by Aimee Carson
It was past time she told the truth and stopped letting this issue slide. She couldn’t continue to remain silent.
Callie sucked in a breath and gathered her courage. “But I’m not sorry about how things turned out. I wouldn’t change anything even if I could. If I could climb into a time capsule and undo all I’d done in college, I wouldn’t.” She should have spoken these words ages ago. Callie steadily held her mother’s gaze. “I’m exactly where I want to be,” Callie said, “doing exactly what I want to do.”
The strength of the conviction in her words reminded her exactly why she couldn’t drop her life and move up to Michigan. Both her mother’s brows arched in surprise, and Callie let the words settle a little deeper before going on.
“This isn’t my second-choice life, Mama. This is my very best life.”
Or at least it had been until she lost Matt.
Callie pushed the crushing thought aside and concentrated on meeting her mother’s gaze. “And I need—”
When Callie’s voice gave out, her mother set her purse on the floor beside her chair. “What do you need?”
“I need to stop feeling like y’all are just waiting for me to screw up again.”
Silence filled the room and Callie did her best not to shift her gaze away from her mother. It felt as if Callie had lived and died a thousand lives as she waited for her mother to speak.
“Okay,” her mother said.
Callie blinked. Okay? Just like that?
“Now you need to do me a favor, Callie.”
Callie fought to keep her breathing steady. “What’s that?”
Her mother leaned forward, her eyes intent. “Stop avoiding relationships. Get serious about finding someone, about sharing your future, with someone.”
Callie’s lungs stopped functioning, and she longed to take a deep breath. Problem was, she had finally gone out and gotten serious about someone.
But he was gone for good.
* * *
“Why are you still here?”
Tommy’s voice echoed off the walls of the garage, and Matt turned from his task of sorting through his tools. “Excuse me?”
Matt had been banging around the garage for the past two hours, trying to pack for the move to an apartment that held little appeal, yet grateful for the mindless task of sorting through his stuff. He’d tossed the things he didn’t need—a pile that wasn’t as big as it should have been—and stacked the stuff yet to be packed, which was larger than need be. Boxes covered the floor of his bedroom and living room and perched on the counters in the kitchen. He couldn’t seem to decide what to keep and what to throw away. So two hours ago Matt had come out to the garage, frustrated by his inability to focus, thinking that dividing the supply of tools in half would be an easier process.
He’d never had trouble focusing before. If anything, his focus had always been a problem. But with his mind stuck on missing Callie, and the impossible situation a relationship with her presented, he’d come out to sort through his problem the only way he knew how: banging the wrenches and screwdrivers and the various-size hammers around. The process offered him some satisfaction.
But zero relief.
“You heard me,” his brother said.
Tommy stepped down into the garage. His wavy brown hair and brown eyes always made him look a bit like an overgrown puppy. Well, an overgrown puppy with serious issues.
His brother came to a halt beside Matt and leaned his hip against the workbench.
“How long are we going to tiptoe around this, Matt?”
Silence had been working for them so far. And Matt wasn’t sure he knew how to change the status quo.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Matt said.
But he did. The dark thoughts plaguing him since he’d left New Orleans had been following him around like a black cloud hell-bent on raining down on his head, complete with lightning bolts and thunder and the foul mood.
Tommy let out a scoff. “You don’t want to be here.” He waved his hand to encompass their current surroundings, but Matt knew he was referencing something much bigger than a garage located in Manford, Michigan. “You want to be in New Orleans.” Brown eyes gazed at Matt. “With Callie.”
The familiar ache in his chest friggin’ hurt.
“Maybe,” Matt said.
Yes, his mind screamed.
Matt turned away from his brother and concentrated on repacking the tools in a manner worthy of the most diehard of obsessive compulsives. Matt knew the statistics; crystal meth addicts had one of the highest relapse rates of all the drug users.
There was no answer to this one.
Just like Tommy’s addiction, this wasn’t a problem Matt could fix. There was no treatment to be applied that cured the disease. Frustration burned through Matt and he randomly picked up a wrench and rubbed his finger on the cool metal.
“But my home is here,” Matt said.
“It doesn’t have to be.”
Matt closed his eyes, his fingers curling around a Phillips head screwdriver.
“Manford doesn’t have to be your home base anymore,” Tommy went on. “In fact, you could take a permanent job in New Orleans. The emergency rooms there have to be busy enough to satisfy the adrenaline junky in you.”
“I could,” Matt said. “But I won’t.”
“Why not?”
Matt stared out the window at the bleak view that only appeared that way because he was in freaking Manford. Anxiety coiled in his stomach, and he decided to voice the words that had been bouncing around his head for years.
“Because when I walked in on you two years ago, for several seconds I thought you were dead.”
The ache in his chest was all-consuming, and he met his brother’s brown eyes again. They’d never discussed that day. The event had been too painful. Matt took in the way Tommy’s hair flopped on his forehead, just like it had as a kid.
“And I can’t bear to go through that again,” Matt said.
“So what does that mean?” Tommy cocked his head. “Tough love until the day I die?”
Matt’s lips twisted. “Tough is a pretty good word for it,” he said. But as the moment lingered between them, Matt finally went on, “No matter what, you’re my brother. That comes before everything else.”
Tommy cleared his throat as his eyes grew suspiciously bright. “I told you before, you can’t save me from myself, Matt,” he said softly. And then he let out a humorless huff. “Though God knows you’ve tried.” He rolled his head, as if releasing the tension in his neck. “You can’t put your entire life on hold anymore,” Tommy continued. “You have to let it go, Matt.”
Anger, bright and hot, surged from his core. “What the hell?” Matt braced himself as he faced Tommy. “You’re my brother, Tommy. How am I supposed to just let you go?”
“Not me,” Tommy said. “The guilt.”
The word slammed into Matt, leaving him gut-punched and short of breath. His ribs squeezing his heart so hard Matt was sure the pressure would crush him.
What is with you and this martyr complex?
Jesus, he’d told Callie to fully let go of the past, and here he was clinging to his. But Tommy didn’t know about the thoughts he’d had...
Matt let out a self-deprecating scoff, wishing Callie was here with him with that playful spark in her eyes and her honey-tinted drawl. And the kind of nonjudgmental understanding that let a person share even the worst truths about themselves without fear.
Because how could he share that brutal news with his kid brother? He opted for the easier explanation instead.
Matt left the tool bench and headed for the stairs leading to the kitchen, dropping down to sit on the bottom step. “I should have been around more in the beginning.”
“You had
a medical degree you were trying to earn.” Tommy took a seat beside Matt.
“But Mom and Dad were gone, and we were alone.”
And God knows wading through the days, trying to figure out how to deal with Tommy and be an adult all at the same time hadn’t been easy.
They sat there, side by side, and Matt tried to push the memories of the first time he’d found Tommy passed out on the floor. Of a Tommy so gaunt, so thin, his color so unhealthy that it physically hurt to look at him. Sure, Matt had been checking in by phone. But only so much information can be gleaned from the sound of a voice.
He couldn’t remember the precise moment he began to have his suspicions something was off. The little niggles of doubt had always been easily rationalized away.
He’s having an off week.
He’s stressed.
He’s just not hungry today.
Of getting the call he’d wrecked his car again, and this time not being sure Tommy was going to pull through. Perhaps the time had come to explain to Tommy exactly how much Matt didn’t deserve his kid brother’s devotion.
Matt stared straight ahead. He couldn’t meet Tommy’s eyes, not with what he was about to say.
“The third time you walked out of rehab and waded back into that mess it took everything in me not to leave.” Matt closed his eyes as he remembered the turbulent thoughts from that day. Angry. Petrified. And knowing he just couldn’t live this life anymore.
Tommy remained quiet beside him while silence engulfed the garage. Matt couldn’t bring himself to look at his brother. The confession was hard enough to express without those wide, brown eyes staring at him. He felt like crap for sharing the thoughts with his brother. If they’d just been a fleeting thought Matt wouldn’t feel so guilty. But since that day, every morning he’d woken up with the same thought.
Leave.
Get out of town.
Save yourself.
He scrubbed his face with his hands, exhausted from the mental war being waged in his head. And so friggin’ sick of living his life in limbo he didn’t know what to do. With every one of those thoughts came the opposing thought. Tommy was all the family Matt had. Walking away felt impossible, even during those times Matt was sure he was drowning.
“God, you have no idea just how badly I wanted to pack up and get the hell out of Dodge. Go to the farthest city that I could.” He turned to meet his brother’s gaze. “Because I just couldn’t bear the torture of waiting around for you to finally kill yourself. Watching you waste away into someone I didn’t recognize anymore.”
Always braced for the next slip. The next call from the E.R. The next night Tommy didn’t come home and Matt was sure that he’d overdosed, unconscious.
Or dead.
“I just couldn’t stand to have my heart broken again,” Matt said.
Tommy’s voice sounded raw. “But you didn’t go.”
Matt’s lips twisted at the words. They might as well be inscribed on his tombstone.
“But it’s time,” Tommy said. “You’ve got to get on with your life and stop worrying about your kid brother. Go back to Callie, Matt.” Tommy’s brown gaze held Matt’s hostage, and then his brother grinned. “Before you become a grumpy old man no one wants to be around anymore. Cuz, you know, you’re already halfway there.”
Matt slowly sucked in a breath. He’d told Callie to get over the guilt, maybe it was time he followed his own advice.
He let out a scoff. “Is this my kid brother giving me advice?”
“This is your kid brother showing you some tough love, dude, because it’s my turn. You need to leave. I need you to leave.” Tommy crossed his arms and leaned back against the railing. “How can I ever be sure I’ve made it on my own if you’re always around to help me out? I’ve kicked the ugly addiction. Every day I’m concentrating on staying clean. I know you’ve tried to ease my way in the world by smoothing out the bumps along the way. Now it’s time for me to handle life on my own.”
Matt’s chest shook with the force of the pounding beneath his ribs.
“Go back to New Orleans. Take a job there. You can visit whenever you like. This will always be your home, too.” Tommy stood up, looking down at Matt. “But you belong with Callie.”
Tommy climbed the last two steps and entered the kitchen, closing the door behind him. Matt stared at the door, his brother’s parting words echoing in his brain.
ELEVEN
The waltz started, and the bride and groom headed for the center of the room, the ballroom of the Riverway plantation transformed into an eighteenth-century ball. Callie watched, holding her breath as the bridal party joined in. They’d only had two days to rehearse the dance, and certainly no time to practice in their Regency-era wedding outfits.
With the bride’s dark hair upswept and adorned with baby’s breath, curls pinned to her head, imagining her as Elizabeth Bennet required very little stretch of the imagination. The groom, however, wasn’t quite tall enough to pull off a convincing Fitzwilliam Darcy. But the man wore the cravat and waistcoat with pride.
Callie was enjoying the results of her hard work when a voice interrupted her thoughts.
“So, will there be zombies invading this reception?”
Callie whirled and came face-to-face with Matt, and the sight sent Callie’s senses soaring. In a waistcoat, white linen cravat and pantaloons, he looked unusually formal yet still good enough to eat.
“Could be a fitting end, don’t you think?” he finished with an easy smile.
Callie tried to reply, her mouth parting, but no words formed.
Was he here to convince her to reconsider a long-distance relationship? Or was he here to tell her he’d changed his mind and that he was ready to let his little brother go? Maybe he was finally ready to move on from a life that including the two brothers living in a constant state of protector and the protected. Callie knew the situation had been necessary during the beginnings of Tommy’s recovery days—the by-product being two men who didn’t know how to simply be brothers, instead of recovering addict and responsible older brother.
Callie fisted her hand behind her back, resisting the urge to grip the lapel of Matt’s coat and haul him closer. She longed to ask him the questions swirling in her brain, questions like Why are you here? or Have you changed your mind?
Or more important: Do you love me as much as I love you?
“No,” she said. “No zombies.”
“That’s too bad,” he said.
“Depends on who you ask.”
Not the conversation she’d have predicted would take place upon seeing Matt again. Not only did she not know where to start, she was almost afraid to find out the answers. If he was here to convince her to change her mind and accept less, she just might cave.
And even as her head was telling her to be strong, her heart was breaking a little more.
“Walk with me a moment?” he asked.
Pulse picking up its pace, she said, “Sure.”
Callie followed Matt out the French doors and onto the veranda, trying to convince herself to stay true to her goals.
But the past few weeks had only gotten harder, not easier, and she wasn’t entirely sure she had the strength to resist a part-time relationship offer again. Not when every morning started with her missing Matt, his laugh and his dry sense of humor. And every evening ending up with her staring up at the ceiling of her room, dreaming of having him back in her bed. In her life.
But all that seemed too much to ask after two weeks of no contact.
“How did you pull off the outfit?” she asked instead.
He turned and leaned against the wrought-iron railing, the branches of the oak tree beyond lit by the light from the ballroom.
“I phoned Colin and spoke with Jamie,” Matt said. “Turns out your ex�
�s wife was very eager to help me arrange a romantic meet up with you. She insisted this would be an opportune moment. Even phoned the bride and groom to ensure I’d be welcome.”
A small laugh escaped Callie. “That explains the looks they were giving me at the rehearsal dinner last night.”
Matt grinned. “Beware the romantic musings of those who are about to get married. Unfortunately—” he looked down at his clothes “—everyone thought it best I blend in.”
“Why are you here, other than to make the most delicious Fitzwilliam Darcy ever?”
She probably shouldn’t have added in the last part. She should be playing it cool. She should be holding her feelings closer to her chest. But she couldn’t.
“I came tonight hoping to make an impression,” he said.
Afraid to breathe, Callie asked, “What kind of impression?”
Matt stepped closer, instantly swamping her senses. The warm breeze ruffled his sandy hair and held a hint of magnolias, but all Callie could register was Matt’s scent of fresh citrusy soap. The heat from his body. The sizzle in those hazel eyes.
His eyes never left hers. “‘I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.’”
Two seconds passed before the words fully registered in her brain.
Stunned, Callie reached out and gripped the sleeve of Matt’s waist coat. “You read Pride and Prejudice?”
A slow smile crept up his face.
“How else is a man supposed to impress a woman who arranges fantasy weddings for a living?” he asked. “Quoting Darcy seemed like a good place to start.”
Too afraid to hope, Callie remained silent, her grip on his sleeve growing tight.
“I just got started on the paperwork to obtain privileges at St. Matthews Hospital,” Matt went on. “Turns out they have a need for a few more E.R. docs.”