by Liz Talley
Brennan didn’t know the truth, but he knew he couldn’t deal with this right now.
“I thought we had something,” Mary Paige said, stepping even farther away from Asher, reaching a steadying hand for the chair that rolled backward when she grabbed it. She teetered, but pulled herself upright, her brown eyes pools of despair.
Her expression tugged at him and he didn’t want to look at her. Didn’t want to feel the hurt that flooded him.
Goddamn them both.
He was better off feeling nothing than this.
Asher shrugged. “I should leave you two to talk this out.”
Mary Paige crossed her arms. “Sure. Leave us in the rubble, you bastard.”
“Don’t bother,” Brennan said, stepping toward the party. “I’ll go.”
“The hell you will,” Mary Paige yelled, stomping her foot, not looking quite so shaken. “It’s not going to happen like this. This isn’t some damn soap opera.”
“No, it’s not. It’s my company’s Christmas party, and it’s neither the time nor the place to discuss what will happen between me and you after this debacle.”
“Well, I’m not letting you leave it like this. It’s not fair.” Her words trembled with tears. Real or crocodile? Was it all part of her plan? Two million dollars was a lot of cash. But hooking him through the nose and getting him to the altar would be worth much more. Hadn’t every other woman he dated wanted the same? Jumbo ring equaled jumbo bank account.
“Don’t you know life isn’t fair, Mary Paige? It pretty much sucks most the time…something I forgot for a while.”
“Brennan…” Her plea floated out to him, but he didn’t wait any longer. He shut the door on her and Asher.
Gone was the anticipation of another night in her arms.
Gone was the joy that shimmered inside him, vibrating like a string plucked over and over.
Gone was the man he thought he could be.
How could he have so easily forgotten who he was, who he’d always been? He’d been blinded by the image of being with someone good and kind, someone who could guide him out of the walled fortress where he lived. He’d been confused by her contrived benevolence. He’d been suckered by the whole festive promise of the season, allowing him to forget what he knew for a fact—Christmas was a sour, grim and a cruel reminder that love didn’t exist for Brennan Henry.
He cut through the crowd, ignoring the shouts of “Merry Christmas” and “Happy New Year.” Emotion clogged his throat and he was afraid he might actually break down and cry like a damn baby in front of everyone who mattered to him—his grandfather and the company.
Pressing the elevator button, he spotted a small tinsel tree blinking beside the entrance.
Like a hurt and angry child, he walked over and kicked it. As it hit the floor, he felt a little better. He walked toward the opening elevator doors.
As the doors slid shut, he glanced once again at the revelers. No one even noticed he left…or that he’d kicked over a Christmas tree.
“Bah, freaking, humbug.”
* * *
MALCOLM PERUSED THE crowd for Brennan, but didn’t see him. It felt marvelous to have all his employees, along with the board of directors, in attendance. He’d asked the board to the party after they had all voted to approve Brennan as the new CEO of MBH Industries mere days ago. Brennan wasn’t aware of the secret meeting called to select the next executive in charge, and Malcolm had been waiting until this event to announce the decision.
It was a Christmas gift for his grandson.
Maybe not as important as the gift of love, but a nice one even so.
Malcolm had submitted his letter of resignation a week ago and would not be returning to MBH Industries after he and Judy returned from Charleston and Savannah on their honeymoon in a few weeks. It was long past time he started enjoying his last few years on earth, and he wouldn’t spend any more time worrying about profits, the market and whether or not they should purchase another piece of land for a new store. Time to sleep late, make love to his pretty new wife while he still could and walk Izzy every afternoon. Time to really live.
But he couldn’t make the announcement if he couldn’t find his grandson.
He spotted Mary Paige across the room, standing near one of the vignettes, and moved toward her.
“Evening, my dear,” he said, pulling her into a hug before she could protest. “Where has my grandson gotten off to?”
“Good evening, Mr. Henry,” she said, her voice oddly choked. Her pretty brown eyes were filled with tears and her smile was tremulous.
“Are you well?”
She pressed her lips together and shook her head.
He narrowed his eyes. “Where’s Brennan?”
“I don’t know. He left, I think.” She swallowed hard, as if she could swallow the emotion away.
“What’s happened?”
She seemed reluctant to say anything so Malcolm waited her out. Finally, she spoke. “A misunderstanding, but it doesn’t matter because nothing was real. It was just a bubble…it was a…mistake.”
What had his grandson done? Everything had seemed so good for Brennan over the past few weeks, and Malcolm had hoped it might lead to something more lasting, something close to what he’d found with Judy. He wanted his grandson to find love before it was too late.
Before he was old, gray and past his prime.
Mary Paige’s gaze flickered over the crowd, stopping for a moment.
Malcolm turned his head to see what gave her pause and spotted Asher dancing with a clerk from accounting.
“Did Asher have something to do with this?” he asked, a warning flag shimmying up the pole of realization.
Her gaze jerked to his and she wiped a single tear from the corner of her eye. “Why would you think that?”
“Because in my experience, he always has something to do with things going south for Brennan.”
She sighed. “It isn’t Asher’s fault. It’s an issue with the nature of who Brennan and I are. Trust me, this is all for the best.”
“Not really.”
Her touch on his arm was gentle. “No, truly. Brennan and I are not meant to be. We’re too different, and we forgot that for a few weeks.”
“It’s not true. Look at me and Judy. Look at—” Excruciating pain struck hard and fast. Malcolm clutched his bow tie as a hammer struck him again and again in the center of his chest, the last one pressing him down. He sank to a knee, his mouth open but unable to make a cognizant sound.
“Juuu—”
“Oh, my God!” Mary Paige reached for him, grabbing his elbow as he fell.
Lights swirled above him.
Judy.
He needed Judy.
“Help!” Mary Paige screamed, dropping beside him.
He felt others move his way, the band playing on and he knew he was dying.
Dying without ever making Judy his bride.
Dying without teaching Brennan about love.
Dying with so much left unfinished.
It wasn’t fair.
But when had life been fair?
He closed his eyes and then there was nothing more.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BRENNAN SAT IN the waiting room of ICU staring at the clock, willing the minute hand to hit the six for no other reason than he was tired of it being on five. The cardiologist on call had tersely told him earlier in the emergency room it was touch and go for Malcolm and they’d know more when they got him on the cath table. That news had made Brennan’s gut cramp and his head pound with dread.
His heart was already bleeding from the episode with Mary Paige and Asher, so he wasn’t in good shape.
Judy sat across from him, her skirt bunched up and her face pale and worried. Her fingers knit together, twisting and turning over and over until he thought he might scream.
“He’ll be okay,” Judy said for the third or fourth time in ten minutes. It was the new mantra that had replaced the “Oh, God, please save h
im” that she’d repeated for over an hour.
“He will,” Brennan replied, not feeling the words. Knowing this could be it, and in the snap of his fingers, he’d be utterly alone. Well, he’d have Asher and Ellen, but that thought wasn’t comforting even though he cared for his cousins. Well, at least he cared for Ellen.
Finally, after forty minutes of finger-twisting by Judy, the cardiologist, Dr. Jim Grantham, pushed through the doors and headed their way. Brennan stood.
“Mr. Henry, sorry for my shortness earlier. I wanted to get your grandfather on the table as soon as possible to see what we were dealing with. Time is always of essence during an MI event.”
“No problem. How is he?”
Judy stood and touched the doctor on the arm. “I’m Judy Poche, Malcolm’s fiancée.”
“Oh,” the doctor said, turning to her as he pulled off the brightly colored surgeon’s cap and tucked it into the waistband of his scrubs. “I’m Dr. Grantham, and your fiancé is stabilized and recovering.”
“Oh, thank God,” Judy said, closing her eyes and drawing in a deep breath.
“For some reason he threw a clot in that stent and there was an immediate cardiac event. We fixed the blockage and placed a new stent. The heart muscle was further damaged, but it looks as if he’s going to pull through.”
Brennan nodded his head, relief spiraling through him at the doctor’s prognosis. “We can’t thank you enough, Dr. Grantham.”
“I’m glad you got him here quickly and it wasn’t something more serious. We’re running some tests to see why his body formed the clot in the first place—usually it’s not taking the prescribed blood thinner. We’ll know more soon and I’ll consult with his personal physician.”
Dr. Grantham patted Judy on the back and gave her a gentle smile before he left. The older woman wilted like a daisy in a drought and sank onto the vinyl armchair, tears rolling down her cheeks as she clutched her stomach.
“I thought I’d lost him. I’d just found him, found love, and I thought it could be gone before we’d even got started.” Her slim shoulders shook, and Brennan didn’t know how to comfort her, so he sat beside her and rubbed her back.
“But it’s okay, now. Grandfather will get stronger and we’ll make sure he takes his medicine. He’s got you to watch over him now, and I’m banking on the fact you’ll make him eat right and exercise. He’ll be up and around in no time.”
She nodded, but didn’t stop crying.
Judy had been scared silly. Not because she thought she stood to lose a fortune. But because she thought she might lose the love of her life.
This wasn’t about money or social position. This was about love, pure and not so simple.
Love.
He’d always fought against that particular emotion, but he didn’t always win the match. He loved his grandfather and could hardly stand the thought of being without him. When Malcolm had first had the heart attack in late spring, Brennan had felt frozen—scared stiff—to such a degree that he avoided the hospital, pretending it hadn’t happened. But now, he knew he couldn’t run from his grandfather’s delicate health, couldn’t pretend Malcolm Henry, Jr., the strong, powerful tycoon, was made of steel and would never change.
Because he wasn’t. And he had.
Life didn’t seem to care what Brennan wanted. It kept chugging forward, throwing surprise curves and blinding tunnels his way.
Mary Paige.
Her image popped into his mind—blond hair swishing, brown eyes snapping as she belly-laughed while watching America’s Funniest Home Videos on his couch. Her giggles had made him laugh and then they’d looked into each other’s eyes and he’d felt that zing, that little zap that said, “You belong with her.”
And he’d believed she was his destination.
Until he’d caught her in Asher’s arms, and doubt had poured over him coating him like hot wax.
Was it wrong to think so poorly of her? His past experiences colored him, made him doubt her intent from the very beginning. This he knew, but he didn’t want to hurt again, especially not from her falling into his cousin’s arms. He’d already danced that dance, and knew how it left him—alone and embarrassed. And, deep down in the recesses of his heart, hurting.
“You okay?” Judy patted his thigh. “You look pale. Should I get you a soda?”
He shook his head, impressed that Judy, whose face was blotchy and swollen, was concerned about him. “No, I’m fine. Relieved.”
The doors Dr. Grantham had disappeared through parted and a large nurse with a wide grin came through. “Well, I’m guessing you’re here for Mr. Henry. He’s in recovery, awake, asking for his Judy. And someone he called a knothead.”
An almost hysterical bark of laughter burst through Judy’s lips.
The nurse looked at him. “I’m assuming you’re the knothead? Unless you’re name is Judy?”
He raised his hand. “Knothead.”
Judy raised hers. “Not the knothead.”
The nurse nodded and they followed her into recovery, where his grandfather lay, hooked to beeping machines and an IV. Brennan’s heart stopped when he saw how sick his grandfather looked. Near death.
“Judy,” Malcolm breathed, lifting his hand slightly.
“No, no,” she said, pressing his hand down with hers as she cupped his jaw. “I’m here, darling. You’re okay.”
His grandfather’s eyes searched over her shoulder and landed on him. “Bren.”
Brennan felt the tears in the back of his throat choke him. His knees shook and he thought he might pass out. Instead the tears escaped along with a sob.
“Oh,” Judy said, reaching for his hand, drawing him near to her and his grandfather.
Brennan allowed himself to be pulled next to the bed, trying like hell not to cry like a damn idiot, but failing. He clutched his own chest because it felt as if it might break apart.
“Bren,” his grandfather said again, reaching for his and Judy’s hands twined together. “Don’t, son. Don’t.”
But Brennan couldn’t stop the flood. It overwhelmed him, sucked him into fear so intense and relief so sweet. Judy’s arms wound around him and this woman who loved his grandfather held him as he cried the tears he’d stored for years upon years.
Finally, Brennan reined things in and wiped his face with the sleeve of his tuxedo, feeling exactly what his grandfather claimed he should embrace—vulnerability.
“Sorry,” was all he could manage to say.
“Why?” his grandfather whispered, his voice hoarse and gravelly. “For caring? For loving? Don’t be. It’s a gift.”
Brennan shook his head. He didn’t know what he apologized for. Maybe for being weak.
“Come here.”
Judy gently pushed him toward Malcolm. Brennan went because this was his grandfather…and he’d nearly died. Again.
Brennan bent toward his grandfather to catch the faint words.
“You’re a complete idiot.”
Brennan drew back. “Why? Because I—”
“No, not because you cried, but because you made that woman cry. That woman who loves you.”
“Mary Paige?”
“No, the friggin’ Virgin Mary.”
Judy gasped. “Malcolm, that’s—”
“Sorry.” Malcolm cleared his throat. “Shouldn’t have said that. But Brennan is obtuse as a da— Uh, darned, moron.”
“Asher—”
“Is an ass. He looks to undermine you at every turn, something you refuse to see because you think he’s better than you. But he’s not. You’re ten times the man he is, and Mary Paige doesn’t deserve to fall victim to his selfishness. And neither do you. Wake up, boy.”
Brennan couldn’t say a thing. His mind jumbled around those words, at the thought of his cousin intentionally ruining his relationships. Why? Jealousy? He couldn’t grasp the concept.
“Bren,” his grandfather croaked, his eyes sharp as stone. “Remember the spirits in the book.”
“W
hat book?”
“In A Christmas Carol?” Judy asked, smoothing the sheet beneath Malcolm’s chin.
“Yes.” Malcolm coughed, his neck muscles straining. Judy patted him, her eyes worried. Finally, his grandfather quieted. “Remember the children beneath the robes?”
“Ignorance and Want,” Brennan said to himself, his mind clicking as he grasped the implications.
“Don’t let them win.”
* * *
MARY PAIGE FOLDED her favorite Christmas sweater and put it in the suitcase.
“When will you be back?” Mitzi asked from her perch on the bed.
“I took the whole week off. Ivan the Terrible wasn’t happy, but then again, when is he ever happy?” Mary Paige placed a stack of underwear into the suitcase and secured them with the strap. Never knew how many undies a girl might need.
“What about Brennan?”
“What about him?”
Mitzi frowned. “Well, you never talked to him about his cousin, and then when Mr. Henry got sick…”
“There’s nothing to say. We were never going to work. And I shouldn’t have to explain myself to him any further. I told him what happened—he should have known I would never kiss Asher—and he refused to believe me. Instead he believed the worst of me. So it’s over. Period. End of story.”
Mary Paige believed the words she said. Most of them anyway.
She’d spent the past few nights lying awake, staring at the water stain next to the antique chandelier she’d scored for a song at the Goodwill Unique Shoppe, thinking about all that had occurred over the past few weeks…and thinking she needed to go by Ace Hardware and get some white paint to cover the stain.
At one point she’d gotten really philosophical and imagined Brennan as that water stain on her heart.
Would she ever be able to cover it up?
Then she’d gotten pissed because she was lying awake, thinking about him again, and making analogies out of old water stains.
So she’d but on her big-girl panties and stopped thinking about him.
Mostly.
“So that’s it?” Mitzi asked, flopping against the pillows, messing up the bed Mary Paige had made that morning.
“That’s it,” Mary Paige responded, sitting beside her friend. “I went to the Rotary Club’s Yuletide coffee and doughnuts yesterday morning, and as of today, I’m officially finished with the Spirit of Christmas campaign. Hallelujah.”
