by Beth Andrews
“I didn’t kiss him back.”
Sadie’s eyes widened. “You denied him? Ouch.”
“Well, I couldn’t just let him kiss me, could I?”
“Why not?”
“Because...because...” Harper finished her wine in one long swallow. Nodded firmly. “Because.”
“Glad we got that cleared up.”
“I can’t go around...kissing...the fathers of the kids in my class. No matter if those fathers are single or not.”
“So you didn’t want to kiss him at all? Didn’t feel anything when he kissed you?”
Harper lifted her glass, cursed when she remembered it was empty. “No.” The lie felt heavy on her tongue. Clumsy. She sighed. “I didn’t want to want to. But maybe I did. Just a teeny, tiny bit.”
“And?”
“And? And?” she repeated, sounding slightly hysterical. “I’m a married woman.”
Sadie’s expression softened. “Oh, honey...”
Harper’s eyes stung with tears. “What about Beau?” she whispered.
“You felt guilty?”
“Guilty. Dirty. It’s...wrong. It’s wrong of me to even look at another man, let alone seriously consider kissing one.”
Thinking of one when her guard was down, letting some broad-shouldered, hooded-eyed man sneak into her thoughts. Her dreams.
Those both belonged to her husband still.
Sadie scooted closer so that her knee touched the outside of Harper’s thigh.
“Do you really think Beau wouldn’t want you to move on with your life?”
“He would.” He’d want her to find someone to spend her life with. He wouldn’t want her to be alone. “That’s not what this is about. I’m not against dating again or eventually meeting a man I can share my life, my heart and my daughter with. It’s just...I loved Beau, so much. Fully. If he was still alive, there’s no way I’d be having these thoughts about Eddie—”
“You’re having thoughts about him?”
“I guess. I mean, he’s handsome and a good father and thoughtful, if a bit reserved.” Harper’s blood went cold, her face numb. “Oh, my God, you don’t...you don’t think I’d have this attraction to Eddie if Beau was still alive, do you?”
“Absolutely not. You might have appreciated Eddie’s looks but I doubt very much you’d spend much time thinking about him.” Sadie rubbed Harper’s upper arm. “Everyone knows you adored Beau, and he adored you.” Her voice lowered. Gentled. “But he’s gone.”
“I know. And I’m getting over losing him.” She’d never get over him. Never forget him. “I guess I assumed it’d be a while before I was ready to move on— and I’m not even sure I am ready. Beau hasn’t been gone a whole year. Don’t I owe him, and what we had together, the respect of waiting a little longer?”
“There’s no set time limit. The grieving process is different for everyone. It’s a matter of meeting the right person, not the right time. Look at my mom and Will. Mom loved Dad, but by the first anniversary of his death, she was married to Will and had just found out she was pregnant.”
“Weren’t you upset?”
“I was. But I was also happy for her. For us.” She shook her head. “I guess mostly I was conflicted. Looking back, I think Mom was, too. I don’t think she set out to find someone, she wasn’t trying to replace my dad. She just happened to meet a very nice man and fell in love.”
Love.
Just the thought of it sent panic skittering through Harper. She wasn’t ready to have those kinds of feelings for another man. She still loved her husband.
“Maybe it’s just physical. It could be. I haven’t had—” she glanced into the kitchen where Cass sat on James’s lap at the center island “—sex in almost a year.”
“Let’s say it is only sex,” Sadie said, mimicking Harper’s low tone on the last word. “Is that so bad? You’re a grown woman. You have needs. You’re single. Eddie’s single. There’s nothing wrong with two unattached adults enjoying each other’s company.”
Nothing except that he was Max’s father and Max was one of her students.
She rubbed her fingertip around the edge of her wineglass. “I sort of yelled at him.”
“You couldn’t have just given him the Heisman?”
“You mean the Heimlich? He wasn’t choking. He was making a move.”
“The Heisman is a move. Well, technically it’s a football trophy.” Picking up a pillow, Sadie stood and tucked it under one arm while lifting a knee and holding her other arm out straight. “You know...the Heisman.”
“I panicked. Even if I was the type of woman who could have a physical-only type relationship—” which sounded so much better than affair “—I doubt he’s interested after I made a fool of myself and embarrassed him, accused him of thinking I was a woman of loose morals.”
Sadie’s lips twitched. “Poor Eddie. He must’ve been horrified.”
“No, I’d say the horror didn’t happen until I started throwing brownies at him.”
There was a moment of blessed, stunned silence. Then Sadie burst into laughter. “Oh, that is priceless. Priceless, I tell you.”
Harper let her head fall to the back of the sofa. Squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, God, I made such a mess of things.”
Still chuckling, Sadie patted Harper’s knee. “So you made a mess. You’ll clean it up. Or not. Either way, you’ll both survive. You just need to decide what you want.”
That was the problem. Harper was afraid she already knew what she wanted. Who she wanted.
She was too terrified to admit it. Even to herself.
* * *
THREE HUNDRED AND SIX DAYS.
Joan’s entire body ached, each move, every breath painful. Her eyes were red-rimmed, gritty and raw. Exhaustion weighted her limbs, flowed through her veins like a drug.
She was tired, so very tired of pretending everything was all right, that she was happy and whole. But she had to keep up the pretense. People counted on her, relied on her to be strong.
She couldn’t show any weakness.
She shivered, couldn’t seem to stop, though she wore a jacket over a heavy sweater. She’d been to countless youth hockey games, had been in the ice rink plenty of times and had never before felt this cold. So cold.
Sitting next to her on the bleachers, Steve glanced her way. “You okay?”
He sounded concerned. Like he used to right after Beau died. Back then it had seemed as if he’d been constantly questioning her about how she felt, what she was thinking. She ground her teeth together to stop them from chattering, to stop from snapping at him to leave her alone. That his concern, his worry was a burden, a rope around her neck that grew tighter and tighter with each passing day.
She smiled in case anyone around them was watching. “Fine.”
He turned to the game.
She stared at the ice but the boys and girls were nothing more than moving shadows, the puck a sliding black blur.
Why did these games have to start so early? These kids should be at home sleeping in or watching cartoons, not forced to play a game at nine in the morning.
The visiting team scored, the referee blowing his whistle to indicate a good goal. Parents and grandparents leaped to their feet, cheering and waving their arms, high-fiving each other.
She wished she was at home, in bed, had considered staying there, curled up in a ball under the covers, the blinds drawn against the brilliant sunlight.
The silence. The darkness. They were luxuries she couldn’t afford.
Instead, she’d forced herself to get dressed, as she did every day. Had gone into the kitchen for coffee and toast, found Steve there reading the morning paper. They hadn’t spoken.
She glanced at her husband. His four-year-old granddaughter, Allie, now sat on his lap, her head leaning against Steve’s chest. His hair was swept back from his forehead, making his hawkish nose more pronounced. He looked tired, she thought, wanting to reach for him. To smooth away the worry lines on his for
ehead, to lay her hand on his arm if only to let him know she cared.
She kept her hands in her lap. Stared at the time left on the game clock, willing it to go faster. Next to Steve, his daughter, Miranda, chatted happily about the game, only pausing her never-ending commentary about her kids, her husband, her job...her life...to call out encouragement to her eight-year-old son, Gabe, and his teammates.
Finally, thankfully, the ref blew his whistle as the digital clock reached zero. Clutching her purse to her chest, Joan leaped to her feet, glanced at the exit.
“Jeremy and I promised the kids we’d take them out to breakfast,” Miranda said as she gathered her coat and purse. “Would you two like to join us?”
Spend another hour, possibly more, with Miranda and her very nice husband? An hour of being reminded what she no longer had?
No. She couldn’t.
“I would love to,” Joan lied, “and I appreciate the offer, but I have a bit of a headache.” She touched her fingertips to her temple as if to reinforce her words. “I think I’ll pop into the grocery store, then head home.”
“Oh,” Miranda said, obviously disappointed. “Maybe next weekend.”
“Of course.” She’d have to make sure she was too busy to come to the game next week. And the week after that.
“Are you ready?” Joan asked Steve.
“You go on ahead.” He didn’t look up from buttoning Allie’s coat. “I’m going to breakfast with my family. You can drop me off home later?” he asked Miranda.
She glanced between them. “Uh, sure. Come on, Allie,” she said, taking her daughter’s hand. “Let’s wait for Daddy and Gabe in the hall.”
Joan held out her hand. “I’ll need the car keys.”
He pulled them from his pocket, clenched them in his hand. “I want you to come to breakfast with us.”
She bristled. Why was he pressuring her? He hadn’t before. He’d never tried to push her into doing something she didn’t want to do, something she wasn’t ready for. “No.”
He edged closer, reached for her with his free hand. She flinched then glanced around to make sure no one noticed.
His expression darkening, he slowly lowered his arm. “You’ve been blowing off Miranda and the kids for months. You’re always too busy or not feeling well. Do you know how badly you’ve hurt her?”
Joan hardened her heart against his words, against the truth of them. She refused to be responsible for other people’s feelings. She had all she could handle getting through each day. Didn’t he see that? Didn’t he know? Coming here, pretending to be happy watching other people’s children, was torture when she had so much inside of her. So much sadness. So much anger. So much bitterness. It constantly coated her throat, her mouth, she had to fight to keep it under control, to not let it affect her actions, to not simply open her mouth and let all the toxicity inside of her spew out. To swallow it down.
“She’ll get over it.”
Joan hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, so heartless. But she wouldn’t take it back. Miranda was a grown woman, an intelligent, capable adult. Surely she could move past a few injured feelings.
Steve looked at her as if he’d never seen her before. “If you keep pushing her away, it’ll only be a matter of time before she gets tired of being rejected.”
It couldn’t come soon enough.
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” he asked softly. Incredulously. “You want Miranda to leave you alone. For all of us to leave you alone.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “I have a headache and a lot to do today. That’s all.”
He shook the car keys in his hand and the soft jingle of them seemed to echo in her ears. She wanted to snatch them from him, run out of the building and go home.
She didn’t have to. He set them on the bench and silently walked away.
She inhaled a shaky breath, her eyes painfully dry. Turning, she watched his back as he climbed the bleacher steps two at a time, joined his family at the top.
He didn’t look back.
“Nana Jo!”
At the sound of her granddaughter’s delighted cry, Joan turned to see Cassidy racing toward her.
“Slow up, Cass,” Harper said, holding Cassidy’s hand as they descended the wide steps. “Nana’s not going to disappear.”
Joan swayed, had to reach out to steady herself against the upper bleacher. That was what it felt like. That Beau had disappeared. Vanished. There one day and gone the next.
“Hi, Nana,” Cass said when she reached Joan.
Her knees weak, Joan bent and lifted her granddaughter. “What brings you two out?” she asked, sounding normal and sane when she felt neither. “Gabe’s game just got done.”
Harper frowned. “Gabe played already? Shoot. We were hoping to watch him, too.”
“Too?”
“Sadie—you remember my cousin, Sadie Nixon? She invited us to watch Max Montesano, who also happens to be her nephew—well, I guess it’d be her boyfriend’s nephew—play.”
Joan frowned. That had been one long explanation given almost breathlessly. As if Harper was nervous. Or lying. Plus, Joan didn’t think it was a good idea for Harper to attend one of her student’s games. It might seem like favoritism.
But she didn’t have the energy to question her daughter-in-law. Not when she felt so claustrophobic with all these people milling about, the noise of their constant chatter echoing in her head. Her breathing grew ragged. Cold, clammy sweat formed at the back of her neck. They were all staring at her, watching her to see if she was going to break down. Testing her strength, her resolve all because they were happy and content with their lives.
It wasn’t fair.
And she wasn’t sure how much longer she could act as if it was.
Cassidy squirmed and pushed against her chest. “Ow, Nana. Too tight.”
Joan blinked. She had Cass in a viselike grip, holding on as if afraid to let go. She forced herself to loosen her embrace and ran a trembling hand over Cass’s fluffy hair. “Sorry,” she whispered.
“Joan?” Harper asked, the concern in her eyes, the question in her voice making it clear it wasn’t the first time she’d called her name.
Joan opened her mouth to tell her everything was fine, but the lie wouldn’t come. “I have to go.” It was all too much, too overwhelming. Her grief. Her anger. She practically shoved Cassidy at Harper, ignoring her granddaughter’s cries that she wanted her nana. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
Sorry she wasn’t stronger. Sorry she couldn’t get past her loss. Sorry she wasn’t the woman she wanted so desperately to be.
She bolted. Kept her head down, her stride brisk as she exited the rink and rushed out the double doors into a cold, light rain. She jogged down the concrete steps, raced across the short bridge that connected the park to the parking lot, her feet slipping on the wet wood. At Steve’s car, she fumbled with his key chain, pressed the unlock button. The alarm blared, the lights flashing as it beeped.
A sob escaped her throat and she clamped her lips together. She shut off the alarm and got behind the wheel, cranking up the radio after turning on the ignition. Peeling out of the lot, her tires squealing, her hands clenched on the wheel, she screamed.
And screamed. And screamed.
* * *
HAIL, HAIL, THE WHOLE damn gang was here.
Almost the whole gang, Eddie thought, sitting between his dad and Pops. Only Bree and James were missing the start of Max’s first hockey game of the season. But the rest? All accounted for. Pops sat to Eddie’s right, Frank to his left then Rose and Maddie. Leo was behind him, his knees digging into Eddie’s back.
More than likely on purpose.
The best part about his family was how they supported each other. They attended every game or event Max had, banded together in times of turmoil and celebration. They were always there.
He could count on them.
Pops nudged Eddie’s ribs w
ith his elbow—between his grandfather and his brother, he was going to be black-and-blue tomorrow. “How did it go last night?” Pops asked as the teams warmed up.
Eddie whirled toward him. “What do you mean?”
Pops couldn’t possibly know that he’d kissed Harper. Could he?
Pops raised his bushy eyebrows. “I mean how did Max’s evening with his mother go?”
Right. That. Eddie shrugged. “Okay.”
“Okay? That’s all you’ve got to say?”
What else was there? “That’s a direct quote from Max.”
“I don’t want him to get confused. Or be disappointed when Lena goes back to ignoring him.”
“Kids are resilient,” Frank said, leaning forward to see his father past Eddie. “Max will be fine. It’s good that he knows his mother wants to spend time with him. Maybe this time she’ll follow through.”
“Why don’t you ask Max what he wants?” Leo piped in, as if this had anything to do with him. “He’s big enough to make the decision whether he wants to spend time with her or not.”
Pops snorted, scowled at his youngest grandson. “Seven’s not old enough for that. Eddie is the one who has to decide what’s best for that boy.”
“Eddie has to decide what’s best for Max,” Frank agreed, “but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t take Max’s wishes into consideration.”
Eddie squeezed the back of his neck. Had he really thought having his family around was a good thing?
“It’s under control,” he told them, before they could continue discussing his life as if they had every right to put in their two cents.
Yeah, they were worried about Max. Eddie got that. But his son was fine. Lena had dropped him off when she’d said she would, and by ten-thirty, Max was bathed and in bed. He’d been where he belonged. At home with Eddie.
Today, Eddie was letting Lena take Max after lunch until this evening but then, by this time tomorrow, Lena would be on her way back to Chicago.
And things could return to normal.