by Gwen Hayes
Michael stood stiffly as his father's assistant left, and he shook hands with the Reverend. "You could stay," he said quietly.
The minister shook his head. "I'll be back. I could use a cup of tea, anyway."
Behind the other man, Michael caught sight of Heather standing up. "Excuse me." He stepped into her path. "Hang on."
"I'm going to get you some clothes," she said, not quite looking him in the eye. "You'll need a suit if you're going in front of the board."
"I have a suit at the office. It's fine."
"I'll go get you coffee, then."
"I don't—"
"Let her go, Michael," his mother said. He didn't miss the way Heather's shoulders stiffened at the cold tone.
If the circumstances were anything but life-or-death, he'd snap.
"She's my—" he started to say, quietly, but Heather shook her head and cut him off.
"I'll be back." Another sad, gentle smile, and she was gone, ghosting out of his reach.
The doctors filled the void with medical jargon and a decent try at empathy, but then they were gone, too, and it was just Michael and his parents, one of them unconscious and the other…
"Mom…" he trailed off as he realized she was crying. "I'm so sorry."
He grabbed a box of tissues and leaned gingerly against his father's hospital bed, next to her chair, and they sat in silence, listening to the beeping monitors.
She went through five tissues before she finally looked up at him. "You'll need to take his place."
"I…"
Maybe if he'd finished that statement, maybe if he had known how to tell his mother he couldn't do that—maybe then he'd have avoided hurting everyone.
But he didn't know how to talk to his mother.
And when Heather returned an hour later, with soup and a coffee and clothes for him to wear to the board meeting, he didn't know how to talk to her, either.
He hung the garment bag on the hook on the back of the door, and quietly told his mother he was going to eat his food in the waiting room with Heather.
"Any update?" she asked as he settled wearily in the thankfully empty room.
He shrugged. "They said a lot of things. Most of it just hedging their bets. If he wakes up in the first twenty-four hours, that's a good sign. Until he does, it's just a waiting game."
"What do you need?" She traced her fingertips over the veins on the back of his hand, and he flipped his palm up so he could snag her fingers.
"I just need to hold on to you." It was a slip of the tongue. He'd meant to say hold her hand. But it was also true. He was terrified he'd lose her again.
"I'm here."
"I'm sorry about my mother earlier."
"She's hurting. You're hurting. It's fine."
"It's not. You're my wife."
"And you've got a lot of decisions to make," she said lightly. "I understand."
He shook his head. "No—"
"Eat your soup." She squeezed his hand and he fell silent.
As soon as his father woke up, he'd say the words out loud. I've made my decision. I'm not staying in Baltimore. My heart is where you are, my life is where you are, and I'll follow you to the ends of the earth.
* * *
His father didn't wake up. By the time eight in the morning arrived, and it was time for him to leave for the meeting, they'd passed the twelve-hour mark and the old man was still unconscious.
He'd sent Heather home to sleep, but she was back with more coffee and his shaving kit at quarter to seven.
Now she was steering them through early rush hour traffic. The normal half hour drive to Baltimore's business district from John Hopkins felt like it took an eternity.
"You okay?" she asked when they were stopped at a red light a few blocks before the TST tower.
"Mmm. Yeah." He wasn't, but needed to have his game face on when he walked into the room. Couldn't let his emotions slip through, not now. Soon, though. Soon he would fall to pieces and Heather would be there for him.
He'd spend the rest of his life working to deserve that.
"Do you want me to wait? I can go shopping." She gestured in the general direction of the Inner Harbor.
"Mall won't be open for a bit." He rubbed the crease between his brows. "You want to come up with me?"
She made a face. "I will if you want me to."
"No." He tried to laugh, but it came out like a bark. "No. Better not."
She frowned, just a little. "Okay."
"You can go back," he burst out.
"Where?"
"To the camp. If you want."
"Is that what you want me to do?" She slid to a stop in front of a no-stopping sign in front of the building.
No. That's what he wanted them both to do. Together. "I need to concentrate on this meeting. I shouldn't have said that."
She gave him a guarded look that made his heart crack open. "Text me when you're done."
He nodded and leaned over, meaning to kiss her cheek. At the last second, she turned and pressed her lips hard against his. As he pulled back, she sank her teeth into her lower lip and looked down, avoiding his gaze.
"I won't be long," he said.
The corners of her mouth twisted, like she tried to smile and couldn't. "You'll probably get pulled into a bunch of things. It's okay if it takes all day. Keep your ringer on in case the hospital calls."
He reached for her hand to squeeze it, but she was already putting the car in drive and his fingers just glanced off the back of her wrist.
"I love you, Heather."
She looked up at him. "I know."
* * *
The hospital did call, an hour later, interrupting the board meeting. He called for a break while he took the phone call in his office.
"Mom?"
"He's woken up, Michael." The relief in her voice was nearly painful.
He sagged against his desk, his knuckles turning white. "Oh, thank God."
"He was quite distressed, and his…voice was…he couldn't talk. He just made this garbled sound. But he can write yes and no, sort of. So that's good news." Her breath sounded ragged into the phone.
"I'll be there soon."
"How is everything there?"
He winced. Everything here was in chaos. But the board had supported his motion. "Things are going to have to change," he finally said to his mother. The details could wait. "But don't worry about it. The company is in good hands."
"Of course it is, darling. We trust you."
That trust was entirely misplaced. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. Of all the things he thought he'd ever get emotional about, a change in company leadership wasn't it.
"I need to get back to it," he told her. "I love you and Dad. Thank you for the update."
He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Heather as he walked back to the boardroom. You were right. Lots to do here. Will text later. Dad woke up. Good news all around.
Then he pulled open the heavy wooden door and got back to his responsibility.
Chapter 12
Michael didn't get another break until early afternoon. He'd asked his assistant to call the hospital twice, and each report back had been that there was no more news, and it would be a slow recovery.
As he signed yet another pile of quickly drafted legal documents, he felt another pang of guilt at what he was doing.
But his father wouldn't be resuming his role as CEO any time soon—not ever, probably. Not if his mother had any say in the matter. It was time for a permanent leadership change.
"We good here?" he asked the assembled lawyers as he flipped the pen he'd been gripping for the last thirty minutes.
He wouldn't miss the hand cramps, that was for sure.
Of course, he'd probably get just as many being Heather's official handyman.
Different kind of pain, though. He looked forward to working with his body every day. Challenging himself in every way to learn and master something new.
"Yes, sir.
"
"Don't call me that," he chuckled. "I'm nobody's boss now."
He'd keep a seat on the board. But he'd authorized a nationwide headhunting campaign for a new CEO and a new COO. It was time for the helm of TST to be manned by a team with new vision, new energy.
And just like that, the guilt slid away. This was the right call for everyone.
"I have to go find my wife and get back to the hospital," he said, standing up and holding out his hand. "Thank you so much for all your hard work today. It's appreciated."
"You'll be missed, Mr. Tully."
He winked. "I'll be around. A few times a year at least."
He didn't bother to pull out his phone and text Heather. Instead, he had his assistant call for a car to meet him at the store on the corner, and by the time he made it downstairs and had bought a bouquet of flowers, the driver was waiting for him.
He gave the condo address and sat back in his seat, closing his eyes for the first time in nearly two days.
The town car had a smooth ride, and he would have fallen asleep if the drive had been any longer, but before he knew it, they were there. He tipped the driver and jogged up the stairs, letting himself in.
But when he got upstairs, the apartment was deadly quiet. "Heather?" he called out.
The living room looked exactly like it had the night before, the throw cushions pulled off the couch and everything cleared off the coffee table so they could use it as a table.
The noodles were gone, though. Like she'd cleaned up, but just the bare minimum.
In their room—her room, he corrected himself with a growing panic—he didn't find her…and he didn't find her backpack, either.
Or his suitcases, either.
She'd packed up and left.
He dropped the flowers to the floor.
She'd packed up and left in his car. How the hell was he supposed to chase her all the way back to the Berkshires now?
He yanked out his phone and called her. His incredulity turned to steaming frustration when it went straight to voicemail. She had a huge lead on him if she was already out of cell range.
"God damn it!" he yelled, picking up the flowers just long enough to pitch them angrily back into the living room. He stormed after them, yanking them up for a third round of abuse when the front door swung open.
Heather stared at him, her eyes wide, and she slowly raised her hands up between them. "Put the flowers down, baby."
"Heather," he gasped, his heart pounding in his chest. "What are you—"
"—doing here?" They asked the question at the same time, and she gave a weak laugh and tried again. "I was just taking some of our stuff down to the car. I thought it would be better if we stayed at your apartment while we're in the city. Closer for you to go back and forth between the hospital and the office."
"We?"
"Yeah. Are you okay?"
"No."
"What's going on? I thought your dad…I was just at the hospital a little while ago. Everything was as fine as it could be. He's calmer now."
Michael nodded. "I know."
"Then what is it?"
He swallowed hard. "I thought you'd left."
"Oh. Baby, oh, no." She raced across the room and wrapped him in her arms. "I'm not going anywhere. Not right now. I'll go back and forth as needed, and we'll figure something out next summer."
"You don't need to."
"Of course I do." She shook her head and pressed her face into his neck. "This is a family emergency. And you, Michael Tully, are my family. You're my heart and soul, and I'm not leaving you to be brave and strong on your own. You're going to be miserable leading TST. So I'm going to be here to keep reminding you that when you're ready, Camp Firefly Falls is waiting for you."
"I'm ready."
She laughed, a full body shake that warmed him from the inside out. He squeezed her tighter to him. "Oh, sweetie."
"No, I'm serious. I…" He tugged back. He wanted her to see his face when he told her. "I quit today. I mean, I resigned my position as COO, and accepted a seat on the board. But my deputy director has stepped into the role while an executive search can take place. For two positions. CEO and COO. A new leadership team for a new era for Tully & Sons Trading."
"No…." Her eyes went big and her mouth dropped open. "You didn't."
He grinned. "I did."
"Holy shit."
"Yeah."
"I'm so proud of you."
"I thought you'd like that."
"And your parents?"
He winced. "They don't know yet."
She stepped back and held out her hand. "Whenever you want to tell them, I'll be right by your side."
Chapter 13
six months later
Fishing.
Somehow, trout had done what Michael’s best efforts of toeing the line his entire life had not.
Brought father and son together.
Heather smiled at the sight of the two figures in the boat as it made its return trip to shore. Michael and his father had gone out every day since his parents had arrived at camp for the long weekend. Well, all weekends were long for the Tully men now that they no longer existed only in their business bubbles. But they came out Friday, Mr. and Mrs. Tully, and weren’t leaving until tomorrow. So Sunday dinner was suddenly something in Heather’s purview. Which was just weird.
She’d always hated the expected Sunday dinners at the Tullys’.
She and Michael had been feeding his parents camp “nostalgia” food for most of the weekend, plus one night at Boone’s, the pub/restaurant in town. However, tonight’s Sunday dinner was being prepared by a chef auditioning for camp. Someone Mother Tully herself had suggested to Heather. She couldn’t decide if she wanted it to work out or not. On one hand, it would be nice to take the olive branch, on the other, she didn’t want Michael’s mother to meddle and cause problems.
The great room cooled about ten degrees, letting Heather know her mother-in-law had entered. Stiffening her shoulders, Heather turned to face the woman who’d made her life so difficult.
Mrs. Tully was formidable—more so because of her diminutive size and impeccable appearance. It was like nothing could muss her. Not her wayward son and certainly not, what had she called Heather for the first four years they dated? Ah, yes. “That Nonsensical Gypsy Girl You Like So Much.”
She had some sort of force field or bubble that kept her hair in place and her shoes neatly polished no matter what life threw at her. Even here, at camp, her casual attire was freshly pressed despite not having irons or servants on the premises. The woman even ate her first s’more last night without needing a napkin. It was slightly infuriating.
Mother, as Heather always called her even when it was obvious to both of them it was not an endearment, looked over Heather’s shoulder through the floor to ceiling window overlooking the lake. “They’re returning I see. I suppose we’ll need to pretend to like lake trout again this evening.”
A joke? Heather smiled, though warily. “Not tonight. Meg is preparing our rustic French fare this evening, remember?”
“Oh thank goodness.”
Mother continued to stare, unseeing, past Heather. Heather wanted to make a run for it, find some important business to deal with so as not to be alone with her, but something made her stay.
It wouldn’t be so hard to be gracious, would it? She’d won, after all. Michael had chosen what made him happy, not his parents. He’d stuck by his decision when his mother had thought she could sway him. He’d even found a way to get his parents out to the camp instead of them always going to Baltimore.
The only power Mother had over Heather was the one that Heather gave her.
“Do you like puzzles, Mother?” She let her gaze flit over the shelves housing board games, puzzles, and books. “We could start one. Maybe the men will join us.”
Mother pursed her lips, looked out the window, and then nodded. “Certainly.” Well, bless her heart. She was trying.
“Why do
n’t you pick one out while I make a quick pitcher of G&Ts.” Because booze.
“Oh thank goodness,” Mother replied, echoing herself, and Heather stifled a giggle. If she’d known a decade ago that gin would have helped their relationship, she’d have given it a try a long time ago.
It took a long time for Michael and his father to get to the lodge’s great room. Mr. Tully moved a lot slower these days and Michael had fish to clean. But they spent a good hour together, the four of them, looking for edges and trying to smooth over the formal, strange feelings that didn’t fit as well as the jig-saw pieces.
A nice dinner later helped. And when Mr. and Mrs. Tully retired to their very nice room in the lodge, it was Michael’s idea to retire to the hot spring.
Naked.
“My mother didn’t ask you about grandchildren once tonight,” Michael murmured against her temple as she sat in his lap. “Progress.”
“I think she’s actually trying to accept me. It only took twelve years.” The battle-axe. Though, to be fair, Heather’s dad hadn’t given up on the idea of grandchildren either. He never made her feel that their choice was ruining an entire lineage, though.
“It was good of you to make them feel welcome here.”
Heather shifted so she was sideways in his lap. “It’s our home. Of course they are welcome. I never meant for you to have to choose between your parents and us. It wasn’t about either or.”
“Camp isn’t my home, sweetheart, you are.”
She wiggled her bottom. “Now you’re just trying to get lucky.”
“I’m already the luckiest man in the world,” he said as she maneuvered once again so that she straddled his lap and rubbed against his erection.
She was the lucky one. It had been a little over a year since she bought the property. Six months since they’d reconciled. The idea that she’d almost let her marriage go instead of fighting for it was hard to forget.
“Hey, where’d you just go?” he asked.
“I promise I will never not fight for you.”
He registered surprise first, probably trying to figure out how she’d gotten from Point A to Point B in this conversation. Then he grinned wickedly. “Same goes. I’ve always got your back.” His eyebrows waggled. “And your front.”
