by Selena Blake
“Why? We all have a few skeletons under the bed,” Baby said, knowing that better than anyone.
“Fairchild men are made of strong stuff, you know that,” JJ added.
Gretchen nodded.
“Have you told him how you feel?” Baby asked.
Gretchen shook her head. “No.” She took a few deep breaths and seemed to compose herself. “I was ready to this morning. I was going to lay it all out there. Not to pressure him but just to let him know how I feel.”
“How do you feel?” Baby asked, needing all the details.
Gretchen shrugged and stared into her wine glass. “Like I can’t breathe at the thought of him walking out of my life. Like I’d give anything to make him stay. Like he’s the one man I can be my dorky self around and I don’t want to lose that feeling of belonging. Did I tell you he had his housekeeper come clean my house while I was at school today? He introduced my work to Lillith White. I’m–what if this isn’t going anywhere for him? There’s a part of me that can’t help but wonder if I’m a diversion? It’s a vicious cycle and I kept trying to tell that meanie to shut up, that we actually have something that could last.”
Gretchen seemed close to hyperventilating or possibly breaking down. JJ wrapped an arm around Gretchen’s shoulders and Baby skirted her sleek, imported Italian coffee table and settled on her friend’s other side.
“You really are in love,” she murmured, bemused and at the same time, happy for her friend. Gretchen was one of those women who wanted to fall in love and deserved a great guy.
“So why didn’t you tell him?” JJ asked.
“I was going to but after last night...”
“When your mother showed up?”
Gretchen shook her head.
“What happened? Did he say something?” JJ asked.
“We can have Joe beat him up,” Baby added, squeezing Gretchen’s hand.
Gretchen shook her head again.
“I didn’t know sex could be like that,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“Oh honey,” JJ said, tightening her arm and pulling their friend in for a hug.
Normally Baby would pester for details but not today. Not about this.
Silence reined for several minutes, interrupted by the occasional sniffle. When Gretchen finally calmed herself, she swallowed and reached for her goblet. They sipped their wine and glanced at each other, each of them lost in thought. Baby knew as well as anyone how hard it was to admit to a man that you loved him beyond all reason. She also knew what it was like to have that love thrown back in her face, dashing her hopes and dreams. No, it’d been worse than that. He’d crushed her heart like powder.
She understood the desire for house and home, a husband and two point five kids, the picket fence and a cocker spaniel. Baby knew because twelve years ago she’d yearned for the same things. Her future had been set; she’d been loved. Cherished even. She understood what love like that could do to a woman, to her heart and psyche. It was because of that understanding that she’d tried to get Gretchen together with the hottie during their vacation last year. It’s why she encouraged her to date when Gretchen would rather be volunteering at the animal shelter. She wanted her friend to prove her heart wrong, to find a man worthy of their love, their dreams, their affection.
Oh heavens, she’d unwittingly stepped in it. A great big pile of steaming dog doo. She’d slayed her friend’s heart without meaning to, without even knowing.
Baby ducked her head. She’d like to blame everything that’d happened that day on Joe but she was a big girl, old enough that she should have handled his rejection better.
“For what it’s worth, Greg didn’t choose me,” she admitted.
Gretchen frowned. “What do you mean?”
“If I’d known you liked him, I never would have done it.” She moved to the coffee table and met Gretchen’s eyes. “You have to know that, G.”
“Done what?” JJ asked.
Baby took a fortifying breath and prepared to share a moment she’d thought to take to the grave. But her friend needed to know the truth and if that meant reliving the single most humiliating moment in her life then so be it.
“I made Greg promise not to tell… At the party, I hit on Joe. He turned me down and he wasn’t nice about it. Before you say anything–“ she looked at JJ. “It was all me. Joe’s a great man and I’m sure he’s a good bodyguard but it hurt. I guess I don’t hear no very often. I wanted to make him jealous and I knew that Greg wouldn’t say no if I told him I needed his help with something.”
Baby dared a glance at Gretchen and felt a little sick to her stomach. Her friend was wide eyed, hanging on every word.
She licked her lips and continued. “Greg thought I’d changed my mind about dating him and he was pissed when I made him promise not to tell anyone why I’d asked him upstairs. He left immediately and I waited another fifteen minutes or so to make it look like we’d been up to something.”
Baby reached for Gretchen’s hand again. “Nothing happened, I promise.”
“Not at the Super Bowl party. But he liked you before. Last year.”
“I told him the score and he wasn’t interested.”
“You know Baby’s not the first girl he’s been interested in,” JJ said quietly.
“Besides, he only liked me because I flirt like a fiend.”
“I know that,” Gretchen said, glancing at JJ.
“Who cares about anyone else? You’re perfect just as you are and I think you’re perfect for him,” JJ declared. Baby added a succinct nod for good measure.
“But what if he doesn’t think so?”
“All you can do is follow your heart,” JJ said.
“And tell him how you feel. You can’t punish the guy for something he doesn’t know is a problem. Men are incredibly dense about stuff like this,” Baby added.
The doorbell chimed again and Baby rushed to open it. Cindy breezed in and didn’t bother to take off her coat.
“Sorry I’m late. What’d I miss?”
JJ stood and poured Cindy a glass of wine. “Well, Gretchen’s in love with Greg. Baby had a crappy day at work, and Trevor and I set a wedding date.”
Ear piercing screams tore through her town house and Baby wasn’t the least bit shocked when Joe steam rolled through the front door, gun drawn.
Damn, could that man get any sexier?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The agony flooding the church sanctuary was thick enough to cut with a knife Saturday afternoon. To lose someone so young, so full of life...what a tragedy.
At least fifty people had gathered to pay their respects to Peter and she’d offered to go with Greg since she knew he was going to need the support. The pictures and the stories portrayed Peter as a young, hardworking, vibrant man, not unlike the man at Gretchen’s side.
Emotions assailed her and it would have been easy to give in to her sorrow, her fear. A singular thought took up residence in her brain and wouldn’t stop repeating itself.
That could have been Greg.
It could just as easily have been Greg driving the car, lying in that casket. These people, all those flower arrangements could have been at his funeral. She never would have been able to tell him how she felt. He wouldn’t have needed rescuing from the hospital; she would have had a very different kind of Sunday dinner with the Fairchilds. And she would have mourned him. Perhaps not openly, but she would have mourned his loss just the same.
The thought of never seeing him smile again, or rough housing in the backyard with his brothers… Her breath halted in her throat and she fought back a sob. She had to hold it together. Today was about those grieving family members and friends.
Greg was still alive. Remote, but alive. Somehow she needed to focus on that.
Greg’s gut tightened as six men hoisted the grey casket and started down the aisle. The heavy floral scent hammered home the reality of the situation better than anything else. It swept him back in time to when his mother
had died. The thick potpourri of roses and lilies was a scent he’d never forget, signalling permanence and death.
He’d been kidding himself all week. Even though he’d known the gravity of the situation, his mind hadn’t wanted to believe the truth.
The truth was, Peter was dead. His body lay in a casket carried by his closest friends.
He would never taste home cooking or chocolate chip cookies again. He’d never dine out at a fabulous steakhouse or celebrate life’s little victories. He would never kiss his fiancé again or stare into her eyes or make love to her in the early morning hours just because he could. He’d never marry or have kids or become a grandfather.
As if sensing his distress, Gretchen reached for his hand and he returned to the here and now. But for some reason, her touch didn’t sooth him like it usually did. In fact, her warm, smooth skin was a reminder of what he’d been enjoying all week while Peter had lain on a cold slab in the morgue. His chest tightened as he glanced back at the closed casket.
Greg felt like shouting, banging his fists against the pew in front of him. Screaming ‘stop’ at the top of his lungs wouldn’t do a bit of good. Anger wouldn’t bring back Peter; he knew that. Just like he knew fury at the other driver wouldn’t turn back time. But it was so hard to sit still, to listen to sniffles and sobs and do nothing. Feeling helpless and out of place was an unusual feeling and he hadn’t the first clue how to process it.
Soft organ music played as people filed out of the church. He searched the faces of the people crowding the aisle. They all wore a similar expression, one he felt to the depths of his soul. Life wasn’t fair. No one should die so young.
Peter’s fiancé choked back a sob and Peter’s father put an arm around her shoulders. She leaned against the old man and dabbed a tissue under her eyes. But then her gaze zeroed on Greg and he couldn’t escape the agony etched there. She stared at the space where Gretchen’s hand held his and he suddenly felt like he’d been singed. He let go of Gretchen’s hand and shoved his fists into his pockets.
“Greg?” Gretchen asked quietly as he stepped into the aisle.
He couldn’t answer her, not right now. Not when he felt so fucking guilty. He shouldn’t have let her come. One of his brothers could have driven him.
“Are you okay?” Gretchen whispered when they were almost to the doors.
Why were people standing around? They were all saying the same thing, everyone was thinking the same thing. He’d made it out of that car alive.
A flush of heat scalded the back of his neck and then the hairs stood up. People were staring. He didn’t have to look to be sure.
A sob echoed through the space, which wasn’t unusual. There were lots of tears today, cries of injustice, tissue boxes being passed around.
“Why?” The feminine voice came from the back. And then in a slightly hushed tone, “I don’t understand. Why is he here?”
The words were broken and though he’d never heard her voice before he knew exactly who’d spoken.
And whom she was speaking about.
Greg half turned and took in the tear stained face of Peter’s fiancé. She was leaning heavily against Peter’s dad now, a tissue crinkled in her fist. And her eyes, big indigo eyes, suddenly turned angry.
“Why?” She screamed. It was as if the anger strengthened her somehow. “Why are you here? He’s de–ad. You—“
And then she broke. Broken down, legs gave way, sobs erupting from her lips. Peter’s father caught her on the way down.
Gretchen gasped but before she could say a word he muttered several ‘excuse mes’ and edged his way outside.
He’d never suffered an anxiety attack before but that had to be the cause of his pounding heart and the tightness in his throat. The overwhelming feeling that everything was going to hell in a hand basket gnawed him from the inside out like a piranha trying to pick his bones clean.
He skirted the corner of the building and bent over, bracing his hands against his knees. One thought after another flooded his brain until there was no making sense of them. He sucked in a deep breath but felt like he would choke on the air. And just when he thought that he might actually suffocate on the warm spring air, just as blackness seeped into the edges of his vision, warm strong arms wrapped around his shoulders.
She didn’t have to say a word to pull him back from the brink. Instead, she ran a soothing hand over his back, round and round until the darkness ebbed and his lungs didn’t burn quite so badly.
“She’s in a lot of pain. I’m sure she doesn’t know what she’s saying,” she said quietly, soothingly.
But that was the hell of it. “She’s right. What am I doing here?”
He straightened a bit, not willing to step out of reach of those miraculous hands.
“Greg, no.”
He stared across the parking lot at the people getting into their vehicles.
“Why did I survive and Peter didn’t? She has every right to wonder the same damn thing. They were in love, getting married. Three months. I had no one, no one with a ring on her finger, no one to share my life with. They were supposed to have their happily ever after in three months, Gretchen. How is that fair?”
“It’s not, but you have to ignore her. You’re here to show your respect. There’s nothing wrong with that. And one day when she’s not hurting so badly, she will appreciate that you respected him enough to show up.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist. “We can’t change the past, but we can change our future. We can learn from this–”
“What could we possibly learn?” He already knew to wait for all the traffic to stop for a red light before he hit the gas. That was common sense, not to mention something you learned from the handbook at sixteen. But that hadn’t stopped this accident; Peter had hit the gas when the light turned green and that truck—
“Like the Pastor said, we live each day like it’s our last. We tell our loved ones we love them. We live the best life we can. We take our chances and make the most out of the time we’re given.”
She was more poised than he’d ever seen her and there was a conviction in her voice that he’d never heard before.
“I never realized how idealistic you are.” Or how much he loved that about her.
As soon as the words left his lips he realized what the emotions in her eyes were because they disappeared behind a mask of cool, steady southern-belle strength.
Love. Hope.
He’d killed those emotions with a few careless words.
Before he could get his foot out of his mouth, her grip around his waist eased and she took a slow step back.
“You’ll have to forgive me for trying to make sense of a senseless situation.”
He hadn’t meant to hurt her, scrambled for something to say to fix it but she’d already turned for the parking lot.
They rode to the cemetery in silence and he stood at the back of the crowd. Gretchen didn’t reach for his hand, didn’t loop her arm through his, didn’t offer any physical support. But she was there. Even when he was a snarling bear, snapping at her like he’d stepped in a trap, she stayed by his side.
Gretchen was proud of herself for keeping her chin up and her lips sealed on the drive home. This latest mood of his would just have to work itself out. There was only so much she could do or say.
But the silence was killing her slowly. “You’re a good man, Greg Fairchild.”
He huffed out a humourless laugh. “Then why do I feel like pond scum?”
She bit back a sigh and got out of the car. He met her on the walkway, rubbing the back of his neck as if it would take the tension away. “Would a cookie make you feel better? This morning’s batch isn’t going to eat itself.”
She expected him to crack a smile as he always did when she mentioned cookies but his frown remained firmly in place.
“I don’t think a cookie is going to solve this,” he snapped.
She gasped and flinched at the same time. Wincing, reached for her bu
t she swallowed and started up the walk without him.
“You’re right.”
“Gretchen, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you...I just...I need some time to sort this out in my head. There’s just too much going on up there.”
Where had the man from last night gone? The one who’d swept her up in a huge hug the moment she’d walked in the door? The one who’d made reservations at the fanciest steakhouse around because he had complete confidence in her, in their need to celebrate a fabulous meeting with Lillith White? The one who’d taken her on their first real date and been a complete, delicious gentleman? Where was the man who’d then brought her home to make slow, sweet love?
More importantly, why was he ruining everything? He was the exact opposite of the sunny April afternoon. She was trying her hardest to be supportive without being a pest... Maybe this was how he dealt with grief. Silence was perfectly acceptable; she’d mourned her grandmother quietly, not saying much to anyone.
But the biting comments?
He followed her to the front door, silent. Why didn’t he say anything? Why didn’t he talk to her, tell her what he was thinking, feeling? She couldn’t help him if he didn’t open up.
But that was just the thing. He wanted time to sort it out, not her help.
In that moment it was as if the clouds parted and a burst of sunshine put her in a warm spotlight. She finally got it. She was too available. Too helpful. Always giving, asking nothing in return. In that single moment she broke down inside and rebuilt herself.
“A cookie isn’t going to solve your attitude,” she said, turning to him at the front door. The pain in his blue eyes was so familiar. The scruff on his chin, the wisp of hair tumbling down his forehead, she knew both by heart, by touch. For the first time in a week, she didn’t reach for him. Didn’t try to sooth him.
“Only you can do that,” she continued. “You need time? Fine.”
She made a sweeping motion with her hands, like a baseball referee calling a player safe. “Take all the time you need, but do it somewhere else. I’ve been nothing but nice and supportive. And I was fine being a good friend. But then…you kissed me, Greg. You made love to me. You moved into my house and my—”
