“And you, too.” He pulled her into his arms. “You scared me the other night.”
“When?” His shirt muffled her voice.
“When I thought you were telling me to move out.”
She lifted her head. “I live here, too, you know. I know you haven’t been happy.”
“There must be something in the water. I can talk to Dane, but it won’t do any good. He should be talking to the therapist he loves so much. I thought Nikki got him over Liz.”
“I thought so, too.”
He stirred the gravy that would go on Drew’s favorite mashed potatoes. At one year old, he still liked a bottle, but he liked small amounts of solid food, too. Mashed potatoes, a little ice cream, though if Alyssa caught him, she’d bitch him out with a smile on her face.
He’d caught her sneaking him tastes of her Greek yogurt, and he didn’t feel too guilty.
Brett sat at the table with his little family. He wanted more of this, and he wouldn’t get it as a third of The Finish Line. No matter how guilty he felt, no matter how many problems he caused, Alyssa and Drew were his first priority, and he wouldn’t regret speaking his mind.
He wanted to give his son everything he never had.
After dinner, he gave Drew a bath and fastened a clean diaper to his little butt. He knew Alyssa had been worried he wouldn’t take to being a father, not after all the shit he gave her while they were dating—though that’s not what she’d call their daily runs—but he’d never had a problem loving the little boy who had her dark hair and his eyes.
He never tired of leaning in for a wet kiss or reading bedtime stories until his voice grew hoarse. The Finish Line took up too much time. He couldn’t wait to get rid of his share.
In the nursery, Drew snuggled on his chest, and Brett read him bedtime stories while Alyssa carved out a couple of hours of writing time.
His watch said ten-thirty when Drew finally dropped off to sleep. He took the stairs to the loft.
Alyssa sat in front of her computer, a bowl of nuts at her elbow, a pencil in her mouth, her fingers flying across the keys.
“Good scene?”
“They all are,” she mumbled. “He go down okay?”
“Yeah. Hey, I’ll go talk to Dane if that’s what you really want.”
Alyssa turned away from the monitor. “Is it his turn to work?” she asked around the pencil clenched between her teeth.
“He’s there with Ian. I should be able to grab him for a few minutes. You’re right. We’ve been friends for a long time. Maybe he’ll spill his guts.”
She pulled the pencil from her mouth. “I hope so. I hate how upset Nikki was this afternoon. She said when it comes to selling the place it will be you and Ian against Dane. Did Ian tell you what he wanted?”
“No. But Ian misses Shyla just as much as I miss Drew. I would be surprised if he didn’t feel the same way I do.”
“But if you just hang in there a little bit longer . . . she seems to think it will all slow down.”
“The only way it will slow down is if we hire more help. What’s the point of that when we’re capable of doing all the work?”
Brett sat on the edge of the rocking recliner. “It’s the same with Dane’s store. He ran it alone for a long time because he could. Because he had to. When we finally make a profit, we’re going to use it to hire someone? There’s not a lot of sense in that when we could pocket it.”
“What will Jerry Overland do with it then?”
“It’ll cost him to buy us out and to staff it. But he’s thinking long term, and I’m not willing to do that. Maybe in five years it would make sense to hire more staff, but how much of Drew’s life would I miss if we waited that long? And we might want to have another baby before then.”
Her mouth fell open. “You want more kids?”
Brett stood and paced. He hadn’t meant to say that. Her pregnancy and delivery hadn’t been easy and watching her go through it had torn him up. He’d felt so helpless watching her day after day, taking it hour by uncomfortable hour until Drew’s birth.
It had scared the fuck out of him when Drew came out, purple, the cord wrapped around his neck. Couldn’t see through the tears as they stitched up Alyssa’s episiotomy and the nurses worked on Drew, giving him oxygen, coaxing him to breathe.
When Drew’s delivery should have been the happiest day of his life, it had been the most terrifying.
“I grew up an only child, and I always wondered if how my parents treated me would have somehow not hurt so much if I would have had someone to go through it with. I would love for Drew to have a brother or a sister. He loves Hannah and Shyla. If you were willing, and if it was safe.”
She sniffled, wiping the tears from her face. “I always thought pressing you to have Drew was a mistake.”
Brett leaned his hip against her desk and brushed her hair away from her cheek. “I was fucking scared when you told me you were pregnant. Even though we planned it, I was fucking scared. Because of the way I grew up. Because of Marta. But you gave me my life when Drew was born. You gave me a future. Drew wasn’t a mistake. I love that little kid more than I could ever explain to anyone.”
She blew out a breath. “Wow. You’ve given me a lot to think about. The only aunts and uncles Drew will have will be honorary. I always felt kind of bad about that.”
“I don’t think we could ask for better.” Dane and Nikki, Ian and Marta. He’d never find people he trusted more to take his little boy if anything ever happened to him and Alyssa.
“You’re right. We couldn’t. And Dane is having a tough time. You should go talk to him.”
“I’ll try not to be out too late. You know, I used to rebel against a nine to five, but from where I’m sitting right now, it’s looking pretty good.”
She squeezed his hand. “Be careful.”
“I will. Going to bed soon?”
“Maybe after this scene.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Good. Don’t stay up too late.”
After poking his head into the nursery and making sure Drew was still sound asleep, Brett drove to The Finish Line.
Cars filled the parking lot and people packed the benches waiting for a table or space to free up at the bar.
Through one of the large picture windows, he could see Ian mixing drinks. A group of young women were giggling while they sipped on cocktails ogling him. He went with the flow, grinned at the jokes, popped the gum that always seemed to be in his mouth. Every night he made a mint in tips.
Brett could be just as charming, but slowly, before he’d begun to put a name to it, the discontentment of having to spend so much time at the bar started to seep into the way he treated the customers. Not a lot, but a little. And that was when he knew he had to get out. When he stopped having fun. If he was going to spend sixty hours a week of his time somewhere, he better damn well enjoy it.
Brett fought his way past the hostess podium. He should be at home snuggling his fiancée, maybe making love since they discovered it wouldn’t hurt her. Sleeping because tomorrow would be a long day and his turn to close this place.
Fighting the crowd, he good-naturedly waved off patrons who wanted him to stop and chat.
Ian raised his eyebrows when he approached the bar. “Want a drink?”
“No. I came to talk to Dane. Is he around?”
“You have good timing,” Ian said, pulling a beer from a tap, a white bar towel slung over his shoulder. “He’s out back taking a break.”
“Thanks.”
Brett saluted Bobbi as he walked through the kitchen to reach the rear door. She flew around putting together burger baskets, chicken strip meals, and dishing up a spicy macaroni and cheese entrée that quickly became The Finish Line’s signature dish.
The traffic humming along the main strip buzzed in his ears, and he scanned the lot for Dane. They’d set up a picnic table for the staff who wanted a place to get off their feet for a bit while getting some fresh air, and they’d moved the
dumpster as far away from the building as possible. In the summer months it kept the smell and bugs away from the break area. Bobbi set out some potted plants, though the bright colors didn’t add much to the concrete jungle.
Tonight the bluish-white light wavered from the streetlights and they cast Dane’s shadow long and narrow as he paced several feet from the building.
He held a phone to his ear.
“Dane,” Brett said, taking a few steps toward him.
He jerked up his head, and if Brett didn’t know better, a look of panic flashed across his friend’s face.
“I need to go. No, everything is fine. I’ll call you tomorrow. Thanks for talking to me. Goodnight.” Dane shoved his phone into his back pocket. “What are you doing here? If you don’t want to be here when you have to be, why are you here on your day off?”
“I came by to talk to you.”
The corner of Dane’s mouth turned down. “And it couldn’t wait?”
“We’re all a little worried about you, that’s all.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you? Because Nikki told Alyssa—”
“It’s none of your business what’s going on between Nik and me. It’s private and has nothing to do with you.”
“If you’re unhappy with me because I want out, don’t take it out on her.”
“You do whatever the fuck you want. You always have.”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s not? You want to write a book, you write a book whether Alyssa wants to help you or not. You don’t want to direct the marathon anymore, you get out, and Marta conveniently takes your place. You don’t want to help run the bar anymore, and all of a sudden someone wants to take it off our hands. Did you approach Overland and tell him we’d sell if we had an offer?”
Brett took a step back. “Is that what you think?”
“It isn’t what I think, it’s what I know.” Dane pointed to the building. “We had a good business. A solid business. We’re already in the black and you want to ruin it. We can’t run this place without you, and Ian and I would need years to buy you out. Overland called to press us for an answer, and Ian accepted. Didn’t bother to ask if I was okay with it. It’s done.”
The inside of Brett’s mouth felt grainy and dry. Because he wanted more time with Alyssa and his son, he’d destroyed the best friendship he ever had. Dane had stuck by him when his parents wanted nothing to do with him. They’d celebrated holidays together, ran together, put on the best damned marathon the city had ever seen together, and all that history was gone.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not. You got your way. Again. Go home. I have work to do.”
Dane slammed into the building leaving him alone in the parking lot.
He hadn’t been that selfish, had he? To want more time with his family? It hurt they hadn’t sat down and talked about it, but that was stupid too. When he said he wanted out, he’d removed himself from any decisions Dane and Ian made concerning the business, and that included selling it.
He sank onto the picnic table’s bench.
Ian pushed out of the back door, propped a foot on the bench next to him and rested his forearm on his knee.
“Dane told you I took Overland’s offer.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Dane seems to think so.”
“He’ll get over it. Once he sees the check for his share, he’ll get over it. Things are changing, and he doesn’t want to accept it. He’s still stuck in the past, when we were single and didn’t have kids. He wants that time back, and he’s never going to get it back.”
“I was thinking the same thing. When we would spend nights in your bar bullshitting and eating peanuts. No rugrats to rush home to, no fiancées to bitch at as for staying out late. Things were simpler then.”
Ian shook his head. “Simpler, maybe. But not better. The past couple years have shaken me up just as much as they’ve shaken up Dane. My dad selling the bar and our apartments out from under us, my sister’s pregnancy. Marta gave me a run for my money. I never knew from one day to the next if she was really going to stay, or if I was going to wake up one morning and she’d be gone, leaving a note on the table and three broken hearts behind her. I never said anything to Dane, and maybe I should have, but I agree with you. Marta and I put our wedding on hold, same as you and Alyssa. We proved we could build a business from scratch, make it profitable. Maybe now it’s time to move on.”
“I’m worried about him.”
Ian snapped the gum between his teeth. “He’s a grown-ass man. He’s got a wife, and he almost fucked that up, too. If Nikki can’t keep him in line, no one can. Sometimes you gotta grow the fuck up. Pissing and moaning about who bought the bar. Pissing and moaning because his wife is a surrogate for her sister. What he’s got going on now doesn’t have anything to do with us.”
Brett bit the inside of his cheek. “I still feel responsible.”
“No one’s responsible for Dane but Dane. If he’s having a tough time accepting things the way they are, that’s not on you.”
“When I came out here, he was talking to someone. It wasn’t Nikki.”
Ian scoffed. “Don’t step in that pile of shit; you’ll never get it off your shoe. Nikki isn’t blind and she can take care of herself. She’s proven that. If Dane’s decided to step out, then it’s probably better for all involved the babies in her belly don’t belong to them.”
“You think Dane would cheat on Nikki?” Brett tried to picture it, but he couldn’t. He remembered peeling Dane off the floor of Ian’s bar when Dane had accused her of cheating on him with her ex, Eric. Dane had been a nervous mess waiting for Nikki to talk to him so he could apologize. Dane hadn’t gone through all that only to cheat on her a year later.
“I think Dane doesn’t know what he wants right now. He’s confused, and he’s hurt. Nikki should be his safe place, but everyone knows he resents her carrying Stacy’s babies. That’s between them and I don’t have any opinions on that at all. I need to get back inside. Overland’s coming by tomorrow, just so you know. Give him the books, a tour, anything he wants to look at.”
“Right.”
Ian slapped him on the shoulder before stepping inside the building to finish his shift, music and laughter escaping in a loud burst when he opened the door.
Brett sat at the picnic table as cars crowded the road.
Things were changing, and he would never know if letting go of The Finish Line was a mistake he would later come to regret. All he could do now was shake it off.
What was done was done.
Ian
Ian woke to an empty house.
Though he was grateful for the undisturbed hours of sleep, it let him down, too. No sloppy kisses from Shyla to wake him up, no scent of coffee and pancakes to make his stomach grumble. No Hannah in the kitchen slamming toys on her highchair tray as she waited for Sadie to make her a bowl of infant oatmeal.
Sadie needed to go to campus to speak to her advisor about fall semester classes, and Marta would be at race headquarters doing her thing while the girls were at daycare.
He had the day free, and he started by grabbing a cup of coffee from the carafe Marta kept heated for him. After sipping a mug and scanning the newspaper, he started on chores.
Laundry, cleaning the bathrooms, vacuuming.
It took him a couple of hours to set the house to rights and pull out enough chicken from the freezer to feed his family of five. When the toys were put away and the towels folded, he took a shower and stopped at The Finish Line to pick up an order.
He didn’t want to get into it with Dane, and he’d said his piece to Brett last night.
Ian parked in the back and snuck into the kitchen. Bobbi’s assistant handed him a to-go bag and he shot her a smile before slinking out to his car, hopefully undetected.
Marta sat at her desk talking on the phone when he stepped into marathon headquarters, and she brigh
tened when she saw him. “Sounds good. Thanks. Bye.” She hung up. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought I’d bring my beautiful fiancée lunch. Do you have a problem with that?”
She grinned. “Nope, as long as that beautiful fiancée is me.”
“Then it’s your lucky day.”
“Come into the back. Too noisy in here.”
Ian followed her down the little hallway, past a break room where three runners sat arguing. They quieted when Marta passed by and lowered their eyes.
“What’s that about?” he asked, closing the door to a small office with a desk.
“They feel bad I can’t run anymore. It’s like shooting a Kentucky Derby winner when he breaks a leg. There’s a . . . tragedy about it, I guess. I used to let it bother me, but now I just take it for the sympathy it is.”
“Do you miss it?” Ian asked, unpacking the chicken strips she liked, and a thick, greasy, bacon cheeseburger for himself.
Marta pushed a chair closer to his and pulled two bottles of water out of a little cooler. “Running? I thought I would. Apart from what I kept telling myself I gave up to keep doing it.” She ran a finger along his clean-shaven cheek, and he caught her hand and kissed her palm. “But I think of all I received in return, and I don’t. Running brought me to you. I came back to Minnesota because of the sport, but it’s gone and I’m still here.”
Ian blinked and hoped she didn’t see the tears making his vision waver. That was probably the most honest thing she’d ever told him about her still being in Minnesota. Not anything about her baby, not really, nothing about Brett. Nothing about regret or resentment.
Only a quiet resolve to accept how things were, and to be happy with what she had.
She stepped between his legs and cradled his face between her hands.
Shit. She’d seen his emotion after all. He’d never been good at keeping things from her.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. Sometimes I feel . . .”
“Like this is too good to be true?”
“Something like that.”
Marta took her seat and peeled the waxed paper away from her chicken strips. “I feel like that too, when Shyla calls me Mama. Or when you look at me like you love me so much you can’t speak. I know what little I brought to the table, and you still wanted me.”
The Finish Line Page 5