by Raina Lynn
Late in the afternoon, she came home, her face drawn. Heavy shadows beneath her eyes added to the overall picture of a woman who hadn’t slept any better than he had. Yet those same eyes threw daggers at him as she dropped her purse on the side table at the bottom of the stairs. Tension sizzled, a full-blown quarrel a heartbeat away.
“Did you get all the work finished you needed to?” he asked, trying not to talk through his teeth.
“Yeah,” she muttered. “Humiliation and hurt always helps my productivity.”
“Meaning?”
“Garrett, I’m trying to be understanding. I really am. You’re cut off from the world, and you’ve had more on your plate than any human being should—”
“But what?”
“When Blake arrived for his rounds, he was surprised to see me there on a Saturday, but he didn’t waste the opportunity.” She looked mad enough to spit nails. “What gives you the right to grill him about my sex life?”
Garrett turned cold eyes on her. “The right? How about thirteen years of marriage.”
“Well, four-and-a-half years of divorce makes it none of your concern. I didn’t ask if you’d lived like a saint that whole time, did I?” She paled, as if the idea of him being with another woman just occurred to her.
That goaded his jealousy to new depths. “Didn’t you care? Didn’t you ever lie awake at night and wonder if I’d found someone else? God knows, I had enough nights where—”
“What’s gotten into you!”
He snorted bitterly. “Unlike you, I never accepted the divorce as anything more than an abstract legal concept. If I hadn’t gotten wrapped up in a case that took years instead of weeks, I would have come back for you and Rick long before this. But you’re right, Maggie. We’re not married anymore. I’m nothing more than an ex-husband, a charity case you gave a place to stay until he gets his life together.”
“This is a side of you I’ve never seen.”
He sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair, defeated. “It never existed before.”
Her expressive face ran the gamut from stunned disbelief to hurt to righteous indignation. “I’m going to take a lesson from your book. If you’re too furious to talk civilly, you find something to do until you calm down.” She snatched up her purse and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” It came out authoritarian and demanding as hell, not at all how he meant.
Her face suffused with color. “It’s Saturday night. Party time, buster!”
Chapter 11
Maggie shook so hard as she drove, she had serious reservations about how safe it was for her to be behind the wheel. Besides, she didn’t have the faintest idea where to go. Her first thought had been Blake’s house. Ever since she was Rick’s age, he’d always been the brother she could turn to. But that poor man had been dragged enough into her and Garrett’s problems, and she couldn’t bring herself to inflict any more on him.
“How could Garrett think that?” The idea of making love with anyone but him made her sick inside. She’d tried to date. She really had. But she’d felt foolish, like a small child pretending to be something she wasn’t.
Her brain felt sluggish, and thinking seemed too much effort. Her parting shot to Garrett echoed in her ears. Party time? Had it really sounded that stupid?
Sapperstein grinned at Maggie, standing on his front porch.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call first. Can I come in?”
His initial surprise passed, and he happily motioned her inside. “We’ve been trying to get you over here for months.” He lowered his brows. “You look horrible. What’s wrong?”
She stepped into the entry just as his wife peeked around the corner. Cindy Sapperstein’s face brightened into a welcoming smile. Maggie had always liked her. She was charming and gracious and looked like an elf on the inside track of a good joke, the perfect match for her incorrigible husband. Unfortunately, she was just as perceptive. Her smile turned sympathetic, and she wrapped Maggie into a warm hug.
“Carl said you’ve been looking a little worse for wear lately.” Leading her to the family room, Cindy parked her on a well-worn couch. Before Maggie quite knew what had happened, Sapperstein handed her a glass of wine.
“Here. Drink. It’ll clean out your arteries and whatever else ails you.” He waggled his brows.
Despite herself, Maggie chuckled. “I knew there was a reason I came here.” She looked tentatively at both of them. “Are you sure I’m not interrupting anything?”
He crossed his arms and looked smug. “We were going out to dinner.”
Maggie groaned. “I’m sorry.”
“Now, you’re going to tell us all your woes, and then we’re going to stuff you full of linguine.” He handed Cindy a glass and sprawled on a chair. “Talk.”
“I feel like an idiot.” Maggie stood to go.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” both Sappersteins said at once.
Maggie froze, then sank back onto the couch.
Cindy took her hand. “Carl told me about your husband. Does this have to do with him?”
Aggravating tears burned her eyes, and she blinked them back. Before she knew it, the whole story rolled out and she had a pathetic pile of soggy tissues in her lap.
Sapperstein squared his shoulders and tried to look pompous. “Madam Boss Lady, fearful as I am of incurring your wrath, might I suggest that you get your rosy rump into RPI’s family and caregivers support group? It’s called Whole Family—in case you didn’t know.”
Maggie scowled at the sarcasm. “Come on. What am I going to learn there that I don’t already—”
“Come on, yourself,” he groused. “Just because your brain knows the answers doesn’t mean you can apply them when your own emotions are being ripped into little pieces. Your husband—”
“Ex,” she corrected.
He glared. “Husband has been the central focus of everyone’s concern for more than half a year. But you’re the healthy spouse, which means you’ve gone through your own hell. Do you want me to drag out the Family Care Objectives that you ram down our throats?” He shot a look to Cindy. “She and the staff psychologist update them every year.”
Cindy smiled, enlightened, and shook her head again. Maggie felt like a kindergartner being told why her thumb hurt after she’d hit it with a hammer.
“They state—and I quote—‘The patient and all members of his/her support network are to be considered a whole unit in need of care. Family members and all caregivers are to be strongly encouraged to—’”
“Sapperstein, if you can quote the FCOs, why can’t you do your charting properly?”
He looked affronted. “Too mundane.”
Maggie whimpered in overwhelmed frustration.
Sapperstein’s good humor faded, and he leaned forward compassionately in his chair. “Boss, if it were Cindy in Garrett’s place, you’d have dragged me to those meetings months ago. You need TLC just like anyone else in your position.”
For a long time, Maggie stared at her wine. Admitting he was right was hard. “How long are you going to rub this in?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “When is my next performance evaluation? I want a big raise this year.”
Maggie’s breath eased out in a half laugh.
“Drink up, noble leader. Once we finish getting your head screwed on straight, we’ve got some linguine to hunt down.”
Stuffed to the point of swearing off Italian food for a year, Maggie turned the key in the lock and pushed open the front door. Predictably, it squeaked its welcoming chorus. Tonight she wished it hadn’t. Walking in unannounced would have been nice. Wimp.
As she stepped into the living room, she discovered it wouldn’t have made any difference. Garrett sat on the couch, legs stretched out on the coffee table and crossed at the ankles. A passing thought acknowledged the effort it had taken to effect the natural-looking pose. The rest of her attention latched onto the brandy bottle clutched in his hand. There wasn’t a glass
.
“Where have you been?” he asked low.
She wished she could tell how drunk he was, but with Garrett the only outward sign was a slight change in body language, and since he sat perfectly still on the couch, she had no clue how far gone he was.
“Are you going to answer?”
“I went to Sappersteins.”
His eyes flared with self-contempt. “I knew it had to be him, but I talked myself out of it.”
Maggie’s temper flared. “Sappersteins plural, Garrett. Not Sapperstein’s single person possessive. I spent the evening with Carl and Cindy and their five cats.”
“Oh.”
She wanted to scream at him that he’d worked himself into a stew then added alcohol to the mix, but she held her breath, trying to apply the professional knowledge she demanded of everyone else.
Rule one for tonight: Don’t take responsibility for the patient’s problems and decisions. It’s his life. “Garrett, it’s too bad you’re sitting there swilling perfectly good brandy from the bottle, but I’m not your mother and you can do what you want. We’ll talk when you’re sober. Good night.” Sapperstein would be proud.
“There weren’t any clean glasses I could reach.”
“Sorry.” She didn’t turn around.
“I’m not drunk either.”
“Yippee for your team.” Her foot had barely touched the first step when his voice stopped her.
“It’s a little late to ask, but are you taking any birth control?”
After a stunned moment, Maggie sucked in her breath. How could she have been so stupid? So careless?
“Well,” he drawled, “I guess that answers that.” There was a slight pause. “What time of the month is it?”
Maggie made some quick mental calculations. “Bad. Really bad.”
“Well, we only made love once. That’ll help. It’s not as if we’ve been together every night for a week.”
“Once is all it takes,” she squeaked. “Your legs may have a few problems, but you’re still dangerous.”
His startled look turned to a restrained flush of masculine pleasure. Only then did she realize what a stroke to his male ego she’d just delivered.
She sagged down onto the steps and did more mental calculations. “Nine months of pregnancy, plus eighteen years, means I’ll be fifty-five when this kid graduates high school.”
“And that will make me sixty-one.” Garrett shuddered.
They stared at each other, bonded by shock, neither able to speak, but then, they knew they didn’t need to. The crisis—real or imagined—abruptly put them on the same side of the fence.
He looked at her with such tenderness, her heart constricted, and when he reached to her, Maggie felt like a starving deer being offered food. She came to him as if in a trance, started to reach to him. But his accusation rang in her ears, and she shook her head and shied away.
Disappointment saddened his eyes, and he sipped the brandy. “When I was in a coma, you told me you couldn’t take me shredding your life anymore.”
She flinched.
“I’m trying not to, babe.”
“I know.” She perched on the edge of an overstuffed chair. Drunk or not, Garrett picked up on it and laid his hand on her thigh. The warmth burned through her slacks and created an unwanted ache in her soul. Nothing had been resolved. They’d merely piled a new crisis onto the stack.
“I can’t be the type of man you’ve always needed. My life has been anything but tranquil.”
A harsh laugh burst from her throat.
“If you’re pregnant, we’ll find a way to work through it.”
Maggie covered her face with her hands. “I’m tired. I don’t want to be here. I want to just disappear.”
He smiled faintly. “Babe, I’ve said it before. You might fantasize about running away from problems, and you definitely hate talking about them. But when it comes down to it, you always manage to meet everything head-on—even when that meant divorcing me.”
“Thanks. I think.” She looked at him, more weary than ever. “Can we talk about something else now?”
His deep, sad laughter only made her more tired.
For the rest of the weekend, each time they looked at each other, desire and unspoken worry hung with equal weight between them. Garrett could move in a week if Ashleigh remained “pox free,” as Blake worded it. The thought made Maggie shrivel up inside. How could she let him go again? Making him walk out of her life before had nearly killed her and it had been her idea. Now, their time together had passed so quickly, and they’d accomplished so little.
After work Monday, she tucked the clandestine purchase from the drugstore in the bedside table drawer in her room. That night Rick actually ate at home. His intense regard for the way she and Garrett interacted felt like being on trial.
“Why don’t I do dishes and give you two the night off?” he asked. “I’m sure you can think of something more fun than kitchen duty.”
The effect was no less drastic than if he’d doused them with cold water. The walls came down.
“That would be great, son.”
The poor kid didn’t say a word, but the remorse on his face said it all.
“How about I flip you for scrubbing counters,” Garrett added in an obvious attempt to ease Rick’s guilt. “Heads I win. Tails you lose.”
That grabbed his attention. “Fat chance, Dad.”
Garrett motioned Maggie into the other room. Then he and Rick headed into the kitchen.
“I didn’t mean to make a mess for you guys,” Rick said quietly.
Garrett thought a moment befóre he answered. “One thing about the Hughes family, son, we’re never short of messes or apologies.” He softened it further with a wink, and Rick smiled.
They worked in silence for a few minutes, but inside Garrett roiled. How much worse could life get? A baby. If true, had Maggie gotten pregnant on purpose?
The accusation hit him like a punch to the gut. How far had he slid into self-pity that he could even think such a thing? Maggie of all people. Never. Something snapped, and Garrett felt as if he suddenly saw himself clearly for the first time in eight long months. The sight disgusted him worse than anything had so far.
The bombing of Flight 1251 hadn’t turned him into a victim. He’d done that to himself in the prison of his own mind. His life had never been particularly easy. So why did he look back on it as a lost paradise? Yes, it was harder now, but he didn’t need to act as if he had one foot in the grave.
You’re still breathing. You’ve got all your mental faculties. Garrett writhed with fury at the mistakes he’d made since the accident. So get your head out of your ass. This is your life—at least for now. Make it work. You don’t have any choice, especially if you’re going to be a father again.
God, he felt better. No. He felt like himself.
Despite legitimate reservations about starting parenting over, a soft spot warmed within him. He and Maggie might have created another new life together. A smile crept from his soul to his face. Rick shot him a questioning look as he scraped a plate, but Garrett waved him off and looked long and hard at his firstborn. Rick was a good kid—a bit scrambled right now—but the remains of that was about to change.
“I saw your soccer schedule on the fridge. I’m going to rearrange my therapy so I don’t miss any practices.”
Rick nearly dropped the plate into the garbage. “What if you can’t?”
“Then I’ll do without. The problem will come in when I move to Blake’s.”
“You’re still moving?” Rick asked in a small voice.
Garrett reached for the plate, and the teen gave him a troubled look. “No farther away than Blake’s. Promise. I’m not leaving the Bay area ever again. And once I settle into my own place, count on spending half your time there. I plan on exercising my joint custody rights.”
Rick’s barely masked agitation turned his motions into a jerky parody of his normally smooth stride as he retrieved the glas
ses from the table. “Every practice?”
“I may have trouble getting from Blake’s house to your school. If Faith can’t give me a ride, would you come get me?”
Agitation deepened as Rick picked up a dirty glass then set it into the cupboard. Garrett doubted the kid even noticed what he’d done.
“It would be easier if you just stayed here.” Rick turned away and leaned on the counter, fists knotted.
“I can’t.” The tone Garrett used was pitched low to invite trust. “But I won’t be far, and we’ll be together—a lot.”
Rick leveled accusing eyes on his father. “Why can’t you and Mom just get back together?”
“I already explained that, son.”
“Hurting her isn’t the real reason,” Rick snapped. “We’re just not that important to you.”
That hurt. “I could tell you otherwise, but words are cheap.” Garrett turned his chair around. “From the looks of your car, it’s going to take us months to get it in shape, and we might as well get at it. Plan on putting in a couple of hours each day.”
“Months?”
Garrett left the kitchen as truth sank in and belief glowed on Rick’s face. Definite plans meant permanence.
One down. One to go.
Maggie paced in the living room, struggling not to eavesdrop. What were they talking about in there? Their voices weren’t raised, so they weren’t arguing. Or were they?
Cool it, Hughes. Wasn’t it only yesterday that you decided to turn over a healthier deaf? Love them. Care for them. But don’t take over. Sticking to it was harder than she ever imagined. Hughes, you need Whole Family more than they do. You’re a mess.
The phone rang, and she heard Rick answer it. Garrett emerged from the kitchen smiling. The look in his eyes had changed. It was like looking into the past. The desperation she’d seen for months had been replaced by the absolute calm of a man who’d mapped out a war he couldn’t possibly lose. This was the old Garrett, the same yet different. It unnerved her.
He motioned Maggie down the hall to the master bedroom. Maggie followed but hesitated at the doorway. For years, this had been her room, their room. Yet within the space of the two days since their disastrous lovemaking, it had taken on the air of Garrett’s private domain. She wasn’t all that anxious to invade it, particularly when she sensed something major had just transpired.