As they gathered the dishes, the air between him and Mrs. McKinley seemed to become charged. He was beginning to wish he’d skipped out on cleanup like the others.
“It seems as if you’ve had a lot of misfortune in your lifetime, Cole. It takes a strong person to overcome such difficulties.”
Cole gave a tight smile. “We play the hand we’re dealt. Not much else we can do.”
Mrs. McKinley scooped up the silverware, her movements slowing down.
He got the feeling she was stalling.
“You seem like a really nice young man . . .”
Cole clenched his teeth as he set the lid on a casserole dish and pulled it toward him. “But . . .”
Mrs. McKinley gave a you-got-me smile and made a big deal out of stacking the remaining plates just so. “PJ’s our baby, as I’m sure you know, and we couldn’t love her more . . .”
Cole refused to bail her out. He straightened with the Crock-Pot in his arms and met her gaze head-on.
“But she hasn’t always made the best decisions, particularly regarding young men. Oh my, some of the boys she brought home in high school!” She gave a little laugh that strained his last nerves.
“At first her dad and I thought she was going through a rebellious phase. I mean, her first boyfriend got expelled from school for drug use, her second was constantly getting in fights at school, the next one had another girlfriend, and on and on. Each one seemed worse than the last. I guess she saw some salvageable quality in each one of them. Or maybe she thought she could fix them, I don’t know.”
Cole followed her to the house. “And you think I’m just another in a long line of poor choices.”
She turned on the first porch step, their gazes level. “I have no qualms with you, honey. I know you’ve been through a lot.” Her gaze darted to the ground, then back to him. “But PJ needs someone stable. Someone who can be the voice of reason. Someone levelheaded.” Her eyes bored into his.
She was referring to his arrest. He wondered for the dozenth time if he should’ve just kept his fists to himself. “I was defending PJ on Sunday. I’m not going to stand by while some guy manhandles her.”
“We met Keaton once before when we visited her at college. He seemed like a very nice young man, and as I recall from my conversations with PJ last spring, he had his act together. Graduated from college with honors and had a nice steady job. She was happy with him. He treated her well.”
Except for the wife and little kid, he was quite the catch. But Cole couldn’t say that, now, could he? It was PJ’s secret to tell. Besides, it would only reinforce what her mom said about her poor judgment. Warmth climbed Cole’s neck, and he locked his teeth together.
“I really thought they’d end up together, and I just think, you know, maybe she’d give him another chance, if she were available. It’s obvious he’s still interested in her.”
“That’s PJ’s decision.”
“You’re right, it is.” She gave him a look that made it clear he was standing in the way of that.
PJ burst through the door, waving a paper. “Got it!”
“Oh, good, you got the ink replaced. I never can figure out how to do that.”
PJ folded the paper and stuffed it in her pocket, then took the Crock-Pot from Cole. “You go play. I’ll finish this up with Mom. It sounds like they need a referee.”
Cole agreed, eager to part ways with Mrs. McKinley and forget all the ugly thoughts she’d planted in his head.
“You okay?” PJ asked after her mom slipped into the house.
“I’m fine.” He set a kiss on her perfect lips. “Go help your mom.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
SOMETHING WAS WRONG WITH COLE. HE’D SEEMED distracted and less affectionate the last couple days. When PJ quizzed him about it, he said he was tired or anxious for Lizzy’s arrival, but she couldn’t help but think it was something more.
Maybe something had happened at the farmhouse. But other than the awkward questioning at the table, her family had behaved. She was glad. He needed people, needed family, more than he even knew.
But it was Sunday, and once again she was seeking him out. She found him upstairs, making the second bed in Shaundra’s room.
“Knock-knock,” she said.
The smile he turned on her made her insides melt. “Hey, Sunshine.”
Her spirits buoyed. “Getting things ready for Lizzy?”
“Yeah. I found this bedding at the thrift store. What do you think? Something a teenaged girl would like?”
It was turquoise and yellow with giant daisies. “It’s perfect. She’s going to love it. I can’t wait to meet her.”
He straightened, the smile falling as he took in the room. A twin bed hugged each wall with one nightstand and a narrow walkway between them. A small bureau was against the opposite wall.
“It’s kind of small for two, isn’t it?” he said.
“No smaller than the room I shared with Jade. They’ll make do. Shaundra will be a great roommate, and it’s not like she’ll be here much longer.”
She’d decided to go straight to culinary school, starting with the summer session at Vincennes. She’d even scored a decent scholarship.
“That’s true.”
But then he’d be filling Shaundra’s spot soon after—if he won the house. That June 1 deadline was closing in.
Cole had gone quiet, and she wondered if his thoughts were traveling the same path. They hadn’t discussed what would happen. At this point, PJ didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t even want to think about it.
Cole gave the porch swing a push and settled his arm around PJ. When she cuddled into his side, he tucked her head under his chin. Her hair smelled like Italian food with just a hint of the sweet flowery notes underneath.
She shivered against the chill in the evening air, and he rubbed her bare arms. She was telling him about a student in tonight’s class who’d mixed up the basil and oregano, ruining her pesto.
As he listened to the lilt of her voice, his mind replayed Mrs. McKinley’s words, as it had so often the past four days. Was he just another in a long line of losers? Was PJ better off without him?
She wasn’t better off with Keaton. He knew that even if her mom didn’t. But was he going to fail her like he had his family, his sister? Was he only going to hurt her in the end?
His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he smiled when he checked the screen. Lizzy.
“Mind if I take this? It’s Lizzy.”
“Not at all.” PJ pulled away, a sweet smile curving her lips. She’d helped him put the finishing touches on Lizzy’s room. It was all ready for her arrival at the end of the week.
“Hey, Lizzy-Lou.”
Silence greeted him. Then a sniffle sounded.
“Lizzy?”
“Cole, this is Becky.” Her voice was thick with tears.
Dread snaked down his spine. “What’s wrong?”
“Is someone there with you?”
The sharp blade of panic cut through him. “Yes, what happened, Becky?”
“Honey, I don’t know how to tell you this . . .”
He stiffened, meeting PJ’s eyes. Fear flooded through him. “Is Lizzy okay?”
More sniffles. “No, honey. No, she’s not. She—Greg and I came home this evening and . . . she was on the floor in her bedroom. She took Greg’s pills he had left over from his surgery—all of them.” Becky broke down.
PJ set her hand on his thigh, and he realized it was stuttering up and down. “Is she okay? Did they pump her stomach?”
“She—she was already gone when we got home. We called 911, but there was nothing they could do. Oh, why did I leave her alone tonight? We took the kids out for pizza, and we invited her along, but she said she had homework . . .”
She was gone? Lizzy was gone? His eyes burned, his breath felt stuffed into his lungs. His heart pummeled his chest, making an ache big enough to swallow him whole.
“That boy broke up with her yest
erday. She was so upset, but this morning she seemed better, and I never dreamed—” Becky sobbed into the phone.
“Is she okay?” PJ whispered.
Cole tried to remember their last conversation. Just a few days ago. She’d seemed less excited about coming, but he thought she was just sad about leaving Braden. They hadn’t been seeing each other long, though. And she mentioned that Braden could move to Chapel Springs when he graduated in June.
But now she wasn’t coming. She’d never be coming. She was gone.
“Honey, are you there? Are you okay? I know how close you two were . . .”
“I’m here.” Was that his flat voice? “I—I have to go.”
“We’ll let you know about the arrangements. Are you okay? Are you coming home?”
He swallowed hard. “Yeah. Yeah, I will. I just—I have to go.”
He didn’t wait for her to say good-bye. He turned off the phone, letting his hand fall to his lap. This couldn’t be happening. Lizzy couldn’t be gone.
PJ took his hand. “Cole? Talk to me.”
He watched the hanging basket of flowers across the porch sway in the wind. He tried to remember the last time he’d seen Lizzy. He’d gone back to Fort Wayne to see her and get the rest of his things just before the kids came. She’d been crying, but he’d told her he was doing this for her and that in less than a year she’d be coming to live with him.
She’d looked up at him with those haunted blue eyes, those wire frames as crooked as always. “Promise?” she’d said.
“I promise. I’m going to take care of you.”
His gut tightened painfully at the memory. He struggled to draw a breath.
“Cole?”
He turned to PJ. A rock had lodged in his throat. He tried to swallow it away. “She’s dead.”
PJ gasped. “Oh no.” She palmed his face. “I’m so sorry.”
He had to do something. He jumped up and paced across the porch. “I should go. I have to go help Becky.”
“Becky?”
“Our foster mom.”
“I’ll go with you.”
Music blared from the upstairs window, and he remembered the kids. A funeral would be a few days away. He couldn’t be gone that long. He squeezed the back of his neck.
“What am I thinking? I can’t leave the kids.”
“I’ll stay with them. Or go with you—whatever you want. My family can help.”
She’s gone. She’s gone, and I didn’t protect her. I promised, and I let her down.
Just like Noelle.
Just like Mom and Dad.
“Cole? You want me to ask my mom to come stay? I can close the restaurant for a few days.”
At the mention of her mom, he shook his head. “No. I’d feel better if you stayed with the kids. You can keep the restaurant open. I should go pack.”
He entered the house and went numbly up the stairs. He didn’t know PJ had followed until he was in his bedroom, grabbing his empty duffel bag.
“You can’t go tonight. It’s late, and it’s a long drive. There’s nothing you can do till morning anyway.”
She was right. It would be after midnight by the time he arrived in Fort Wayne. He set the duffel bag on the bed and dropped beside it.
The mattress dipped as PJ sank down beside him. She put her arm around him. He felt her gaze on him. He wanted to lay his head in her lap and bawl his eyes out, but something stopped him. Something dammed up the tears and held his arms frozen to his sides.
“What can I do? Can I get you anything?”
“Promise?” she asked.
“Yeah, I promise. I’m going to take care of you.”
The backs of his eyes burned.
“You want to talk?”
He stood, needing distance and not knowing why. “No, I just—I think I need to be alone,” he squeezed out.
He didn’t look back at her, didn’t want to see the hurt he knew would be on her face.
“Are you sure? I can—I can stay with you, just hold you, if you want.”
He gave her his best shot at a smile, but it fizzled before it even started. “I’m sure. I just—I need some time.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
THE DAY OF THE FUNERAL WAS BLEAK AND OVERCAST. A SMALL group clustered around Lizzy’s casket. The pastor’s words droned on, but Cole didn’t hear anything he said. He stood with Greg and Becky, their extended family, and their three current foster children. Lizzy’s mom, a druggie who’d shown little interest in her daughter while she lived, hadn’t bothered to show for her funeral. Braden, the guy she’d been so distraught over, hadn’t come either.
Cole felt something deep and black building as he stared at the small spray of roses on the casket. He’d chosen white ones dipped in turquoise, Lizzy’s favorite color. The casket was the cheapest model available, but it was white with pink lining, and he thought she would’ve liked it.
When the funeral was over, they returned to the house. It had been ominously quiet the past three days. Greg’s eyes were continually bloodshot as he helped with the kids. Becky sobbed quietly in her room several times a day. When they returned to the house, they sent the kids to their rooms to play, checked on Cole, and disappeared into their own bedroom.
Cole stared out the kitchen window into the backyard as the dark clouds finally let loose, pummeling the ground with rain. He thought of Lizzy’s casket sitting at the grave site and wondered if it had been lowered into the ground.
Everywhere he looked, memories of her played like a ghostly hologram. Tugging him from bed on Saturday mornings. “Dit up, Cole! Watch cartoons now!” Shrieking with glee as he pushed her on the swing set out back. Struggling through math homework, her elbow on the table, head on her fist. “I can’t do it! I’m too stupid!”
Too many memories.
And not enough.
Why, God? I should’ve been here. I should’ve figured out a way to take her with me. I should’ve known something was wrong. I let her down.
His phone vibrated with an incoming call. Probably PJ. She’d texted or called a couple times every day, but he’d only responded twice. He was too overwrought to deal with his feelings for her. Too tired after three nights of little sleep.
And he knew that the dark thing that had been rising inside him had everything to do with her. As much as he needed to leave this house, escape the memories, he could only dread his return to Chapel Springs.
PJ would be there, and the darkness building up in him reminded him that he didn’t deserve her. Didn’t deserve her love—if that’s what she felt for him. He destroyed the people he loved. He wasn’t worthy of someone like PJ.
The phone stopped buzzing, and he released a heavy sigh.
PJ. The kids. The house. Lizzy. It all spun in his mind like clutter caught in a tornado. He didn’t know what to do about any of it. But one thing was for sure. He wasn’t going to figure it out from here.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
THE RESTAURANT WAS SLAMMED DESPITE THE THUNDERSTORM. One of PJ’s servers was a no-show. Shaundra had filled in for a while, but she’d had to leave at seven.
“Chef, we’re in the weeds out here,” one of her servers called from the window. “Any chance of more help?”
PJ turned from the stove. “Already tried. Sorry. Hang in there. Rush is almost over.”
“Two steamed scallops, on the fly,” another server called.
“Mussels are done,” called someone from the hot line. “Drop the calamari.”
Callie returned from her restroom break, joining the line as though she’d never left. A few minutes later she brought over a bowl of mushrooms. “I think Cole’s back.”
He’d texted earlier today that he was coming home tonight, but PJ had thought he’d hunt her down when he arrived. Of course she’d been busy, and he probably hadn’t wanted to interrupt.
“Why do you say that?”
“I think I saw his truck out back. And the shed light’s on.”
He was definit
ely home then. No one else went out there. She wanted to drop everything and go to him, but she couldn’t leave while the kitchen was buried.
PJ sautéed the mushrooms and dropped the calamari. She wondered how long he’d been back. She was dying to get her arms around him. She hated that he’d gone through this alone.
Not alone, PJ.
He’d had his foster parents. Still, she’d hated being apart from him while he was hurting. He hadn’t communicated much while he’d been gone, but he’d been busy with funeral arrangements and, no doubt, grieving—which he seemed to prefer doing alone.
She wondered if that was because he’d never had much choice. Maybe he’d just learned to suck up his pain and deal. She hated that for him. Everyone deserved the comfort of a loving family.
Twenty minutes later things had slowed down. PJ pulled off her apron. “Taking five,” she called.
“Take your time,” her sous chef said. “It’s under control.”
She checked with the maitre d’ before she left and resolved a problem with the credit card machine. The front was clearing out, and her servers didn’t seem so frazzled.
She went out the back door, dashing through the rain toward the shed. She probably looked like heck in her dirtied whites and ponytail. She probably smelled like garlic and onion, too, but she couldn’t help the excitement that built inside at the thought of seeing Cole again. Four days without him was four too many.
The door squawked quietly on its hinges as she pulled it open. Cole’s sharp jabs thwacked the punching bag. His feet shuffled on the cement floor, and his back muscles bulged under his black T-shirt. The light from the bare overhead bulbs glinted off his dark hair. He delivered another series of punches.
Mercy, she’d missed him.
She covered the distance between them and, between punches, slipped her arms around him.
He started, stiffening.
“It’s just me. You are a sight for sore eyes.” PJ flattened her hands against his taut stomach. His back was warm and solid against her cheek, his shirt slightly damp. “When did you get here? You should’ve popped in to say hi.”
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