TOO HOT TO HANDLE

by Robin Kaye

  "I lit a charcoal grill in the garden. You might want to douse it before you let Dave out there."

  "Okay."

  He was telling her about a grill in the garden. Like she really cared about a grill. He'd just taken a wrecking ball to her life. Her heart shattered. She'd known this was coming, but she'd never expected it to feel like this. She wasn't sure how much longer she'd be able to hold it together and couldn't bear to watch him leave.

  Annabelle hugged herself to keep from reaching for him as he passed. She leaned against the wall and staggered into her bedroom. The front door slammed as she dropped onto the bed. She pulled a pillow to her face and cried.

  Chapter 16

  Annabelle cried with a pillow over her face. The last thing she needed was the Fairy Godfathers trying to cheer her up. She hurt, and after what she'd done to Mike, she deserved it.

  She knew that letting him go was the right thing to do. He'd never have left if she explained how she felt about Chip, the differences in their relationship. He would have forgiven her, and after meeting his dad, he would have stayed with her, supported her. She was even sure he'd have told his dad where to go. But the only loser in the situation would be him. She wasn't sure when, but someday he'd look back and see how much being together had cost him, and whether he admitted it to himself or not, he would resent her for it.

  No, this was the best thing for both of them. It just felt as if she was dying inside, and eventually, she'd learn to live with the pain and learn to live without Mike. Eventually. She hoped.

  Right now, she wasn't sure giving Becca's way of dealing with excruciating pain a try was the right thing to do. Feeling the pain when she should. Another sob escaped, and she didn't recognize the sound. She cried so hard she could barely breathe. It hurt everywhere. Her body was racked with sobs, her throat was raw, her eyes burned, and she was exhausted, physically and mentally. Dave circled the bed whining before he finally jumped up and lay beside her. Letting Mike go was the best thing she could do for him in the end. When she made the decision, she had no idea she'd feel like this. She had no idea she'd hurt him as much as she had, no idea how to live without him, and no idea how to live with the guilt.

  Mike walked out and wanted to punch something. What was wrong with him that he couldn't attract a woman of his own? He finally found the one woman he would love forever, and she didn't love him—she loved his dead brother. She was just like all the rest, only worse. He knew the others had been getting over Nick. With them, there was no pretense. Annabelle had blindsided him. He'd had no idea she'd been with his double—and the man was almost an exact double—which explained her shock when she'd awakened with Mike the morning after the wedding.

  And to think, he was about to make a complete ass out of himself by proposing. At least she'd saved him that humiliation.

  Mike had just found out he had a sister and a dead brother, and he could care less. He only saw an empty life without Annabelle in it. He only felt pain and anger—he could barely breathe, and he'd be damned if he knew what the hell to do.

  She lied to him, she led him on, and she played him like a fucking fool. How could he be so dumb? How could he still be so in love with her?

  He got into Nick's car, drove, and somehow he ended up in front of DiNicola's. Mike walked in the front door of the restaurant, right past Mona, sat at the bar, and started drinking. By the end of the night, Rita was hanging around his neck. He'd drunk most of a bottle of Jack and was seeing double.

  Mona and Vinny poured him into their car and took him to their house to sleep it off. But Mike couldn't sleep. He wasn't sure if it was because he was lying in a tiny white bed in a pink room, or because the room was full of stuffed animals that, in the light from the street, looked as if they were watching him. Or because every time he closed his eyes, he'd see Annabelle's face, tears streaming down her cheeks. He'd felt as if she'd stabbed him in the heart; then he'd see that fucking picture. Not only had he lost his girlfriend, he'd lost a brother he never knew existed. Now he had a sister he had no idea what to do with and the father he'd never wanted. Fuck.

  Becca was worried sick. Maybe she'd made a mistake. Maybe she should have gone to Brooklyn after all. What if Annabelle needed her? She didn't think Mike would be a jerk about it, but what the heck did she know? All she knew about her brother was what Annabelle had told her. And Becca knew as well as anyone, Annabelle didn't have the best taste in men.

  It was after eleven o'clock, and Annabelle still hadn't called. She'd promised she would tell Mike the truth today. She promised she'd call Becca after she did.

  Becca made another lap around her apartment. She climbed into the swing she'd hung from the open ceiling of her loft. When swinging didn't help calm her nerves, she tried her old standby. She curled up on the window seat and used her stuffed Snoopy as a pillow. Most of Snoopy's fur had been worn off. The poor guy. She rubbed the sleeve of her sweatshirt between her thumb and pointer finger—a nervous habit. Over the years, she rubbed holes in the cuffs of all her jeans and sweatshirts, which is why Annabelle hated when Becca borrowed her clothes.

  Not able to stand the torture of not knowing what had happened one more minute, Becca grabbed her phone, hit the speed dial, and prayed Annabelle would pick up.

  When the ringing stopped, Becca heard a long hiccup, like when someone was crying and had to stop to breathe. Oh God. "Annabelle?"

  A sob came over the line. "Oh, Becca…"

  Becca stood and resumed pacing. "Are you okay?" She was crying too hard to talk. "Okay, you need to calm down. You're going to hyperventilate and pass out."

  "I … I can't. Oh God, Bec, he's gone."

  What an asshole. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry. You're going to be okay. Maybe when he calms down, you two can talk."

  "He … he saw the painting of Chip. He hates me, Bec. Oh God. He hates me, and it's all my fault. I hurt him."

  "Stop it. You didn't know."

  "But I suspected. I should have told him in the beginning. He said I lied to him. He doesn't even believe I love him."

  "Look, he's in shock. If he's half the guy you say he is, he'll calm down and talk to you. He loves you remember?"

  "I don't know. But it doesn't matter. It's over. It's better this way."

  "Better for whom?"

  "You sound like your mother."

  "I do not. Just because I refuse to butcher the English language by ending a sentence in a preposition does not mean I sound like Mother. Now answer the question. Because I for one don't see how either of you could possibly be better off apart."

  "Mike will be fine without me. He's going to have you, your father, not to mention everything he's ever wanted. A family, a future, both of which he won't have if he stays with me. Becca we talked about this. I can't live like I did with Chip. I can't stand for your father's blatant contempt, and I won't make Mike choose between me and the life he's always wanted."

  "No, you'll choose for him. That's real nice of you. How do you know what's best for him? He's a grown man. He has the right to make his own decisions and his own mistakes. Who are you to take that away from him?"

  "It doesn't matter what he decides. I'm not changing my mind. I'm doing what's best for me."

  "That's why you're what, lying on the bed with the dog, crying hysterically because what you're doing is the right thing for you?"

  "How did you know I was in bed with Dave crying?"

  "I know you better than you know yourself. I'm telling you, you're making a big mistake. I just hope you realize it before it's not only too late for you, but for Mike, too."

  "I love him, Becca. I'm doing this for him as much as for myself."

  "I know that's what you think. Do you want to know what I think?"

  "What's it matter? Nothing I say is going to stop you from telling me."

  "True. I think this is an easy way of protecting yourself."

  "Excuse me? How could this possibly be protecting myself? I'm dying here? I never thought it would hurt so m
uch, and the way he looked at me, Bec. I'll never forget the coldness I saw in his eyes. How is that protecting myself?"

  "Because you aren't giving him the choice of whether to work it out or not. You're feeling all high-and-mighty, doing the right thing for him. Ha, you just don't think he loves you enough to fight for you. You're afraid he's a weakling like Chip. Chip swore he wouldn't treat the cancer if it came back. He said he'd rather die than go through that kind of hell again. It had nothing to do with you. Don't you get it? Chip was weak. He was too weak to stand up against our parents for you, and he was too weak to fight for his own life. You're afraid that Mike is the same way, willing to toss you aside to please his new daddy."

  "You're wrong. I won't allow myself to be treated badly by your father, or anyone else for that matter. Not for Mike, not for anyone, ever again. If I'm protecting myself, so be it. I won't put myself between a man I love and his family ever again."

  Becca shook her head. Annabelle was so stubborn. She was incapable of lying, so she actually believed the bullshit she spouted. Well, fine. Let her believe it. There were two ways to deal with this, and Annabelle had no idea what Becca was capable of. She was not going to know what hit her.

  "Do you want me to come up and stay with you?"

  "So you can lecture me? No thanks."

  "I promise I won't lecture." Becca crossed her fingers behind her back.

  "I'm doing what you told me to do. I'm feeling the pain so I can feel better … someday. I don't need help to feel like shit. I'm doing that pretty well all by myself, thanks."

  "I love you."

  "I know. Would you do me a favor?"

  "Anything."

  "Call Mike and make sure he's okay?" Her voice cracked, and she hiccupped again into the phone before noisily blowing her nose. "I'm so worried about him. I don't know where he went, or what he's doing. I just need to know he's okay. Please?"

  "You want me to call my brother? That's going to go over well."

  "I don't know who else to ask. I don't think he'd talk to me, and I'm afraid to call his mom. It's late. I don't want to upset her."

  "Fine, I guess I'm going to have to introduce myself eventually. What's his number?"

  Annabelle gave her his home number, his cell, and his pager.

  "Okay, I'll call you back."

  "Thanks, Becca."

  "Yeah … well. Don't thank me yet. I haven't done anything."

  She hung up the phone and looked at the numbers. Her brother. She was actually going to talk to her brother. But what the hell could she say to him?

  Mike lay in a little white bed with pink sheets and comforter with one foot on the floor. The room spun like a top, and he couldn't remember a time he felt so sick. Then his cell phone rang and gave new meaning to the word pain.

  He answered to stop the ringing and the flashing pain shooting through his skull. "Flynn here."

  "You know, I thought you were different. But you're just the same as all the rest."

  "Who is this?"

  "Becca. Your sister and your ex-girlfriend's best friend. I gotta tell you, Mike. I'm not too thrilled to have a brother who's such an asshole."

  He sat up, and the spinning increased. He took a deep breath through his nose and did his best to avoid both spilling his guts and the contents of his stomach.

  "I'm an asshole?" God, he slurred his speech. He had to do better than that. He'd speak more slowly and enunciate. "I went to propose to her, and instead of finding a candlestick holder thing … I find a life-size painting of my goddamn double."

  "You proposed?"

  "No. I said I was gonna propose. I didn't, thank God. I don't want to marry someone who doesn't love me. She loves some dead guy who looks like me. Fuck. Pardon me. I meant to say shit."

  "How much have you had to drink?"

  "Obviously not enough."

  "You're not driving, are you?"

  "I might be dumb enough to fall for her, but I'm not stupid. Christ, give me some credit, would you?"

  "Where are you?"

  "In bed."

  "I know you're not in your bed. Whose bed are you in?"

  "What business is it of yours?"

  "Listen to me, bud. I don't give a shit if you are my brother. If I find out you picked up some barfly just to get your rocks off, I will come over there and kick your ass."

  "What? Look, the last thing I need is another woman. Annabelle did enough damage for a lifetime, thanks. My friends took me home. I'm sleeping in their little girl's bed alone if you must know. Not that I'm sleeping … I'm talking to you."

  "Mike. I know how this looks, but you got it all wrong, buddy. You need to talk to Annabelle. She loves you, not Chip. Until I found out how you treated her, I thought you were better for her than Chip ever was."

  "How I treated her? She lied to me. You know she told me she was incapable of lying, and I bought it. I should have known. I've seen it often enough before."

  "Yeah, the only thing you've seen is the bottom of too many shot glasses. Do me a favor, will ya? Sober up, get over to her place, and talk to her."

  "What day is it?"

  "Why?"

  "Dammit, just tell me what the fuckin' date is?"

  "It's the thirtieth, as of about ten minutes ago."

  "Oh, shit."

  "Why? What's the big deal?"

  "I have an interview today … in nine hours."

  "Well, good luck with that. I recommend coffee, aspirin, lots of water, and Listerine. Maybe you should go make yourself sick and try to get some of the alcohol out of your system the hard way."

  "Yeah, Sis. Thanks for the advice."

  "I'll call you tomorrow in case you don't remember talking to me."

  "Not likely."

  "Good luck with the interview. And when you're done with that, you better get your ass back to Annabelle and talk to her. Give her a chance to explain."

  Yeah, over his dead body. Which would be a definite improvement. He would have said so, but all he heard was dead air.

  As soon as Becca hung up on Mike, she called Annabelle and wondered why God saw fit to give her two brothers who could be real assholes when they set their minds to it. Then, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it? This, since she was her father's progeny too, might explain the fact that she hadn't had a date in close to two years.

  Every now and then, she reminded herself that it wasn't as if she hadn't been asked. She just hadn't been asked by anyone she would consider letting into her apartment, much less her body.

  Annabelle answered on the first ring.

  "He's fine. Drunk, but fine."

  "Mike is drunk? He never drinks much."

  "Well, he did tonight. He's hurtin'. I guess friends with kids took him home, and Mike is sleeping it off in some little girl's pink bedroom. Oh, and he remembered he has a big interview in nine hours. He's gonna be one unhappy camper in the morning. I guarantee it."

  "Oh God, I forgot about that. He was so excited about the interview. I'd never seen him so happy. If he doesn't do well, that'll be one more thing he can hate me for."

  "It isn't as if you sat on him and poured alcohol down his throat. He did that all by himself. He's a big boy. He'll be okay."

  "How did he sound?"

  "Other than drunk?"

  "Yeah."

  "He sounded like he just lost the love of his life. He sounded like shit."

  "Well, thanks for calling him for me. At least I know he's safe."

  "Yeah. Physically, he's fine. Mentally, I'm not so sure. But then I don't think he's in any worse shape than you are. You're both stubborn and miserable. You deserve each other."

  "Becca, you're going to love him. Don't let this affect your relationship. Please. He's your brother."

  "I know. But it's not like we grew up together. We're two people that happen to have some of the same DNA."

  "And the same smile. You share a lot more than a little DNA. Why do you think I love you both so much?"

  "
If you love him, you need to fight for him. He thinks you're in love with Chip. He thinks whatever you felt for Chip is automatically transferred to him because they look alike. He said you're like all the rest. Tell me, does he make a habit of dating all of Chip's exes?"

  "No. I have no idea what he means, but he's drunk. He's not supposed to make sense."

  "Either that, or he makes perfect sense, and you just don't understand. In any case, it doesn't matter. He sounds as if he's been hurt before by other people's lies."

  "I didn't lie to him."

  "You withheld information. To him, it's the same thing. Sorry, tootsie pop."

  "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

  "Mine. I want to see my best friend and my new brother happy together. Now, try to get some sleep. I'll talk to you in the morning."

  "Okay, thanks for checking on Mike."

  "No problem. And Annabelle, he's hurt, he's angry, but he still loves you. Keep that in mind."

  "Night, Bec."

  "Night."

  Becca hung up the phone and thought about calling Annabelle back to tell her Mike had planned to propose. No, maybe they'd work things out. If not, she could always use the information later. Neither of them was going to get over this love of theirs any time soon. They were going to be miserable apart for a good long time.

  Becca crawled into her big, empty bed and thought about how nice it would be to have someone to curl up with, but after watching Mike and Annabelle's disaster unfold, Becca couldn't help but think that her battery-operated boyfriend might not be such a bad substitute.

  "Wake up, Mikey."

  Mike saw Annabelle's mouth moving, but the voice that came out was Vinny's, which was enough to scare the crap of him. Or in his case, wake him out of an alcohol-induced sleep. He opened his eyes to find Vinny standing over him. "What?"

  "Eh? Don't you got that big interview today? I thought I should, you know, wake you in case it's early. It's gonna take you a few hours to get your ass down there, and you still got to go home and change."

  "What time is it?"

  "Four thirty."

  "Oh, Christ, you're right. Thanks. I have to leave by six to get down there by nine during rush hour."