Her eyes were bloodshot and crazy now. She was coming down, he realized, and needing another fix. And he was the one standing in her way.
He got to his feet, planting himself between her and the stairs. “I think you’d better go now, April. You’re not going to get what you came here for.”
“You can’t treat me this way—I’m your mama! And you owe me.” She darted around him, and he dodged to block the stairs.
But she didn’t head that way. She headed to the bookcase. She swiped his grandma’s antique clock from the shelf and dropped it into her satchel. Next went his first-edition copy of The Lost Road and a ’53 Chevy truck model his mom—his real mom—had given him for his sixteenth birthday.
He watched wordlessly as she snatched up his valuables in a frenzy. He could’ve stopped her easily enough. She was only going to sell the stuff and get high off it. But it was just stuff. She could take what she wanted as long as she left his boy alone.
When she’d shopped her fill, she buzzed past him, all righteous indignation. She didn’t even bother to look at him in her rush to get her next high. Objects poked from the top of her purse like so many toys from Santa’s bag. Without a word she stormed out. The door slammed behind her.
Only then did the breath fall from his body. His shoulders sank under the weight of her betrayal, and that familiar hollow ache spread across his chest.
Brady dribbled the ball across the deserted basketball court at Murphy’s Park. The sky was cloudy, threatening drizzle—a gloomy but balmy November day.
He went in for a layup, and it banked off the backboard, falling through the net with a swish. He caught the ball and headed back to half-court, not bothering to stop and catch his breath. The ball smacked the cement, and his feet ground against the grit and pebbles as he went.
His gaze swung to the sidelines, where Sam napped in his carrier. He’d fallen asleep on the drive over. Brady couldn’t bear the thought of another Sunday afternoon in that quiet house. He could’ve gone to lunch with his friends, but that would’ve been almost worse. The pitying looks, the subtle questions . . . He’d sooner jump off a cliff than subject himself to that today.
He drove toward the basket and missed. He worked on some dribbling drills and found he’d lost some agility since he’d last played. No problem. Gave him something to focus on.
“Wow, someone’s working up a sweat.”
He finished a between-the-legs dribble and caught the ball, panting hard.
Zoe approached from the sidelines, holding out her hands for the ball. He passed it to her. She dribbled for a minute, then tried for a three-pointer, but it bounced off the rim. She wasn’t a bad athlete. Growing up they’d played plenty of one-on-one, until Cruz came along and offered him more competition.
“How’d you know I was here?” he asked.
“Just had a feeling. You took off out of church fast enough.”
“Didn’t feel like eating with the gang today.”
She passed the ball back to him. “Fair enough.”
He drove toward the basket, and she made an effort to block him. But he pulled up short and sank the shot.
They played wordlessly for five or ten minutes until Zoe was breathing hard too. She twisted the band off her wrist and pulled her hair into a messy bun. Her gaze drifted over to Sammy, still sleeping peacefully.
“I’m out of shape,” she said. “And I’ve lost my touch.”
“You never had the touch,” he taunted. In truth, she used to have a three-pointer that had threatened his male ego a time or two. But he’d never admit it to her.
She rolled her eyes and sank a jump shot, probably just to spite him.
“Lucky shot,” he said.
She laughed and passed him the ball. “You’re full of it, you know that? After all the times I let you win, you owe me.”
He dribbled back to half-court to catch his breath, leaving Zoe near the free-throw line.
You owe me. Those had been April’s last words, and her face immediately popped into his mind. That angry, harsh look she’d given him just before she’d swiped his things and taken off. Man. She’d been like Jekyll and Hyde.
He should probably warn Zoe. April might come after her niece for money next, since she obviously felt she’d been gypped out of her inheritance. Though Zoe could hardly liquidate the orchard.
He turned with the ball, dribbling toward her. “You should probably know . . . April might come around asking you for a loan. If she does, don’t give her anything.”
Zoe gave him a thoughtful frown as she crouched to guard him. “I know better than that. She try to get some money from you?”
“She came by my place last night and tried to talk me out of the money Granny left me.”
Zoe gave up her guarding stance. “What?”
Brady held his ground several feet away, dribbling. “When she found out there was nothing left she got pretty mad. Made off with all the valuables she could stuff into her purse.”
“Oh, Brady. I’m so sorry. You could’ve stopped her. She’s only going to sell those things.”
“Think I don’t know that?” He lifted a shoulder. “They’re just things. I just thought I’d warn you in case she was still hanging around. She’s probably already hightailed it out of town, though. Seems she only came for one reason.” And it sure wasn’t to get to know her son better.
“Wow, bro. You’re sure having a bad month.”
“You think?” Suddenly feeling the weight of the last few weeks, he slammed the ball down, pounding it repeatedly against the concrete.
He’d sat in church this morning, squirming with anger. He didn’t understand why all this was happening. Why were women always leaving him? His mom, Audrey, Hope . . . A man could get a complex.
Zoe reached out for the ball, snatching it before he could smack it down yet again.
But he needed to take his anger out on something. “Had enough punishment for one day, have you?”
She tucked the ball under her arm and tilted a look at him. “You want to talk about Hope?”
“Not with her best friend.”
“I’m your sister too, you know.” Her eyes softened on his as she studied him for a long moment. “I love you, Brady, and I hate seeing you like this.”
He walked toward the sidelines. “Yeah, well, talk to Hope about that. She’s the one who took off. Seems to be a recurring theme in my life.”
Guess he really was a bad husband after all. He’d tried to warn her. Or maybe it was like Audrey had told her sister—he was just too boring. Maybe he bored women to death.
On the grass now, he grabbed a burp cloth from the diaper bag and wiped the back of his neck.
Hope joined him on the sidelines. “She’s just afraid, you know.”
“I wouldn’t know. She won’t talk to me. A few texts . . . but she won’t answer my calls anymore. And she’s obviously not coming home these days.”
“Don’t give up on her. She’s just overwhelmed and afraid. Give her some time to figure things out.”
“It’s been three weeks, Zoe.” And he could feel her slipping away. His heart gave a heavy punch. “What’s all this distance accomplishing anyway? She doesn’t want me anymore; time’s not going to fix that.”
“That’s not true.”
He gave her a withering look.
“It’s not,” she said insistently.
His eyes sharpened on her. On the confident tilt of her chin. On the sheepish look that had come over her face. “You’ve talked to her.”
“I went to see her last Sunday.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” he growled.
“Give me a break. I’m kind of in the middle here. But I want what’s best for both of you. And I can tell you this . . . She loves you, Brady. She really loves you.”
Hope sprang like an infernal weed, tangled around his hurting heart, and gave a tight squeeze. He searched her eyes with a desperation that overcame all pride. “Did she say that?”
/>
Zoe shifted, uncertainty flickering in her eyes before she looked away. “Not in so many words, maybe.”
He scowled. “Yeah. What I thought.”
“But I know her, Brady. She’s just running scared. The last time she was in love she went through an awful lot, you know. She’s not sure she can handle that again.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not planning on dropping dead any time soon, Zoe.” He knew he was being insensitive, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Don’t give up on her. Go see her. Talk to her.”
’Cause that should be on him, right? Because he was the one who left. No. He was so tired of trying to convince other people he was worthy of their love. Tired of being forced on people who didn’t even want him.
His whole birth had been an accident—April hadn’t even wanted him. His aunt and uncle had gotten stuck with him. He’d worked his whole life to make sure they’d never regretted the decision, and he had no idea if he’d succeeded or not.
Audrey hadn’t wanted him either. She’d only been pregnant, backed into a corner. She’d left him the second he’d served her purposes.
And Hope. She hadn’t wanted him, really. She’d just wanted a husband and a family. Apparently they hadn’t lived up to her expectations.
It was enough to make a man punch a wall.
Zoe grabbed his arm, her blue eyes piercing his. “Come on, Brady . . . Don’t give up. Go after your wife.”
He jerked away. “You know what, Zoe? Hope’s not the only one with wounds. Maybe this just makes me selfish, but . . .” He swallowed back the knot of emotion clogging his throat. “For once in my life I want someone to choose me. Not drugs. Not freedom. And not some stupid fantasy. Me.”
Her face fell, her eyes glossed over. “Oh, Brady.”
He jerked his gaze from the pity in her eyes and shouldered the diaper bag. The backs of his eyes burned, and a boulder was lodged in his throat. He was finished talking about this.
“I gotta go.” He grabbed the baby carrier and took the ball from Zoe. He made it all the way to his car before she took his arm, stopping him.
He drilled her with a look. “What now?”
But she didn’t back down. Not Zoe. She waited a long minute, making sure she had his full attention. “I think she’s going through something, Brady. More than she’s ready to admit to. I’m worried about her mental health.”
“Phfft. She’s practically a mental health professional.”
“Right?” Zoe took the ball and diaper bag from him, set them in his passenger seat, then closed the door. “Well, you know what they say about doctors, Brady . . . They always make the worst patients.”
He was still thinking about Zoe’s parting words as he made his way back to his quiet house.
chapter thirty-nine
Hope adjusted her headphones and addressed Laura, a recently divorced middle-aged woman with an abusive past. “It sounds as if you’re learning to stand on your own, Laura, so that’s good.”
“But it’s been two years since my divorce,” the caller said. “And I keep finding myself with the wrong kind of men. I get in too deep, too fast, only to discover they’re just like my ex-husband. What’s wrong with me?”
Hope could hear the tears in her voice, and her heart went out to the woman.
“There’s nothing wrong with you, Laura. You’re in a place so many women find themselves. In fact, you’re helping other women right now just by speaking out. You’re their voice. Sometimes issues from childhood are so deep they require a little digging. A little unpacking. Some good counseling can help you get to the bottom of issues and keep you from making the same mistakes over again. This is not a hopeless situation.” She glanced at the clock.
“Can you stay on the line, Laura? I’d like to give you a couple of resources. And if you’re listening, you’ll find those resources on our website. The lines are still open, and we have time for one more call. We’ll be right back after this break.” Hope cut to a commercial and spoke privately with Laura, giving her the numbers.
When she got off the phone she took a sip of her coffee, thinking about the woman. It didn’t escape Hope that she’d just recommended something she wasn’t even willing to do herself. How could she convince others to be brave enough to face their pasts when she didn’t have the courage to do it herself?
Living with Hope. What a joke. She was such a hypocrite.
The realization only depressed her further. It was Friday, and she had nothing to look forward to. Just another long, lonely weekend. She hadn’t heard from Brady since last Friday, and who could blame him? She’d been unresponsive every time he’d called or texted.
Sammy had turned eleven months last week, and she had no idea if he’d starting cruising the furniture or if he’d said his first word. Did he miss her? Cry for her? She missed him so much. Sometimes her arms ached for the solid weight of him. She longed to rub her cheek against his and inhale his sweet baby scent. She shut down the thoughts before tears could form.
Was she just supposed to live with this aching loss? The thought of it was like a brick on her chest. So heavy, so hopeless. At least the nightmares and panic attacks were gone. It was probably the medication, but she had no way of knowing for sure since she hadn’t been back home to test the theory. She wasn’t drowsy anymore. But that also meant she’d lost her favorite escape; she could no longer sleep away her weekends.
The studio door opened and Leo entered. His thick hair was plastered to his head, and his button-down clung to his skinny frame. He wiped a hand over his bushy beard. “Cats and dogs out there, man.”
“Thanks for the warning.” Hope handed him some napkins so he didn’t drip all over the equipment.
“Good show tonight,” he said after he’d settled in front of his computer. “I don’t know how you come up with all that stuff. I can’t even get my own life together half the time.”
If only he knew. “Thanks.”
The last commercial came to an end, and Hope shook off her lingering sadness. She leaned into the mic and injected some energy into her voice. “You’re listening to Living with Hope, and we have time for one more quick call.” She pushed a button. “Hi there, you’re on the air with Hope . . .”
The line was open but nobody spoke.
“Go ahead, caller,” she said. “You’re on the air.”
“Um . . . I’m here. Hi.”
Something about that voice.
Hope’s eyes narrowed on the screen in front of her. “Hi there. Thanks for calling in. Tell us your first name please.”
Another pause, then, “This is Brady.”
Her breath caught in her lungs. She blinked. What was he doing? What could he want? Her heart hammered in her chest so loud she feared the mic would pick it up. She felt Leo’s eyes on her and realized several seconds of dead air had passed.
“Go ahead with your question, Brady.” Her voice was somehow strong and steady.
“I was wondering if you could . . .” The scrape of his voice made a shiver pass down her arms.
When he didn’t finish, she prompted him. “You were wondering if I could . . .”
He cleared his throat. She could imagine him right now, standing in their living room, pacing the floor, his phone to his ear. Sammy sleeping peacefully upstairs.
“I want to know . . . How can I get my wife back?”
His question drove the air from her lungs. Made her heart squeeze tight. She closed her eyes against the pain. “I-I guess that depends on why she left.”
He gave a wry laugh that made her picture his rueful smile. “I’m pretty sure that had something to do with me. I seem to have a way of chasing off women. I’m not too good at this marriage stuff, I guess.”
She pressed her palm against the ache in her chest. “I’m sure that’s not true, Brady.”
“She’s everything I ever wanted. I love her, and I want her back. I’ll do anything. Just tell me what to do.”
She blinked ag
ainst the sting in her eyes. She couldn’t breathe. Words failed her. For once she didn’t know what to say. Dead air filled the studio, and still she had nothing.
Leo nudged her.
“Um, maybe . . . maybe she just needs a little time. A little space.” She palmed the back of her neck, suddenly unsure if that was even what she wanted anymore.
“So . . . you think there’s still hope, then?” He sounded so sad. So dejected. And she’d done that to him.
Leo pointed to the clock, ticking off seconds. She was running out of time.
“There’s always hope, Brady,” she said huskily.
She swallowed against the lump in her throat and tried to project a strength she didn’t feel. “I’m afraid that’s all we have time for tonight. Thanks for listening to Living with Hope.” She queued the program’s outro music. “Leo the Lion is up next.”
When the outro finished, she queued the top-of-the-hour ID. Her hands shook as she removed her headphones and unplugged them.
Oh my gosh. He’d actually called into her show. He’d all but begged her to come back to him, live, on the air. His voice rang in her ears. She’s everything I ever wanted. I love her, and I want her back. I’ ll do anything.
The burn built behind her eyes, and the knot in her throat swelled. She had to go. She stood and started gathering her things.
“Hey, you okay?” Leo said, frowning at her hand.
She realized she’d just picked up his travel mug instead of hers. “Yeah. Sorry.” She traded mugs. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Now up,” Leo said into the mic, still watching her. “A little Stevie Nicks, followed by Chicago.”
Hope’s legs shook as she fled the studio. The halls were empty, the offices dark. She couldn’t hold it back any longer. A sob rose in her throat, and tears flowed down her face.
She thought of her little empty apartment and knew she couldn’t go back there tonight. Oh, how she wanted to see him. How she wanted to fall into his arms right now. She was so stupid. She’d given him up because she was afraid of losing him. And she was losing him by turning her back on him. She was miserable, and the misery was self-inflicted.
Honeysuckle Dreams Page 24