It had to be the headache making her eyes water like this. Or maybe it was shock. Eva didn’t know what to say. “So … I guess you’re not too mad about me sending home the camera guys, and quitting the competition?”
“I already said you were right about the Cooking Channel. Quit fishing.” He still looked the teeniest bit grumpy about it, and the familiar sight made Eva’s smile feel less tremulous.
“And you’re not quitting the competition,” Claire declared staunchly. “No discussion required. I’m the head judge, and I won’t have it.”
“You mean I can stay?” She could hardly believe it. Eva glanced to her father automatically, part of her certain she’d be punished for going against him this way.
But Theo smoothed down her hair, cupping her cheek in his palm the way he’d done ever since she was little. He smiled back at her, but there were tears trembling in his lashes, too, and Eva nearly lost it. “So … does this mean you’re not mad at me for being the world’s lousiest father?”
“Oh, Dad,” Eva sobbed, launching herself into the kind of hug she hadn’t felt like she deserved in a long time.
“The fact that you admitted you were wrong,” Theo said, mouth pressed against the crown of her head. “That’s one of the first things any good executive has to learn. And one of the hardest for people like you and me.”
“How did you learn that lesson?” Eva asked his shoulder.
“Well.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “I had your mother to remind me of my extreme fallibility. She never let me get away with thinking I was perfect.”
Pain tightened a fist around Eva’s throat. “I miss her,” she confessed, shaking with the strange novelty of talking to her father about the woman whose loss had shaped both their lives.
“I do, too. Every day. But Eva, she’d be so proud of the woman you’ve become,” Theo murmured into her hair. “And so am I.”
Eva clutched tightly to his strong, solid back and let the warm strength of the embrace bolster her courage for the task ahead.
When she reached the tipping point of feeling as if she’d totally lose her shit and start bawling if she stayed put any longer, she pulled away.
“Wow, talk about drama,” she said, suddenly intensely aware of their audience. Claire looked misty-eyed, while Kane did his best to look anywhere other than directly at Eva and Theo.
Danny … Danny was gone.
Maybe she hadn’t lost everything. But she’d certainly lost Danny Lunden.
Forever.
Heart clenching tight, Eva straightened her dad’s shirt collar and wiped at the makeup smudge she’d left on his suit jacket shoulder. “I’m going to go talk to the camera guys now, and let you three decide which team to send home.”
“Right,” Theo said, sitting back down and clearing his throat. “We shouldn’t leave the losing team twisting in the wind, waiting to find out who’s been eliminated.”
“And then, I’ve got a plane to catch for San Francisco, so I can start setting up for the next round,” Eva said, injecting as much brightness into her voice as she could. It sounded pretty fakey-fake to her, but maybe no one else would notice. “There’s a ton to do!”
Dark eyes velvety with sympathy, Claire stood and intercepted Eva for a hug as she reached for the doorknob.
“You did well, Eva. I’m proud to know you.”
Eva was aware that her smile probably looked more like a grimace. “Better late than never, I guess. And thank you—for being my moral compass when I got turned around. I’ll see you in San Francisco.”
Waving good-bye to Kane, whose silent presence she’d almost forgotten in the rush of confessions and absolutions, Eva escaped into the hallway and paused a moment to catch her breath.
It was done. She could look herself in the mirror again, and not hate what she saw. And the situation with her father had turned out better than she’d ever dared to hope for, but somehow, even with a clean, unburdened soul and the assurance of her father’s love and respect, Eva felt drained. Devastated.
She couldn’t kid herself. The way Danny had looked at her earlier, as if she were someone he’d never seen before—and didn’t want to meet—told her everything she needed to know about her chances of getting him to understand.
Besides, what was there to understand? Eva knew that in Danny’s mind, she’d committed the one truly unpardonable sin.
She’d hurt his teammates. His guys.
If it came down to a choice between Eva and Danny’s guys, she had no illusions about who he’d pick.
Every single time.
Chapter 34
Danny’s head was a tornado of confused thoughts and conflicting emotions. What Eva had said, what she’d done, what she’d risked in order to put things right … He could hardly process it.
When Cheney got a call on his cell and frowned as he jogged out of the kitchen and into the hallway, Danny’s breath caught.
She did it. She really did it.
By the time the judges came back, all the cameras were off, and the crew was coiling up wires and putting caps on lenses. But even the general confusion over that couldn’t distract the waiting chefs from their worry over which team was about to be cut from the competition.
Poor Winslow, waiting in suspense for the verdict, looked like he was working on hyperventilating himself into a coma.
Throwing an arm around his teammate’s shoulders, Danny steadied both of them and took comfort in the solid presence of his guys ranged around them.
A hush fell over the kitchen, even the celebrating chefs on the winning side pausing as they waited to hear who was going home.
Claire Durand stepped forward, and her beautiful, stern face showed none of the torment of empathy he’d glimpsed in her while Eva made her confession.
Instead she looked cool, completely professional, as she opened her mouth to dispense the judgment.
“First, as you might have noticed, the camera crew is leaving us. We have decided not to pursue televising the RSC, so that we can bring the competition back to basics: the food.”
That information sent a minor shock wave through the assembled chefs, but everyone shut up immediately when Claire held up her hand, too desperate for the rest of her announcement to drag out the suspense any further.
“To that end, after careful consideration, the judges’ panel has decided that it comes down to the individual dishes presented in the last challenge. Both teams put up interesting food, and gave us much to enjoy, much to think about. But in the end, of the winning points scored by the East Coast/Southern Team, the majority were won by the East Coast chefs.”
Danny’s heartbeat picked up speed, and he felt Winslow reach up and clutch tightly at Danny’s hand on his shoulder.
“Therefore,” Claire continued, “with regret, it is the team from Atlanta who will be leaving the competition.”
Win sagged under Danny’s arm, even as Max shouted with joy and swung Jules off the floor and into a twirling embrace. Beck ducked his head until his hair fell forward and covered his face.
Ike Bryar led his crew up to the judges to shake hands and thank them for the opportunity. He was obviously disappointed, but philosophical about it as he came down and clasped hands with each of the East Coast Team members in turn.
“Hey, someone had to be cut, and this time it was us,” he said. Winslow had recovered enough to hold out his fist for a bump, and Bryar grinned. “It was a privilege working with y’all. You go get ’em in San Francisco. We’ll be rooting for you!”
Danny thanked him and watched him gather up his team and leave, while the rest of the kitchen exploded back into raucous celebration.
Somehow, Danny didn’t feel much like celebrating.
Surprisingly enough, Max was the one who noticed he was missing. “Danny boy! Come down here and get your party on! Ryan Larousse found some bubbly, and we’re about to have a toast.”
Danny tried to brush his brother off. “I’m not in the mood. You go
ahead.”
“Not in the mood?” Max looked at him as if he’d sprouted spun sugar flowers from both ears. “Dude. Let me break it down for you. We just moved on to the finals. We came this close to having to go home, but instead we live to cook another day! Sorry if you’re not in the mood, but you have to have champagne. It’s pretty much a moral imperative.”
Scrubbing a hand over his face, Danny tried to pull himself out of his funk. “Yeah, you’re right. Okay. Lead me to it.”
Max paused. “Wait. You’re seriously not happy?”
“I’m fine,” Danny said. “You mentioned something about champagne?”
“You’re not fine.”
“I don’t want to get into a semantic discussion with you.” Danny started getting annoyed. “You want me to be happy and celebrate, even though we fucking lost? Fine, I’m happy. Let’s go celebrate.”
Max held the wine bottle behind his back. “Wow, do you suck at being happy.”
“What do you want from me?” Danny snarled, reaching the end of his patience.
“I want to know what the hell is going on. Why has Winslow looked half a biscuit away from tears all day? Why is Beck going around even more stoic than usual? And why do you look like someone just tossed you a basketball covered in dog poop and asked you to dribble it up the center?”
“It doesn’t matter now,” Danny deflected. “We made it through. And you’re right, the team deserves to celebrate.”
Frustration drew Max’s face tight. “You deserve to celebrate, is what I’m getting at. You always do this. You take on all the bad stuff for yourself, then pass the good stuff over to everyone else. You set a high standard, man. It’s pretty hard to live up to.”
Red hazed over Danny’s vision, the chaos and fury in his brain condensing down to a single laser point of anger, aimed straight at his brother’s head. “Me? What about you? I lived for years in your shadow, Max, and you weren’t even there to cast it. There’s nothing harder to live up to than a ghost. The fantasy son, who could always be perfect because he wasn’t real.”
Pain clouded Max’s eyes, but his mouth firmed up in that way he always got when he was serious about something. “I hate that you went through that. I hate everything I put you all through when I left. But, Danny, I’ve said I’m sorry a million times. Eventually, you’ve got to start believing I mean it.”
“I believe you’re sorry. But that doesn’t change how much it sucked. Apologies aren’t meaningless, but are they enough? And it doesn’t make it any easier for me, now, to trust that people are going to stick around and not leave me hanging.”
Shit, where did that come from?
Max, of course, picked right up on it. Eyes narrowing, he pointed the neck of the wine bottle at the cluster of judges talking to the West Coast Team. “Does this have to do with where you disappeared to after the challenge? I noticed you came back alone—and that Eva Jansen wasn’t the one to make the final announcement. What’s up? Jules says you’ve got a thing for our lovely competition coordinator.”
“Yeah.” Danny laughed, the sound dry and rusty. “That’s what I’ve got. A thing.”
Max cocked his head. “She’s hot. What? I’m in love with Jules, not dead.”
“Yep, she’s hot.” Making a quick lunge, Danny snagged the bottle out of Max’s hand and started twisting at the wire cap over the cork. “Also a liar, and a user, and a manipulator.”
And she came clean about all of that, a voice in his head reminded him. She apologized—and she clearly meant it.
But was it enough?
“Geez. Tell me how you really feel.” Max frowned down at the champagne bottle.
But Danny was beyond accepting help. The flood of protective anger rushed over him again, turning his movements quick and forceful. “You want to know why Win and Beck were upset? It was because of her. She hurt them.”
With one last, vicious twist, the cork popped out of the bottle and a spray of sparkling wine geysered up, bubbles cascading to the floor.
Danny stared down at his soaked hand clutching the neck of the champagne bottle, and panted. Max took the bottle from him gently, and said, “Sounds to me like the one she hurt is you, Danny.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s not what’s important. What matters is—”
“What matters,” Max interrupted, a note of steel running through his voice, “is you. Your feelings. You matter, Danny. Quit hiding behind your need to take care of other people.”
It was as if Max’s words unlocked a door Danny’d kept carefully shut and locked for years. He shuddered, his bones vibrating with the force of it, teeth chattering in his mouth as he tried to make sense of the avalanche of emotion crashing through his system.
Yeah, there was anger at how Eva’s actions had affected Winslow and Beck. That was real. But it was mixed in with this monster blend of pain, betrayal, rage, and disappointment that clobbered Danny hard enough to knock him back a step.
Max grabbed him into a hug, his brother’s arms strong and fierce and tight, blocking out the rest of the room as Danny’s mental defenses crumbled into dust.
Me. She hurt me.
And now that he realized it, he had no idea what to do about it other than stand there and attempt to breathe through the storm.
“Come on,” Max whispered tenderly into his ear. “Just let it out.”
“Dickweed.” Danny shoved at Max’s chest, his lungs opening up all at once. “I’m not going to cry, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”
“Aw. Baby brother’s all growed up.”
“Shut your pie hole,” Danny said, laughing and pulling away to run a self-conscious hand through his hair.
Max bumped his shoulder companionably and lifted the bottle of champagne to take a swig straight from it. He wiped his mouth and grinned, but it was the concern in his eyes that broke down the last, cracked bits of the wall Danny had erected to keep his brother out. “Seriously. You okay, man?”
Danny took a deep breath and thought about the question seriously.
Eva had hurt him. But on some level, he understood why. He understood what she’d been trying to accomplish, even though she’d gone way too far. And what she’d said at the end there, the thing that had made him turn around and run before he could give in to the temptation to sweep her into his arms and kiss a smile onto her sad, beautiful mouth…
I fell in love.
The memory lanced straight through Danny’s chest, filling him with something sharp, jagged, and bright. Something an awful lot like hope.
“I’m not sure exactly what I’m going to do next,” Danny said slowly, “but I think I’ll be okay. Thanks, Max.”
“Hey.” Max grinned. “What are big brothers for, if not to tell you when you’re being a total knob?”
“You’re a good brother,” Danny told him. “You always were, even when we were kids.”
A shadow crossed Max’s face. “Not always. Not when I left.”
“No, but…” Danny sighed. “You’re human. You made a bad choice. Or it felt that way at the time, but who knows? Maybe it was the right thing for you. It made you who you are, the guy Jules loves, the brother I needed right now, today. I can’t regret that.” He took a deep breath. “And I’ll stop asking you to regret it, too.”
Max blinked. “Wow. Toss a little emotional intelligence your way, and you take off running with it.”
Danny laughed again, feeling lighter than he had in years, as if he’d let something heavy and aching slide right off his shoulders. “Yeah, well. Talking shit out is supposed to be good for you.”
“It is,” Max said. “When I was at the temple in Japan, they talked a lot about facing your feelings. Sometimes, the stuff they said, it was like watching Obi-Wan talk to Luke about the Force. But I’m pretty sure the monks came up with it before George Lucas.” He shrugged and took another hit off the bottle of champagne. “Anyway, when I came back, I wasted a lot of time being bitter and stupid and holding on to
my anger—but when I finally talked about it, it was kind of like magic. It fell away. I was like a snake shedding skin it doesn’t need anymore.”
Danny put his tongue in his cheek. “Okay, now you’re getting a little woo-woo for me.”
“Fuck off,” Max said, grinning. “All I mean is, when someone hurts you, tell them.” He waggled the split of champagne at Danny “Don’t bottle it up inside, or someday you’ll pop your cork and explode all over somebody.”
“Whoa,” Danny deadpanned. “You’re such a poet. Trying to give Kane Slater a run for his money in the lyrics department?”
“You only wish you could be as smart as me.”
“It’s true, with age comes wisdom. How long until you’re thirty again?”
“Oooh.” Max clutched at his heart. “Direct hit! Come on, enough of this girlie touchy-feely sharing time. Let’s party!”
Danny laughed and shook him off, glancing at the door the judges had disappeared through. “You go ahead. I’ve got something I need to do.”
Max dropped the teasing long enough to give Danny a manly clap on the shoulder and an encouraging eyebrow lift. “Going to try out your newfound emotional coping mechanism on Eva Jansen? Good luck, kid. The first time might sting a little, but it gets better.”
Danny doubted it. He wasn’t even sure what he planned to say. As he waved good-bye to his shouting, laughing, jumping teammates and slipped out of the kitchen, all he knew for sure was that he couldn’t let Eva go without telling her how she made him feel.
Chapter 35
Eva leaned her head against the cool plastic window and wished the plane would take off, already, so she could recline her seat. Every bone in her body ached with a dull, grinding pain that got worse the longer she sat, as if motion alone had kept her joints from freezing up.
Pushing a fist against her chest, Eva frowned. Nothing hurt quite as badly as this yawning emptiness in her rib cage. It felt as if her heart had been scooped out with a melon baller.
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