warmth. Silence greeted him.
He crossed to the bathroom door and knocked. “Em, are you all right?”
Nothing.
He tried the knob and the door gave way.
She sat on the toilet lid, staring down at the white stick in her hand.
He eased into the small space and perched on the edge of the bathtub.
Huge brown eyes clamped on his face. “I’m s-s-so sorry.”
He reached for
her hand and laced his fingers through hers. “This isn’t your fault. Not solely.”
“I don’t understand how this happened.” She tossed the stick in the trash. “I’m on the pill. We used condoms.”
“Not every time.”
“Because I’m on the pill.” With each word, her voice pitched higher.
“Maybe you forgot to take one?” he asked gently.
“No, never.” She shook her head. “I take it every night wh-wh-when I br-brush my-my-my teeth. I’ve never m-m-missed.”
He grasped the back of her neck and kneaded the tight muscles. “I don’t know, Em. Maybe when you were sick with the flu—”
The color leeched from her face.
He pushed her head between her knees. “Breathe.”
She sucked sharp inhalations in through her nose and pushed out short puffs of air through her lips.
“Good girl.” He relaxed his hold.
She bolted upright. “I can’t have a b-baby. I don’t know anything about b-babies.”
“No one knows anything about babies until they’re responsible for one.”
“I’ve never been responsible for one. Wh-what if I hurt it or-or-or break it.” A broken sob tore from her. “I don’t know how to take care of a b-baby.”
He shoved her head back down. “You’ve got to breathe, sweetheart.”
Air wheezed in and out.
“Taking care of the baby is the easy part.” He eased his hold on her neck. “It’s rough at first, but once you figure them out, it’s not so bad.”
She shot up. “How do you know that? Do you have kids?”
“Don’t you think I would’ve mentioned if I had kids? I’m an uncle, and I lived with my brother and his wife until their firstborn was five years old.”
“Oh.” But the panic had taken hold of her. Her eyes glistened. “I can’t do this. I was a caretaker for nine years. I’m not ready to do it again.”
He pushed her head between her legs again. “Keep breathing.”
“I can’t go through that again.”
