“I didn’t want anything more than you.”
“It took me a long time to believe that.”
They ate in silence for a moment, and Ian tried to think of the best way to tell her his news.
“I didn’t get to see you last night or this morning, and I have some news,” Marta said.
“Oh?” He tried not to sound like she threw him a life vest.
“Yeah. Babbs Dresden called me yesterday. She’s retiring and wants me to take over.”
“She wants you to direct the Lady Slipper? In Springfield?”
“Yeah.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That I’d need to think about it, and talk to you, of course. I don’t know, Ian. We would have to move, and I . . . it would be difficult for me to want to direct a race I can’t run. The Tower City Marathon is different somehow. Brett and Dane are my friends, and I stepped in because there wasn’t anyone else.”
She pushed her basket away and wiped her fingers on a napkin that came with their meals.
Ian took the plunge and blurted, “We sold the bar yesterday.”
Her startled eyes flew to his. “God. I’m sorry.”
“Are you mad I didn’t talk to you about it?”
She shook her head. “Brett made a mess of things, didn’t he?”
“It wasn’t him. I know how he feels. I love the bar, but I love you more. This year, we should have been married. We should have been, I don’t know.” He rested his elbow on the desk and balled his napkin in his hand. “I don’t feel as terrible as Brett does. I had time with Shyla before we bought The Finish Line, but I understood his point. I understand Dane’s, too. We put all this work in just to throw it away? Well, Brett didn’t want to keep it, and Dane didn’t want to run it without him. Sale will go through in a couple of days.”
“We’ll always be on the outside.”
“Is that what you think that is?”
Marta jerked a shoulder. “Maybe. I don’t know. Brett getting out was more important in the end than Jerry Overland buying it, and Dane had pretty strong feelings about that.”
“I guess so.” It hadn’t occurred to him to feel slighted Dane didn’t want to keep the bar running without Brett. “It was a money thing too, though.”
“Brett doesn’t need the cash. He could have waited for his share. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make it sound like Dane would have done anything else than run The Finish Line with you.”
“No, I get it. They were always better friends. Makes me feel better Dane and I didn’t give it a go. It might not have turned out so well, and we wouldn’t have had the offer to fall back on.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, this frees us up, anyway. We can move to Springfield if you want to give the Lady Slipper a go.”
She blinked. “You’d move for me?”
He tossed the crumpled napkin at her. “Sure. We don’t have ties to this place, unless Trent’s parents give Sadie a hard time about moving. They spend more time with Hannah than I thought they would, but Trent hasn’t wanted anything to do with her. Unless they sue Sadie for partial custody—which we would fight—she’s free to do as she likes.”
“But you grew up here.”
“And there’s nothing left. My parents are gone, and my relationship with you is more important than my friendships with Brett and Dane. If you want to direct the Lady Slipper, I’ll support you. A change of scenery might be good for Sadie. She doesn’t have friends her age and she should still have a little social life. Maybe meet some younger mothers like herself and organize some playdates for Hannah.”
“But our beautiful house.” She sucked in a breath. “I talked to my attorney yesterday. Babbs recommended I call him. The case is closed, and they awarded me a lot of money.”
She told him a figure that made him choke. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. Less attorney fees, I’m assuming, but yeah. We can pay off the house, take the girls on vacation. Get married. All the things we’ve wanted to do.”
He laughed. “Christ, Marta. If you would have told me that before . . . that’s enough to buy both Dane and Brett out of their shares of The Finish Line and then some.”
“Do you want to do that? Can you get out of your deal with Overland?”
“No, I don’t. That’s your money. Put it away. A nest egg never hurts.”
She settled onto his lap, and he wrapped his arms around her.
“I don’t think I want to direct the Lady Slipper. Babbs said it would be closure for the race, but I don’t care.”
With his hand to the back of her head, he pressed a kiss to her lips. “You don’t want to do this anymore, do you, sweetheart?”
“No. I thought I could still enjoy it, but when my ankle didn’t heal, I guess I lost my joy in the sport.”
“Running has been a big part of your life, and sometimes it’s hard to turn a corner—”
Trying not to smile, she slapped his arm.
Laughing, he said, “Figuratively speaking. I thought The Finish Line would be a part of our lives forever. I pictured Shyla waitressing there, but we barely got it off the ground. I guess we’ll have to revisit and revise.”
Marta stood and threw their trash into the paper bag. “Let’s get out of here. I know a better place to revisit and revise.”
He ran a finger up her arm, and she shivered. “Does this place serve dessert?”
“Sure does. On the menu it’s called Afternoon Delight. Whipped cream included.”
“Hmm. I like this place already.”
He pulled her in for a kiss and she ran her hand down the fly of his jeans.
“Then hurry up.”
Ian held the door open for her and shut the light out behind them.
In the parking lot, he swept her in his arms and twirled her around.
She gasped, her arms tightening around his neck.
Maybe he and Marta didn’t know what they would do professionally, but the fact they were on the same page emotionally was more important to him.
He wished Dane would straighten out his personal life too, before he did something he’d regret.
Dane
Dane sat in his truck outside the Tower City Shopping Center. This was a bad idea, but he couldn’t stop himself from going into the most prestigious women’s clothing store in the city. He couldn’t stop himself from taking the escalator to the second floor or finding the suite of offices where the store’s executives pushed paper.
A bubbly blonde receptionist pointed him in the right direction, though he already knew where to go.
He knocked on her door and clenched his jaw while he waited for her to answer.
The plaque fastened to the wood mocked him.
Elizabeth Overland.
“Come in.”
The knob turned in his hand, and he stepped onto the plush carpeting of her corner office.
Liz sat behind a huge desk, the surface covered in fabric swatches.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
He’d always wondered what her new husband saw in her.
Her hair gleamed, and she dressed in the most up-to-date fashions. The rings she wore on one hand could have bought Brett’s share of the bar, but even with all those things, her eyes were flat and hard and the corners of her mouth turned down in a permanent frown.
He’d dressed for work and felt more on her level than he usually did wearing his running clothes.
“Did you tell your husband to make an offer on The Finish Line?”
Liz scoffed. “Why would I do that?”
“Because the bar’s successful. Because it’s a hot spot. Because I’m a part of it.”
“He doesn’t ask for my input regarding his business decisions.”
“Really? Maybe you only like to spend his money.”
“I work. Obviously. It’s none of your business if I want to drive a nice car and live in a pretty house. You found a woman who’s happy with your pi
ece of shit truck and the crappy little apartment you still live in. Why can’t that be enough for you?”
“It is.”
“No, it’s not, or you wouldn’t be here. Has she fallen out of love already?” Liz smirked.
“Nikki doesn’t have anything to do with this. I want to know if you put your husband up to buying the bar to spite me.”
“That would imply I care about you and I don’t. As I said, Jerry conducts his own business. If he made an offer on your shitty bar, take it as a compliment and move on.”
“I put a lot of work into that bar.”
Liz stood from her webbed chair and rounded her desk. She rested her ass against the edge and crossed her arms over her breasts.
“Then open another one. You have a head for business—your store is doing well, too.”
Dane snapped his mouth shut. He’d never known Liz to give him any praise.
“Why did you marry me?” he asked.
“I was young and stupid. In a way, I was in love with you. You’ve always had a boyish charm, but you’re content to float through life. You put in the hard work when it suits you and slack off the rest of the time. And all that fucking running. God, you can wear a suit, but Jesus Christ. Always going for a fucking run.”
“At least you can say you loved me, because I sure as hell loved you.”
“I’m sorry I wanted more.”
“More than me.”
“You changed.”
“How can you say that? Throughout our whole marriage everything I did, I did for you. I breathed for you. I did everything you asked.”
“And in the process turned into a doormat. You did everything I told you to do, and I lost all respect for you. Who wants to be with a man who won’t speak up for himself?”
“You’re unbelievable. All I did was try to make you happy, and you’re twisting it into something pathetic.”
“If the stiletto fits.”
“I’m not going to listen to this.” He turned to go. Like hell he’d listen to her warp his love into something spineless and meaningless.
“You don’t think it’s true?”
He turned around. “No, I don’t.”
She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “What about the bar then? Jerry said Ian took the deal. Why? If you love that bar so much?”
“Brett wanted out.”
“Right. You and Ian couldn’t possibly have run it without him. Did you tell Ian you wanted a partnership with him? No. You gave up. Gave in. Brett wanted out and you sat in the corner like a little kid, crying.”
He stilled.
She was right.
He hadn’t entertained the idea he and Ian could’ve run it alone. Brett said he wanted out, and he sulked, just like Liz accused him of. He never asked Ian if he wanted to run the bar without Brett. In his mind, it was the three of them or none of them.
He’d made Ian give up because he couldn’t bend.
“You’re right.”
“And Nikki?”
Dane stiffened. “What about her?”
“She’s carrying her sister’s babies. I hear you’re not too happy about that.”
“Where do you hear this garbage?”
“I have my ear to the ground. But it’s true, isn’t it? I can see it on your face.”
He shrugged. He wouldn’t admit it bothered him. Nikki’s surrogacy was between them and no one else.
“Why didn’t you tell her no?”
“It was important to her that she do it for Stacy.”
“You think her sister is more important than her marriage? You think if you would have told her you didn’t want her to do it, she would have anyway?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s done.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. The night Jerry and I ran into you downtown, she stood up to me and told me off in the five minutes we talked and that’s more than you ever did the whole time we were married. You stood there, cowering, just like always. You didn’t tell Nikki you didn’t want her to surrogate. How is she supposed to know? You’re going to teach her to walk all over you just the way you taught me. I lost all respect for you, and mark my words, so will Nikki. Then it will be her fault you’re unhappy just like it was mine.”
“I started the store without telling you.”
Liz stepped across the office, her heels sinking into the carpet. She rested a hand on his bicep but he jerked away. “You did. By then it was too late, and I was too angry to be proud of you. If it’s any consolation, we probably still would have gotten a divorce. You never seemed to have a goal, have a plan, and I’m more . . . direct. You and Nikki are a better match. That night downtown—the look in her eyes. She loves you. I hope you don’t ruin it.”
“Like you said, I’m a whiny little brat. I probably already have.”
Dane stepped out of her office, and with his gaze fastened to the ground, walked out to his truck.
That was why Brett made him so angry. He reached out and took what he wanted. He said he wanted to write a book, and he found a way to make that happen. He didn’t want to run the marathon anymore, and he stopped. He didn’t put up with it year after year slowly letting it poison him until he hated the race. And himself.
And The Finish Line. He didn’t want to run it anymore, so he took the steps he needed to take to get out.
He wasn’t pissed at his friend for the choices he’d made. He was jealous Brett had the guts to make the choices at all.
If he’d wanted to run the bar with Ian, he should have said something. Ian couldn’t read his mind, and he sold the bar.
He needed to grow a pair.
Mulling over his conversation with Liz, he drove to The Finish Line. Seeing her hadn’t been as bad as he thought it would be, and maybe he learned something, too. Because of his inability to speak his mind, The Finish Line no longer belong to them, and as he stood in the dining room, an emptiness weighed on him.
It didn’t feel like theirs anymore, either.
“Hey,” Ian said pushing into the dining room from the kitchen.
“Hey.”
In silent agreement, they started the process of opening the restaurant. They put chairs onto the floor and checked the condiments on the tables.
“I saw Liz this morning,” he said.
Ian shot him a look from across the room. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. She told me I needed to learn how to fucking speak my mind and not let people trample all over me.” He drew in a breath. “Hey, if I would have told you I wanted to run this place without Brett, would you have been in?”
“Maybe, but you’ve always been tighter with Brett. I get it.”
“I didn’t want out because Brett did.”
“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better. Marta said we’ll always be the outsiders, and it’s okay. Dumping the bar was a good move. Time for something new.”
Ian’s observation made him feel like shit. “I should have said something.”
“You don’t get it. When you don’t say anything, you say something. You made a choice by shoving the decision onto me. Don’t put it on me because you feel bad about it.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“It’s not? Because it’s too late to talk about it when there’s no going back. It’s safe for you now. The choice has been made. You shake off responsibility like Hunter shakes water off his fur then wonder why you’re unhappy all the time. Victim doesn’t look good on you.”
Ian ducked into the kitchen.
Dane served drinks and meals in a bar that no longer belonged to him. He’d tried to blame Ian for it, and Brett, but the deal Ian agreed to with Overland was all his fault. He could have stopped it and he didn’t.
He needed to own that.
Take responsibility.
He and Ian worked their shifts barely speaking. Ian wasn’t angry—that wasn’t his way—but he sent Dane home early saying he’d notate the books and lock up.
Dane stood in the doorw
ay of the office wanting to say something, but Ian brought up their bookkeeping software program and effectively shut him out.
After a mumbled “Goodnight” that Ian ignored, he dragged himself out to his truck.
Things weren’t great at home, either. With their schedules overlapping, Nikki was sleeping when he came home and up and opening the store by the time he hauled himself out of bed, usually past noon on a night like this.
He missed her.
His phone rang as he settled behind the wheel.
Holly.
A wiggle of something he didn’t want to name slithered through his stomach. “Hey. What are you doing up?”
She yawned, stretched, and moaned a little.
Before Nikki, that would have made him hard. But he was too tired, too . . . he wanted to say hurt, but people were throwing him lots of truths tonight and he didn’t have the right to hurt.
Not when in the past few days he’d been the one doing it to other people. People he cared about.
People he loved.
“I woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep. I thought you would be getting off work now if you wanted to continue our conversation.”
A different night, maybe. He was also afraid of opening a door he couldn’t close. When he’d run to Holly, he’d run to the wrong woman. If he couldn’t talk to Nikki, he’d had no business marrying her.
Dane set the phone to speaker and placed it on his dusty dash. “Why did you stick it out with me for so long?”
“I think that’s obvious. I was in love with you. I wanted to get married.”
“You’re beautiful and smart. You could have had any guy in the city. Why did you wait?”
“You’re asking me why I was in love. How can anyone explain that? You’re successful. Got a great bod from all that running. You’re cute, and you had that fixer-upper, damaged way about you. I was starstruck when we met in that bar, and that night you came home with me and we made love, I was halfway there. I would have waited forever.”
He drove through the city, the streets quiet at that time of morning. Fatigue settled in his bones. He’d made so many mistakes, some of them unfixable.
The Finish Line Page 6