Raw Deal

by Cherrie Lynn

  “It was nothing like that for our family,” she said. “My parents are old money. Tommy was always a star athlete and they were proud of that while he was in school, but when he decided to go into MMA as a career, they nearly had a stroke. But he kept winning, so they came around. ‘Whatever you do,’ they always used to tell us, ‘be the best at it.’” Her gaze became distant. “I’ll miss him.”

  “I know you will. I can’t imagine. My brothers . . . sometimes I want to strangle them, but I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to one of them.”

  “Yes, well, I used to think the same, but I guess I’ll find out now.” She sighed, and this time when she stood, he knew it was to leave for good. “Whatever the circumstances, Michael . . . it’s been nice meeting you. I need to get back to the family. They’ll be wondering about me.”

  As far as it being nice to meet her, he could agree wholeheartedly. But he wanted to see her again. If only it were another time, another place, another reason. He had no way to express his wishes without coming off as a total scumbag. For all he knew, she had a man to see to all of her needs, though any man who let her try get through today on her own was a cruel son of a bitch. Still, he went for it. “Savannah, can I give you my number? If you need anything, anything, even if it’s only to call me in the middle of the night and cuss me out, I want you to call me. Please.”

  She wet her lips and he thought he saw the beginnings of tears in her eyes again. Without a word, she nodded and dug in her purse for her cell phone, handing it to him once she fished it out. He couldn’t help noticing the lock screen was a picture of her and her brother, arm in arm, all smiles. With the two of them side by side, the resemblance was even more apparent. The photo looked recent, and he’d been correct in his earlier assessment: she had a beautiful smile. “This is a nice picture,” he told her. “I’m sure he misses you too.” He navigated to her contacts and input his information.

  “I’ll probably change your name,” she told him when he handed the device back to her. “If anyone sees your number in my phone, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  “Whatever you have to do.”

  She held his gaze for a moment and her breathing seemed to quicken. All of the noise and activity and street music around them faded into nothing. He noticed a tiny mole above her upper lip. The sultry length of her eyelashes. The flush creeping up her neck. “Will you go right back home?”

  “I’ll hang out with my brother tonight, but I thought I might catch a ride with him on his tour bus for a few days, see a few sights. Then go home.”

  “That sounds awesome, actually. I think I’d rather be anywhere but here for the next few days.”

  Was she . . . ? No. Couldn’t be. That would be crazy. But the wistfulness in her voice was undeniable. God, if only.

  “Well,” he said, and her eyes never left his as he rose to his feet. “Thanks for this. And remember what I said. Anything, Savannah.”

  “Um . . . do you need a ride anywhere?”

  “I’ll get a cab. Don’t worry about it.” He offered her his hand. Something unnamable churned in her expression when she looked down at it, but she took it all the same. Her grip was firm, her fingers supple, her skin heavenly soft. But her hand trembled in his. “I don’t pray much anymore,” he said, holding it for longer than he should have though she didn’t try to pull away. “But you and your family will be in my thoughts.”

  She nodded. “I appreciate it. Take care.”

  Then she walked away, weaving between the tables and chairs until she disappeared into the crowd. Leaving him standing by the table alone in a sea of people.

  He knew he was insane if he thought he would ever hear from her again.

  Chapter Three

  When the call came at six A.M., Savannah nearly poked her eye out with her mascara wand, fumbled it, and dropped it in the sink with a clatter. It wasn’t exactly a time of day she expected to hear her phone blare to life. Cursing the lovely black streak now above her eyelid and in her sink, she groped for the phone on the bathroom counter with the afflicted eye screwed shut. Damn it.

  “Ro?” she asked, alarmed when she glimpsed the ID on the display. “What’s wrong?”

  “I need you. Come over now.”

  Exasperated, Savannah jerked a handful of tissues from the dispenser on her counter with her free hand. “I have an appointment in an hour. I’m not even ready to leave the house yet.”

  “You wear scrubs and work in the dark, who cares what you look like? It’s an emergency.”

  “It’s dim, not dark. What’s the matter with you?”

  “Just come.” Rowan hung up.

  “Jesus,” Savannah grumbled. What now? Six weeks had passed since Tommy’s death. Things had grown relatively quiet. Time wasn’t healing the wounds, exactly, but it was helping her cope with their existence. Rowan had seemed okay lately, but just now she’d sounded . . . different. Flat. She had her good days and her bad, like they all did, but this hadn’t sounded enough like one or the other for Savannah to make an assessment as to what she was walking into.

  Whatever. Savannah had already had one cup of coffee, but she could tell this called for another. Or three.

  Giving up on her mascara, she scrubbed her face completely clean and put her hair in its customary ponytail. If she was going to see what the hell Rowan’s problem was and get to her first massage client by seven, she was going to have to haul ass. Luckily, Rowan didn’t live far from Savannah’s quaint little French Quarter apartment. She pulled to the curb outside Rowan’s house—it was hard to think of it as only Rowan’s now, not Rowan and Tommy’s—twenty minutes after their phone call ended, and that was after hitting a Starbucks on the way.

  Rowan snatched the door open before Savannah could knock and eyeballed the cupholder Savannah held in her hands, containing two steaming grande white-chocolate mochas. She was still in her pink robe and her blond hair was piled on top of her head in an artful mess. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes large and glassy. “You might have to drink both of those,” she said, her frantic gaze meeting Savannah’s at last.

  “No problem. But . . . Rowan! Have you completely lost it?” She had grabbed Savannah’s arm and yanked her into the foyer, barely pausing to close the door. Savannah struggled to hang on to the precious caffeine in her hands as Rowan propelled her down the hallway, through the master bedroom, and into the bathroom that was as big as Savannah’s entire bedroom.

  “Yes, I have. Look.” Rowan pointed at the counter.

  Savannah nearly dropped the drink holder, espresso and all.

  The white devices on the counter were unmistakable. Different styles and brands, some strips, some squares, some with different colored accents. Seven of them. “Oh my God,” Savannah said weakly.

  “They’re all positive.” Rowan’s eyes were huge as she stared down at them. She was visibly trembling. “I’ve been taking them for the past three days.”

  “Oh my God, Rowan.” Savannah managed to put the damned drinks down. Then she braced her hands on the counter and leaned over the test results that were going to change all of their lives forever. Plus signs. Two lines. Or the most obvious of all, perhaps: the word PREGNANT.

  “Tommy’s going to be a daddy,” Rowan said, her voice small and quivering.

  There was nothing to do but turn around and hug her tight. Rowan buried her face in Savannah’s neck and sobbed.

  “I think it’s wonderful,” Savannah assured her, stroking her back. “It’s going to be fine, just fine.”

  “No it isn’t,” Rowan cried.

  Oh, no. From the time of the phone call, she hadn’t been able to determine Rowan’s thoughts. Now they were clear. “A shock. You’re just in shock, okay? It’ll wear off and then you’ll see it’s okay. How far along do you think you are?” Better to get her off the emotional aspect of it as soon as possible.

  “I don’t know. Obviously more than six or seven weeks but I’ve never been regular. I’ve felt a little nauseated
here and there ever since the funeral but I figured it was from crying all the time.”

  “First things first, you need to go to the doctor.”

  Rowan stepped back and nodded, wiping at her red nose with the tissue Savannah plucked and handed to her. “How am I going to tell your parents?”

  “Open your mouth and say it. Really, do you think they’re not going to be overjoyed? Mom has been begging you for a grandchild practically since you and Tommy met.”

  “Yeah, she has. But . . . that was then.”

  “Ro. We have a little part of Tommy still here with us now. That’s cause to celebrate. They’re going to be so happy, I promise you. They’re going to want you to take care of yourself too, so you’re right—I’m drinking all of that coffee.” That brought forth a small burst of laughter. Rowan wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. “Go see Mom today, all right? Spend the day with her. She’s going to have you shopping already. And call your doctor.”

  “I will.”

  “Promise?”

  “I will.”

  “Good. I really have to go, okay?”

  “Okay. And thanks for the coffee that I can’t drink.”

  “Well, I tried. More for me.”

  Savannah made sure she was out of sight of Rowan’s house before she pulled her car over in a convenience store parking lot, feeling a swell of emotion surging up that wouldn’t be denied until she’d purged it. It had been weeks since she’d cried, but now she grabbed the steering wheel in a white-knuckle grip and let it all out, glad she hadn’t bothered with makeup after all if this had to be the outcome.

  Oh, God, I’ll do anything. Just give him back. Let him be here for his child, for his wife who needs him. Why him and not me? Why not me? He had so much to live for, so much to do . . .

  The same stale prayer, never acknowledged, never answered.

  Something else she had tried not to do in the past few weeks was think too much about Michael Larson, but he would forever be linked with her brother’s memory in her mind. Suddenly, there he was, as vivid as if she’d seen him yesterday. What would he think about this new development? A handful of times in the weeks immediately following Tommy’s funeral, she’d pulled up his number in her contacts and stared at it, debating deleting it like the dirty secret it was . . . when she wasn’t debating dialing it.

  Why? What in the hell could she have to say to him? She knew, though, even if she didn’t want to admit it to herself. She wanted to talk to him because, despite all of her internal protests, he’d been a comfort to her. His words, his voice, especially the way he’d held her hand as they parted ways. The hand that had beaten her brother to death had held hers as if it were something precious. He’d spoken to her like he meant every word, unlike half the people she’d encountered since Tommy’s death. And she wondered how he was doing with all of this, too.

  “Oh, please,” she muttered out loud to no one. He’d probably forgotten who she was by now. As quickly as she had conjured him up, she shoved him to the back of her mind. Pulled herself together, drank one of the cooling coffees, popped a breath mint into her mouth, and put on some lip gloss before driving the rest of the way to work. Somehow she managed to be right on time, pulling into the spa parking lot at 6:58 A.M. and hitting the side door at seven sharp.

  The good thing about her job was that it gave her time to think. Her first appointment of the day was for a body scrub and wrap with a half-hour Swedish massage, and her client was a quiet one. So for the first couple hours of her day, she marveled over the fact she was going to be an aunt. A sweet little baby to spoil as if he or she were her own. One thing was for sure: that was going to be one loved baby. Rowan and the child would want for nothing, not with Savannah’s parents on the scene. This was going to be the injection of light and life her family needed to move on from this catastrophe. Tommy would be so proud and happy.

  She guessed. He’d never actually made his thoughts on the subject of having kids clear, preferring to laugh it off whenever their mother got on his case about it. Maybe he hadn’t wanted kids.

  As soon as she got a break, Savannah headed for the little on-site café to get a tea, greeting one of the other massage therapists at the counter. “Are you okay?” Tasha asked her, frowning as she assessed Savannah closely. Yeah, she usually did put a little more effort into her appearance, but Tasha knew her too well. The two of them had made fast friends and, outside of her family, Tasha was probably the person closest to her.

  “Crazy morning already,” Savannah admitted, then laughed as Tasha plucked the bottle of tea from her hands and placed it on the counter to pay for it with her own yogurt cup. “Tash, you don’t have to do that.”

  “Of course I don’t have to. Now hush.”

  She kind of hated it that everyone at work still treated her like she was emotionally fragile. Maybe she was, especially today, but . . . today, at least, she felt like talking instead of wandering around mechanically, suffering worried stares everywhere she went and feeling like a problem everyone had to try to solve. “We found out that my brother’s widow is pregnant.”

  Tasha’s dark eyes widened. “Oh! Oh. Oh, wow.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m kind of at a loss what to think. It’s great, but . . . it’s sad.”

  “I think it’ll be a blessing.” Tasha handed Savannah her drink and the two of them moved to one of the little bistro tables. “All a part of the healing process.”

  “Definitely. I just can’t help but think about the baby never knowing Tommy.”

  “Life goes on, right?”

  “Yeah.” She took a long drink of tea, feeling a wash of exhaustion. Hell, it was too early for this. She had an entire day to get through, most of it on her feet. Maybe another coffee would have been a better idea.

  “And you’ll make sure the baby does know Tommy. How far along is she?”

  “My best guess is a couple of months or so. Maybe a little more. I made her promise to call her doctor.” Savannah dropped her head to her hands. “God. I can’t imagine being in her shoes right now, going through all of this without him.” To have the remnants of grief to get through while her belly grew ever bigger with Tommy’s child . . .

  “Poor thing. At least she still has you guys.”

  “We’re a terrible substitute.”

  “Makes you want to find that guy who did this to them and punch him in the throat, doesn’t it?”

  Savannah toyed with her tea bottle, feeling a tremble in her stomach. She didn’t know what it meant, whether she was about to start crying, start screaming, or throw her bottle across the room and run out. As usual, she didn’t do a damn thing. Not even Tasha knew that Mike had shown up at Tommy’s funeral, looking crushed and desperate and guilt-ridden. It would probably be even worse for him now, knowing he hadn’t only taken away a brother, a son, a husband—he’d taken away a father who would never get to hold his child.

  Some part of her wanted him to know. Wanted him to feel as bad as she did, as Rowan did, as that baby would growing up with stories and pictures but no daddy to tuck him or her in at night.

  That would be impossible, though. He would never, could never feel this level of pain.

  If you need anything, anything, even if it’s only to call me in the middle of the night and cuss me out, I want you to call me. Please.

  Right now, in the light of day surrounded by friends, doing such a thing was unthinkable. Late tonight, lonely and alone in the dark with nothing but should-have-beens roiling through her head, she might feel differently. “Maybe we should go out tonight,” she told Tasha, noticing her friend’s surprise at the abrupt change of subject.

  “Sure, we could do that. Are you really feeling up to it, though?”

  Caught. “I don’t know. It has to be better than staying home. Thinking.” Or calling near total strangers to rail at them about how unfair it all was.

  Tasha nodded, studying her a little too closely. Then her gaze shifted to the clock on the wall and she shot
up from her chair. “Gotta go, girl. We’ll make plans later, okay?”

  “Sure thing.” Savannah headed to her next appointment feeling a little better. She would go out, she would have a few drinks, dance a little. Hell, maybe find a hot stranger to take her mind even further off things. It had been far too long in that department. Her love life had been lacking long before disaster struck six weeks ago, but since then, finding a man had been completely off her radar. She could trip over one and not even realize he was there.

  The emotional phone call from her mother came at lunch. Regina was at once overjoyed, shocked, and completely confused about the whole thing . . . which mirrored Savannah’s thoughts perfectly. It was all too much to take. But Rowan had made good on her promise to call her doctor, and her first appointment was next week. Savannah couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for Rowan, because the girl’s body wasn’t going to be her own for the next several months—it was going to be Regina’s to rule and micromanage for the duration of this pregnancy. She was already talking about the baby shower and names. Rowan would be the one needing a drink when this was all over. Savannah needed one immediately after hanging up the phone.

  Tonight, she thought, and found herself looking forward to the prospect more and more as the day wore on. Tonight it was going down.

  “You lucky motherfucker.” Mike flipped his cards across the table and took a long pull on his beer as his brother Damien grinned and took Mike’s chips with a sweep of his arm.

  “Luck has little to do with it,” Damien said.

  “It’s that shit-house luck like Mom always used to say. Yeah, well, I’m done playing with you.”

  “Quitter.”

  Mike flipped off Damien and looked around the highly illegal poker room his brother ran in the second story of the Houston nightclub he owned, Players. Several high-stakes games were going on around them—thank God Damien was Mike’s brother and their play was strictly for fun, or for Damien to show off. Mike had lost count of all the tournaments and world championships the little shit had won. His skill was supernatural. Or else he had ESP.