by Shayla Black
"It wouldn't matter if you had been. I still would have had to buy you a dog and named it Clue so that you'd have one. You've done nothing but belittle me since the moment I cashed your check to start this business. You criticize, terrorize, patronize, but you never do anything."
"Watch your mouth, girl."
"I won't. You're a great armchair quarterback, but who do you think runs this business day after day after day? I'll give you a hint: It isn't Blade."
"And who hired the queer who tried to rob and kill you?"
Nicki paused. Okay, she'd give him that one. But she wasn't giving him another inch. "Well, you sent me a thug who scared off half my employees and pointed a gun in my face, so your record ain't much better."
"Blade is loyal, which is more than I can say for you, judging from that tone."
"You're family, Pietro. Nothing is going to change that. But we're not partners anymore. And for your information, my assets are not all in my bra."
"You heard that one, huh?" He actually seemed to be laughing.
"I couldn't miss it. Stop hounding and disparaging me, and we'll get along."
Then she hung up.
God, it felt good to say that. If she ever managed to track Mark down to pay him back, she'd thank him for this moment. Either before or after she kicked him in the balls for breaking her heart. It was a toss-up which would come first.
But that was big talk, and Nicki knew it. The thought of seeing him again, of not seeing him again ... She hugged her knees to her chest, put her head down, and began to sob.
Nicki had never been particularly fragile. Lonely as a child, with a father whose real family only included her on certain weekends. Dramatic as a teenager, with a flighty, jet-setting mother always on the prowl for Mr. Right and never finding him. She'd always taken care of herself. Suddenly, that didn't feel true anymore.
Mark had stripped her soul bare and taken away his strength, his support. And now that he was gone for good, she realized why she felt as if half of her was missing. It was.
Just as she knew she'd never be whole again without him.
"Push!" the doctor yelled, perspiration dampening the neckline and underarms of her blue scrubs.
Rafe got behind his wife and propped her back up while she bore down, sweat trickling from her hairline and down her temples. Kerry squeezed Mark's hand so tight he thought for sure she'd break half the bones.
"The baby's head is crowning. We're getting close," said the slight, middle-aged doctor. "Rest until your next contraction."
"Oh yeah, I'll just catch a quick two-minute snooze," Kerry quipped. "Heck, while I'm at it, let me flip out the lounge chair and grab a daiquiri."
Mark laughed. Rafe shot him a quelling glare. "Babe," Rafe soothed, wiping away the sweat from her face. "I know it hurts--"
"You know nothing. You got the fun part. Let me tell you now; this is not fun!"
"It'll be over soon," the doctor promised. "Ice?" Rafe offered Kerry some ice chips.
She glared at her husband. "You know where you can stick that ice?"
Mark laughed again, this time ignoring Rafe's nonverbal pleas to shut the hell up.
The next contraction hit moments later, faster and fiercer than the once before it.
"Push now!" the doctor barked. Rafe got into position again. Mark took Kerry's hand once more and encouraged her take out some of her pain on his crushed fingers.
"Breathe, babe," Rafe reminded.
"Why don't you?" she croaked. "I'm busy having a baby."
Then she screamed, long and loud, the sound so shrill, Mark swore it should have broken glass. Certainly, his hand had gone from throbbing to bloodless and numb.
The contraction subsided suddenly.
"Good, Kerry," the doctor coached. "The baby's head is out. One more good push and you should be a mommy."
Weakly, she nodded, then sent Rafe a wicked stare. "Then we won't be doing anything for the next ten years that could remotely cause pregnancy."
Mark laughed, knowing she'd likely eat those words as soon as the doctor gave them the green light. One thing he knew, Kerry and Rafe were solid. They loved each other ... and weren't afraid to show it. He'd learned the hard way not to drop by unannounced on a Saturday night. Or a Tuesday morning. Or a Friday afternoon.
Suddenly, Kerry whimpered and grabbed Mark's hand again. Rafe tightened his grip around his wife's middle and. murmured in her ear, "I'm here, babe."
"It hurts," she moaned.
"One good push and it will be over," Rafe whispered.
"Hold my hand," Mark encouraged.
She latched on with a vengeance. "Thanks for being here, big brother."
"Wouldn't have missed it for the--"
Kerry's ear-splitting wail cut him off. She panted, then cursed, then screamed again. Mark began to wonder if both his ears and his fingers would be impaired for life.
Then a lusty baby's cry split the air. Everyone in the room stopped.
"It's a girl!" the doctor said. "Ten fingers, ten toes. Congratulations."
"We did it!" Kerry said on a happy sob. Tears brightened her eyes and slid down her flushed cheeks. He'd never seen her look happier.
Rafe shifted to her side and placed a gentle kiss on her mouth. "We did, babe."
Together they watched as the doctors and nurses cleaned, the baby, examined her, took her Apgar scores.
A few minutes later, the doctor brought the squalling bundle to them and set her in Kerry's arms.
"Isn't she beautiful?" Kerry breathed.
"Like her mommy," Rafe murmured.
Mark stared at the baby's reddened cheeks, half-closed eyes and little bow mouth. A dusting of dark hair swept the top of her little head. "She's gorgeous."
Both Kerry and Rafe had a hand on their new daughter when they turned to him with identical smiles of wonder and joy. He'd seen the two of them get married and look ecstatic. He'd seen them settle into wedded life and make it look so effortless and breezy. But watching the two of them become three ... clearly they'd taken their bond to a whole new level.
The doctor indicated they needed to remove the afterbirth and do a little stitching on Kerry. Rafe retrieved his minutes-old daughter and carried her to the nursery.
Mark walked out to the waiting room and sank into a lumpy brown chair to wait. Exhilaration bounced through his system, even as he felt humbled, stunned by the miracle of birth.
And completely empty.
He'd never have what Rafe and Kerry had. The security they knew in being happily married would never be his. The joy of holding a son or daughter of his own was something he'd never experience.
He'd been in New York for nearly three weeks and still, he couldn't smile, couldn't sleep. He worked twenty hours a day and stewed the other four. He ached. And wondered what Nicki was doing, and if she was all right, and if she missed him.
For her sake, he hoped not. For his sanity, a selfish part of him would be pissed if she forgot him so quickly or easily. He loved her ... in his own dysfunctional, unable-to-show-it way.
Rising again, he paced. He couldn't stay here like this. Stuck between the past and the future. He couldn't sponge off Kerry and Rafe's love as if he had any part of it. As if it would somehow fill the empty parts of him that Nicki once had.
Sighing, he sat again. But what he had with Nicki was over. Accusing her of being a thief ... She'd find it unforgivable. And she should. From his viewpoint, he couldn't do much worse to bring a proud, savvy woman down than to accuse her of being a criminal, then leave her.
Damn, he was fucked up. If he'd never met Tiffany, never given in to his urge to protect her seemingly fragile spirit and married her ... He'd always wanted a family of his own, probably to replace the broken one he'd had as a kid. The day he'd married Tiffany, he'd been nervous, puking nervous. He'd tried to picture having kids with her, but had been unable to see past the next ten minutes.
Mark suspected if not for Tiffany, he would have married Nicki in a heart
beat and had no trouble picturing their kids, their future.
But it was never going to be, thanks to his ex-wife and the way she'd shattered and twisted his insides and made distrust his M.O.
"Hey, buddy." Rafe slapped him on the shoulder and handed him a chocolate cigar.
"Am I supposed to eat this?"
"You can't smoke in the hospital, and Kerry would have my hide for lighting up anything, anyway. Have to be responsible now that I'm a dad."
"Congratulations, man. She's a beauty."
"Yeah, I'm going to have to invest in a good baseball bat and practice fighting off the boys."
"I think you've got a few years," Mark said wryly.
"Never hurts to be in shape." Rafe shrugged, then cast Mark a concerned stare. "Hey, I didn't get a chance to congratulate you on Tiffany's conviction before your sister went into labor. You gave great testimony. How did it feel when the bailiff read Tiffany's guilty verdict?"
Mark shrugged. "Good. It was closure. Justice was served. I just hope Zack gets the same and worse. Discovering and nailing the right suspect added to the accomplishment, but I'm damn sorry to learn there's a whole Mafia structure behind the money laundering. I suspected it but ... I sure hope to hell Zack gives up some names someday so we can put a stop to all this shit."
"As long as Zack doesn't talk, Blade's cover wasn't compromised. I hear he'll stay with Pietro DiStefano and try to see what illegal crap the Gamalini family is up to, so it's all good. Which makes me wonder why you look pissed."
"Not pissed, jealous. I'll never have what you and Kerry do."
"Never say never. The right woman comes along and changes everything."
Unfortunately for him, she'd already come ... and he'd trampled her like a stupid ass. And there was no getting her back. "Nah, Tiffany ruined it for me."
"You sure about that?"
"Oh, yeah." Mark sent his brother-in-law a bitter smile. "She taught me a thousand and one ways to be the worst-possible husband material. And I was a quick study."
"Tiffany wasn't the right woman for you. Was Nicki?" His smile evaporated. With his thumb and forefinger, he rubbed at the dull headache above his eyes. "Yes."
"And you fucked up." It wasn't a question. "Yes."
Rafe paused. "I have to get back to your sister, but let me remind you that I screwed up and left Kerry. She forgave me and took me back."
"You didn't accuse her of being a criminal. In a crowd. With her listening."
He let loose a long, slow whistle. "I hope your groveling skills are really excellent."
Just his luck. Mark sighed. "They're rusty. But it doesn't matter. Tiffany put the nail in my coffin over a year ago.
She made sure I didn't have a chance in hell of having another decent relationship."
"Now I'm guessing Nicki ruined the likelihood of you getting laid. At least before you went to Vegas, you got out regularly and serial dated. You haven't left your office in weeks, man."
He hadn't. And he didn't want to. Someday, he'd have to. Hell, he'd waited three months to see anyone after Tiffany's perfidy, and the hole Nicki had left in his chest was more like a gaping crater. What he felt for her was far more profound. Mark cursed under his breath and wondered if he'd be ready to look at another woman in three years, much less three months.
"Fuck off," Mark volleyed back.
"Ten-four." Rafe laughed. "Look, you can mope all you want, but your sister is worried about you. Maybe you should talk to Tiffany."
"Why start now?" Mark frowned, puzzled.
Incredulity transformed Rafe's face. "You never asked your ex-wife why she duped you?"
"The police reports and attorneys gave me all the motivation I needed to hear. What else was there to say? She used me, never loved me. I wasn't ... joyously happy in the marriage, but I gave her everything I could. It wasn't enough."
"You have to come to terms with what happened ... and how you want to use what it taught you. I'd tell you the past is going to catch up with you, but I think it already has, brother."
"I know what happened. I never denied it. As if I could!"
"But you never resolved it in your head." Rafe tapped a finger to his temple. "Trust me, I did the same thing with my old man, blamed him for everything. He was the reason I couldn't be with your sister in my twisted mind. And it was bullshit. I was the reason. Because I was afraid. Because I was still hung up on all the crap he fed me. I swallowed it and let it sour in my stomach, just like you've done. It isn't going to go away until you let it go."
Mark glared at his brother-in-law. Did Rafe think he liked being angry and bitter? He didn't particularly enjoy having such destructive forces ruling him. He couldn't find any calm or center these days.
"I've got to get back to your sister and that baby girl. Think about what I said."
Mark nodded, but his head spun with too many thoughts, all loud and insistent. Images of Nicki kept flashing in his brain: her smile, her face bathed in pleasure, her fury at his accusation.
She was permanently etched in his heart, and that wasn't going to change.
"What are you going to name my pretty little niece?" he asked into the heavy silence.
"Hope." Rafe smiled. "She and her mommy gave me all that and more."
The next day, Mark sat in the visitor's area of the Hills-borough County Jail, tapping his fingers on the scarred Formica counter and wondering why in the hell he'd flown all the way to Florida. His stomach was one giant knot, he hadn't slept more than two hours last night, and he had no desire to actually see Tiffany. But here he sat, waiting for the guard to bring her to the visitation room before she was transferred to the federal penitentiary on Monday.
Rafe was right; he had to let this shit with Tiffany go. He had to dig up the past he'd buried and work through it. Somehow.
The hard plastic chair under him wouldn't let him relax. The ancient concrete floors with the don't-ask-don't-tell mystery stains brought back memories of the two hellish months he'd spent here awaiting his own trial--for the crime that had been Tiffany's. He shuddered. The minute hand on the black and white wall clock crept forward. Yet somehow, time felt as if it stood still.
Mark closed his eyes. Over and over, he played his final night in Vegas in his head. Every time he did, he cringed when he remembered how he'd measured Nicki using the yardstick Tiffany had created. He'd jumped to some bad conclusions about Nicki's doings and screwed up big--because he'd been too afraid to try again, to believe. He'd listened to the twisted logic Tiffany had taught him, not his gut.
Not his heart.
At that thought, his eyes snapped open. Lightning sizzled through his brain. He half-expected the heavens to part and rain down golden light.
That last thought made the whole the solution to his problem snap into place.
He'd listened to Tiffany's twisted logic; she hadn't force-fed it to him. She hadn't even been there. He had. He'd allowed his fears to run riot in his head. He'd made the choice to believe the worst without getting all the facts.
He'd been the idiot that night, not Tiffany.
Mark rose. His ex-wife wasn't hanging up his future. Rafe was right; the pain Mark had ingested was. The fear of being hurt again. The mistrust he'd been drunk on since the divorce. Not Tiffany.
He had allowed his own destruction to occur, trampled on the best thing that had ever happened to him. Why? How had he let the ghost of their busted marriage lead him down such a bad path with Nicki?
He blew out a bracing breath. Rafe had been right again; he'd never dealt with the aftermath of his marriage. It had been easier to run. He'd never spoken to Tiffany again--except through attorneys. He changed his surroundings, sold his house, left the bank they'd both worked at. He moved to New York--totally different from Florida. Essentially wiped away all reminders of the past. He'd started dating a different girl every week, never did more than a round trip in her bed. Once she started talking third dates, he found new pastures. If he'd been lonely, well ... he'd distract
ed himself with the TV or worked to exhaustion. He'd immersed himself in Rafe and Kerry's life.
He had not dealt with his own.
And it had bit him in the ass.
Nicki gave him light and sass and heat. She engaged him. Completed him. She loved him.
And he loved her so fucking much, he didn't want to breathe--to be--without her.
But when he'd come to a crisis with Nicki, he'd done the same thing he had after Tiffany. Left. Disappeared. Thrown himself back into work. Sponged off of Kerry and Rafe.
As he exhaled, the air left his lungs in hard rush. Holy shit! He felt like the ultimate doofus of the universe. Why hadn't he seen any of this before?
Because he hadn't let himself. No, that wasn't true. He hadn't wanted to. It was easier just to hide in a revolving door of women and stinking pile of bitterness.
Until now. Until Nicki.
Whatever happened going forward, the path of his present and future, was entirely up to him. He could either let his fears control him and dodge the pain so he'd be alone for the rest of his miserable life, or resolve to move on and have a future filled with the woman he wanted so much he couldn't see straight.
No choice.
He didn't need to talk to Tiffany to know what was wrong with him, or what he had to do.
He just needed to see Nicki.
And since Rafe had so ruthlessly pointed out that his groveling skills had better be in top form, Mark figured he'd better come up with a plan--fast.
Chapter 20
"Well?" Lucia asked as yet another buffed up, G-string clad man found his way offstage--the latest in a long string of auditions.
After making sure he was out of earshot, Nicki sighed. "Nope. He's not going to work out, either. I've got to find a new dancer! Ricky is doing brilliantly as stage manager, but he needs a full cast."
"What was wrong with ..." Lucia peered over Nicki's shoulder to see the last dancer's resume. "Scott?"
"He could move ... but I wasn't moved."
"You haven't been moved since Mark left."
Nicki closed her eyes. Wasn't that just like Lucia? Soft voice, soft smile, while she went for the jugular. She didn't need her sister to remind her of the man she'd loved ... and lost. She thought of him, oh, every three seconds all on her own.