by Christa Wick
I cupped Maddy's hand, touched my cold nose to her ear.
"So why are you here? My bed more comfortable than the one you have?"
She stayed silent just long enough for me to think she had fallen asleep again. Then she softly laughed.
"Actually, it is. I swear that man would sleep on a floor every night if I would get down there with him."
"I think it's a military thing," I said. "But you get a different bed. Maybe one that is pressure adjustable where there are remotes for each half. Sutton will buy you twenty beds if you just tell him."
Maddy murmured her agreement, the sound soft and sweet. I tugged on her ear.
"So why are you here? Is this about the Miami office?"
"Someone has been talking out of turn, hasn't he," Maddy laughed. "But can't I just show up because I want to make sure you feel safe returning here? Which, I hope you know, you don't have to. I can get a team here tonight to move everything."
"I know. Just like I know you're changing the topic. Did the Director offer Emerson the Miami office—just between you and me, of course."
Maddy nodded. "Once we managed to wake him—which took a freaking hour."
"And he accepted," I said, my voice as flat and emotionless as I could make it.
"Not exactly. Emerson pointed to his IV bag then told Shaekes he'd formally provide an answer in a few days."
"But he's leaning that way," I persisted.
Why else would he need to wait? It took less than a second to say "no thank you." Two seconds if he wanted to add in something like he was honored but not interested.
"He's leaning that way," I repeated, more to myself than my sister.
She shrugged. I nudged her for a better answer.
"He's been so focused these last six months—and on his own most of the last three—that it sometimes feels like I'm dealing with a new person," she said. "One I haven't learned how to read yet. Not to mention all the pain meds he's on right now. He told the doctor to stop prescribing them, by the way."
I grunted. His injury almost put him in the grave. Painkillers could facilitate initial healing by reducing stress to the body. But there were often long-term consequences, especially with the particular meds the doctor had prescribed. Working in law enforcement, he couldn't afford to risk even a short-term addiction.
"So you don't know what you're doing yet," I continued, the muscles of my chest constricting tighter and tighter.
"What I'm doing?" Maddy snorted. "Oh, I know exactly what I'm doing!"
Rolling over, she pulled me into her arms. The maneuver shocked me. From the first time Maddy let me hold her as a toddler, it was always my chest to Maddy's back, an outcropping of blanket stretching up so there was no chance of my breath blowing against the back of Maddy's neck. It was the same way with Caiden.
"Don't cry," Maddy coaxed.
She stroked my cheek in another rare display of intimacy.
"I'm staying in Montana," she said. "Where my baby will be smothered in love. And where you are."
Maddy hooked my gaze and held it.
"I'm so sorry I left before. I thought it would make things easier on you, not harder. I thought it would be one less burden you had to carry."
I shook my head. "I never thought you were a burden."
"But I was." Maddy pulled closer, draped her leg across mine.
The intimate posture almost hurt, in a sweet kind of way. And then it absolutely did hurt, deep in my chest in a decidedly ugly way.
Discounting my recent contact with Emerson, how long since I had been held like this? Longer than I had been a widow. Far longer. Ken was at the end of a six-month deployment when he died. But, even before then, he had started to hold me like he held Caiden.
Like he was trying to capture a butterfly without crushing it.
"You gave up your own childhood to take care of me," Maddy persisted. "To give me structure and understanding our parents couldn't. And then you had to go through it all over again with Caiden…"
I hid my face against the pillow, trying hard not to sob. I didn't want Maddy to feel responsible, to misunderstand the source of all the tears. I also didn't want Caiden to hear.
But he heard. He came to the bedroom door, opened it, and saw me crying in Maddy's arms. Instead of retreating or asking what we were having for dinner, he did the inconceivable.
He circled the bed, climbed behind me and joined Maddy in holding me.
"It's okay, Mom," he said, his cheek pressed against my shoulder. "Maddy and I love you. It's our turn to take care of you."
26
Delia
"I'm not sure I should be here," I whispered, tugging on Maddy's jacket as we both stepped onto Lindy Turk's front porch.
Maddy slung an arm around my shoulder and coaxed me up the remaining steps.
"They want your input on the fundraiser."
"My input is pies," I said, picking at the cuff of my sleeves. "Specifically pie auctions. And I already put that forward."
Maddy stopped, grabbed me by the shoulders and stared at me for a few seconds.
"Look, the entire town, if not all of Elkhead County, knows what you did saving Emerson's life. And all those people also know about Caiden being lost last year—most of them because they were on the search teams."
Entirely unaccustomed to being lectured by my baby sister, I hopped from one foot to the other.
"So I think Lindy is going to pitch the idea of you giving some kind of speech as someone who has both relied on emergency services and provided them."
My head began flying around my shoulders, my voiced protests sounding like a possessed cat channeling Lucifer himself.
"Noo-no-noonoo-no-noooooo!"
I stopped, caught my breath, then resumed shaking my head.
"Nygård should give a speech," I protested. "He saved that teenager."
"Thorne is giving a speech, and glad-handing pretty much every minute for both days of the fair."
Leaning in, Maddy whispered in my ear.
"Now tell me the real reason you’re ready to bolt back to the car."
I looked down, inspecting the boards that made up the porch as I answered.
"I haven't returned to the hospital since the Director's visit five days ago."
"Don't I know it," Maddy huffed. "Emerson has asked me or Sutton each time we visit how you’re doing. I think he's specifically alternating which one he asks and hoping we don't catch on or communicate about it."
I advanced from studying the boards to counting the nails holding them in place.
"So," she prodded, "Why were you there every day until the Director came then not at all after?"
I rolled my eyes.
"You haven't asked me if he accepted Shaekes offer," Maddy continued.
I looked up, my imploring gaze asking for me.
Maddy just stared back.
"Fine," I relented. "Did he?"
"He hasn't said anything to me. But we did get an intra-agency memo late yesterday that there would be a press announcement next week on who will be heading the Miami office after Zarnacki's retirement."
"So, it's done," I whispered.
Hot pain surged through my chest. I had been so stupid to think the outcome would be anything other than Emerson following his highly honed ambition. Hell, with Maddy already declaring her intention to stay, he had skipped telling me, too.
Maddy wrapped me in another hug. "You're winding yourself up. It didn't say who was being appointed."
"Shaekes asked him on Monday. On Friday there's a memo!"
I wriggled out of the hug before I managed to lose every last ounce of self-control.
"Let's just go inside. Whatever Lindy wants me to do for the carnival, I will. She's been so kind to Caiden and me and so generous with the community. So she can absolutely count on me."
"Give me a hug first."
"Seriously?" I huffed.
I absolutely loved that Maddy and Caiden were coming out of their shell
s. But it felt like Maddy had gone from zero to one-twenty in just a few months.
"Yes, seriously," Maddy answered, her topaz eyes sparking with fire. "I'm pregnant and I want a hug. So hug me before I go full-on hormonal."
I obeyed, a little stiffly at first, then melting into the embrace.
"Thank you," I whispered.
Pulling back from the hug, I heard the sound of small bells getting closer. The front door opened. I angled my head to the side so I could see around Maddy's shoulder.
Leah waited on the other side of the screen door, a rolled piece of paper clutched in her hand.
"I've been drawing all day, Delia!" The little girl shook the rolled paper. "I even tied a ribbon on it for you!"
I cocked a brow at Maddy.
"I have no idea," she whispered. "But that sure sounded like a lot of exclamation points."
"Come on," Leah said, mimicking Lindy's tone when she was welcoming guests. "Step inside and take a load off, ladies."
Spirits lifting at the little girl's enthusiasm, I entered first. I hung my coat in the closet and followed the sound of the bells tied to Leah's sneakers after she breezed past me. From the entry hall, she sailed through the great room, into the massive dining room where a large group of people worked on carnival plans, then she disappeared into the kitchen.
"I think Leah wants me to keep following her," I laughed as Lindy started to stand.
Leah came back through the double doors, pushing on both of them so that they swung wide. Grabbing my hand, she pulled and jumped at the same time.
"These people are hogging up the whole table," Leah protested. "You have to come in here."
I followed. Maddy, Lindy, and Siobhan slipped in behind us to observe what the little girl was up to.
"Here," Leah said, climbing up on a chair, undoing the ribbon, then unrolling the piece of paper. Grabbing the salt and pepper shakers, she put one on each end to keep the picture from curling back into a roll.
Before I could focus on the image, Leah contorted so that her head blocked the view and she was looking up at me.
"I didn't draw myself," she said. "But I've been everybody's flower girl."
Siobhan cackled. I flashed a disapproving look over my shoulder. Then my pulse accelerated because Lindy was right there in the room.
"What's going on?" Lindy asked.
Leah threw her arms up, shook her hands. "Delia's getting married!"
"Who’s she marrying?" Lindy asked.
Dear God, I prayed. Please allow the earth to swallow me up right now.
RIGHT NOW!
"It's all in the picture, Gam-Gam. I drew it just like I was told!"
"I need to sit down," I said, my voice sounding faint to my ears.
Leah hopped down and pushed me toward the chair.
"See, there you are," she said, pointing at a stick figure with blond hair, gray eyes, and a bouquet. "And that is…EMERSON!"
Leah screamed her uncle's name like she was a sportscaster and he had just scored a touchdown—at the Super Bowl, during overtime.
"Honey, I don't know who…" I stalled, not only uncertain how the little girl had formed the idea that Emerson and I were in any kind of relationship, but also terrified by what the child might say.
Had she heard gossip? Had she seen something? Slipped out of her room that first night and—no, nononoooo. My brain skittered away from the possibility that anyone had the slightest idea of what had transpired in the library or the guest bedroom between me and Emerson.
"This is Dawn," Siobhan said, tapping at the picture. "Leah always uses this color for her eyes. And she won't use it for anything else."
I looked down. My initial glance at the picture had zeroed in on the stick figures representing me and Emerson. There was a cross above us, like maybe we were in a church. There were two more stick figures, sitting down, by the looks of it. That or they were very short. Long, reddish-brown hair adorned the figure Siobhan had pointed to. The other had spiky hair that was a dark brown. Oddly, Leah had used green to draw the sticks that made up the second figure's torso and limbs.
"Mama's so happy," Leah said as she took my hand and squeezed it.
"Who…who is…that?" I asked, pointing at the green stickman.
Leah shook her head. "Mama didn't say, but he's happy, too. He looks at you and he loves you so much."
Tears flowed down my cheeks.
"No, Delia," Leah said, trying to wipe away the fat, salty drops. "Don't be sad. Be happy!"
"Please…someone, just…" I looked around, my vision blurry.
Siobhan nodded, scooped Leah up and tickled her for distraction. "When are you going to draw me in a wedding dress, huh?"
Leah wiggled, tried to get down, but Siobhan wouldn't release her.
"Not for years and years," Leah protested between squeals. "Years and years and years, Monkey Butt!"
"What's not for years and years," a voice asked from the opposite side of the kitchen.
I stared at the picture, not believing my eyes or ears, even as Leah shouted with fresh joy.
"Emerson!"
"Don't you dare put her down," Lindy scolded Siobhan before rushing over to her son. "Why aren't you still in the hospital? The doctor said he wouldn't release you until next week."
"I heard there was a better party here," he answered, his voice low and contemplative, the answer, and his gaze, directed at only one person in the room.
Me.
27
Delia
Knocking over the salt and pepper shaker, I snatched up the drawing, gave it two quick folds and shoved it in the pocket of my bag.
"Maddy, would you please take Leah to her playroom," Lindy asked before turning to her niece. "Siobhan, let the rest of the committee know I'll be along in just a few seconds."
Both women nodded and quickly left the room with Leah in tow. Once the doors finished swinging, Lindy drew a deep breath, her gaze staying locked on Emerson even though it was me she addressed.
"I don't know what's going on, but can you please take my bullheaded son somewhere he can sit down before he passes out?"
Hearing the deep worry in Lindy's voice, I looked directly at Emerson. He was pale and stood with one shoulder braced against the doorframe. A visible tremor rolled through his other shoulder.
"Yes." I jumped up, crossed the room and gripped his bicep. Leading him away, I looked back at Lindy. "I'll take him to your knitting room."
Once Emerson and I were out of view, I pulled his arm across my back so he could grip my shoulder.
"Lean on me," I growled.
"You sound angry, Mrs. Mays."
Each syllable carried with it a pained groan.
"I am! Who the hell brought you here?"
I knew it wasn't Sutton. He was with Caiden, the two of them checking on the condition of the carousel and dunk tank Lindy wanted to use at the fundraiser. Adler, Sage, and Jake were running purchase errands for the carnival. The other two brothers had flown in to make sure Emerson would live, then returned straight to the business trips the shootout had interrupted.
"Who?" I repeated with a growl. "Because when I'm done checking your vitals, I'm going to kick that person's ass."
"His name was Christian," Emerson drawled. "He's in his late sixties and he drives a cab. I didn't catch the cab number, but he was very accommodating."
I opened the door to the knitting room, leaned Emerson against the doorframe, then quickly cleared the baskets from the loveseat.
"You signed yourself out," I accused, my temper flaring hotter by the minute.
"Indeed, I did." Amusement danced at the end of his tongue. "The doctor was adamant that no one else would."
Helping him to the couch, I fell silent. Burning off anger, I cleared the oval coffee table, put a seat cushion from one of the side chairs on it, then ever-so-gently positioned his leg and lower torso.
Emerson started to say something.
"Don't," I warned, kneeling on the floor and ta
king his hand. I rotated the arm, pressed two fingers against his wrist, then checked the radial pulse.
"It's faster than it should be."
With a wan smile, he reached up and checked his carotid pulse. "But not fast enough to call an ambulance."
"Why?" I asked. "Why the hell did you check yourself out early?"
Emerson waited for me to meet his stubborn gaze before he answered.
"You stopped visiting me. I heard you would be here this afternoon."
He finished with a sweep of his hand, as if the gesture contained all the explanation that would ever be necessary. Settling on my heels, I looked down and pressed my fingers against my forehead, trying to hold back a suddenly looming headache.
"Let me guess, you decided to break tradition and tell me you're leaving before your luggage is even packed."
Emerson captured my wrist, pulled my hand away from my face.
"I won't pretend that it doesn't hurt a little that you would say something like that," he started. "But I deserved it. I just want you to understand that I'm not leaving, baby. I won't leave you."
I shook my head, refusing to meet his gaze as a dozen cutting replies barreled through my mind.
He sighed, his hold on my wrist sliding until his fingers curled around mine.
"I'm leaving the Bureau."
My gaze snapped to his. "You're…what?"
"It's not right that you're the one kneeling," he murmured.
I twisted my fingers free from his grip, clutched my hands against my chest.
"You're not making any sense," I accused. "Shaekes is announcing your promotion to Miami in less than a week."
A pained laugh vibrated across his lips. "Shaekes is announcing someone's promotion."
"But he offered you Miami."
I glanced at his face long enough to see him nod before I looked away.
"You've wanted something like that as long as I've known you."
"Not true, I—"
"No!" I raised my hand, tried to stave off any more words leaving his mouth. "I know you think you were conflicted by your feelings for me. But the simple truth is that you left Boston and took my sister with you in pursuit of this ambition."