by Angel Payne
Shit.
My pedicure wasn’t so fascinating anymore. As if I could see it through the stinging haze of my vision.
Michael huffed softly. “Your poker face needs a little work, princess. Looks like the light bulb just turned on. Too bad you’re so self-absorbed that sometimes you need someone to point out the simple things—like the fact that you, my precious city mouse, aren’t so different from this humble country mouse. Trouble is trouble, no matter where you live, what the balance is in your bank account, or how important you think you are.”
I swallowed, feeling as tall as the mouse he’d compared me to. Every word of his statement was true. I’d forgotten about Di’s troubles, which had been literally stamped across her face the night we first met. And if my instincts were right, I was certain I’d felt scar tissue beneath a number of Michael’s own tattoos. No wonder my confession about Trey had turned him ballistic. He felt helpless, just as he had that night when I pointed out his mom’s bruise. Clearly, there had been more than one occasion in his life for that shit, too.
But all of that had flown the proverbial coop of my selfish bitch of a mind.
I failed you, Margaux.
Oh, God. His hero complex wasn’t just a Captain-America-Save-The-World thing. It was a deep-rooted, fight-or-be-destroyed thing. It was his survival, woven into his blood—as much an essential truth to him as my pride was to me.
He didn’t wait long to confirm exactly that.
“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to be your savior?” He’d turned to the mantle and braced his hands on it, then dropped his head between them. This strong, giving, gorgeous, virile man looked…defeated. Because of my actions. “I’ve watched you from afar. I’ve watched you from close up. You’ve become a part of me, Margaux.” He turned around, revealing a face grooved in taut, agonized lines. “I’m not sure…how I’ll ever separate you out now. When I started at Asher, you were always there by Andrea’s side, like an elusive golden dream. I was one of the few people who looked forward to our big morning meeting—and it sure as hell wasn’t because of her.”
“Really?” I laughed, weak and watery, giving up on any possibility of damming the drops that flowed past my defenses. My savior was now my destroyer, tearing down every brick of my soul. I hated him. I cherished him. I’d never, ever, forget the imprint of him on my life.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Really. I could smell your perfume the minute you came in the building. Coco Chanel. It’s my favorite now, you know.” He smiled and closed his eyes, seeming as if he drifted into a dream. “I suffered in silence, figuring you’d never give a guy like me a second look.”
“Whaaat?” I hurled a pillow at him.
“It was okay, blondie. It was all fine. I just liked being around you. I knew how you took your coffee, and that your favorite afternoon snack was Skittles. I could tell when you were a little under the weather, and how that differed from when your allergies were acting up.” He laughed again, louder this time, “Shit. Now I sound like a stalker. Maybe you really should have thrown me out when you had the chance.”
“No way,” I whispered. “No fucking way.”
He lifted a smile—though it inched nowhere near his eyes. “I wasn’t a stalker,” he grated. “I was just a fool, Margaux. A fool caught in your spell. And now? A fool in love.”
I slammed my eyes shut. Rammed the heels of my palms into them. Oh, God. Please, no.
The L word. Why did he have to go and ruin everything with the damn L word?
“Michael—”
“How many people know how many laughs you have?”
“Three.” I barely whispered it.
“That’s right. Three.” His voice was quiet now, too. “One is completely fake. It says get away, I have no interest in this, walls are fully up. The second one is polite, like when something is funny, but you’re holding back and trying to be a lady. And the third is the only one that reaches your eyes and makes my chest tight—right here.” He put his flat palm and long fingers over his heart. “Like when I tickle your knee, or tell you bad jokes, or—”
“Michael.”
“What?”
“I really need to ask you to leave, please.” My bawling, blubbery ugliness was not the parting snapshot I wanted him to have before he moved nearly two thousand miles away. No man needed such a burden. And the shit was only getting messier from here.
“Baby, come here.”
I batted at his outstretched arms. There was no point prolonging this misery. “No, Michael. Stop. I want you to leave. I’m not going to fall apart in your arms. I won’t be the subject of some fucking mopey love song that makes me sob every time it plays in the elevator. I’m not the sobber in the elevator, dammit!”
“And I don’t want you to be.”
The idiot tried tugging on one of my ankles next. I yanked it back in, along with the other, as tight as I could against my chest. All the better to hide the disgusting display I was making of myself. “Please, Michael. Please. I just need you to leave!”
“But…I love you, Margaux. And I don’t want to take that fucking plane ride. I want to stay here, beautiful, and make you happy. I want us to make each other happy. We can do this, Margaux. I know we—”
“Christ! Do you hear yourself? Have you heard a word I’ve said today at all? Are you listening? Oh my God, Michael. Don’t you see the truth? Look at me. Look at me. I’m a broken, fucked up mess.” I was reaching hysterics and didn’t give a flying shit. Maybe somebody would call security on my ass and they’d drag me off to Scripps again. I’d liked it there once…“I’m selfish and cruel and undeserving of love. I’m undeserving of your love.” The sobs shook me now. Fucking great. And yes, he still tried to get closer. And I still kicked and scratched and fought. “I’m broken, Michael. Just accept it. You need to find a good woman, one that will make you happy, treat you right, and be completely present for you. And that woman…isn’t me.”
Oddly, that truth filled me with a new peace. I slumped forward and looked up at him, sure I possessed demon raccoon eyes by now, thanks to my haphazard makeup removal job between bites of cherry pie.
“I’m going to ask you nicely one more time to leave, Michael—then I’ll call Andre to come remove you. And trust me, I’ve seen him lift heavier things than you.” With that, I rose. On my way to the front door, I grabbed a tissue from the hall table, took a fortifying breath, then swung the door wide again, standing next to it.
He took at least a minute of consideration, maybe longer. Halfway through, I resorted to studying my toes again. I couldn’t look at him any longer and risk caving to the damn waterworks again—at least not while he was still here.
My heart felt like a mosaic of chipped tiles. Piece by piece, the squares crumbled and fell, until the whole thing was nothing more than a pile of rubble at my feet.
Finally, thank God, he took a step toward the door. Another.
But stopped before he cleared the portal.
“Broken can be fixed, Margaux. Incinerated can’t.”
Three steps later, he had walked out of my life for the last time.
*
Time both flew and stood still. Only a week had passed since that agony of a scene at my place, but it felt like a hundred years. Real life was an effort, every step a chore. But at home, I could dive into bed and lose myself in memories and fantasy—and time raced.
For the first time since starting at SGC, I took some time off work. Nothing needed my immediate attention, though there was one element I missed about being at the office. Seeing my sister.
The day Michael was scheduled to leave for Atlanta seemed perfectly scheduled for a little Claire time.
As the car wound through the streets of Rancho Santa Fe, I considered telling Andre to turn around. I really should’ve called first. Monster Dearest had raised me better, especially in light of the fact that Claire and Kil’s oldest was doing his or her best to kick their asses twelve years before puberty. At least the la
st time we spoke, she told me she was feeling a lot better, making fewer sacrifices to the porcelain god. She and Killian were “cautiously optimistic”.
And then there was the other monkey on my back. I didn’t dare delay telling Claire about the breakup—if it could technically even be called that—any longer. My sister card would be revoked if she learned about everything from Michael instead of me.
Andre pulled up in front of Palais de le Steecks and Stones, as I’d started to jokingly call it, and leapt to get the door for me. He was starting to piss me off with the doting big brother vibe this week, but I forced a patient hand, remembering he was the default first responder to the carnage from the last heartbroken sob-fest fallout. Guys could be so warped.
“Hey, big guy.” I put my hand on his arm as he held the door open.
“Ma’am?”
I raised my brow.
“Sorry, Miss Margaux?”
“Nothing crazy is going to happen, okay? He’s leaving today and I’m fine with that. We’re moving on. That’s all.”
“If you insist.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. Will you be awhile? I’d like to go get some gas in the car.”
“Nice change of subject.” He just chuckled deep in his belly, which always made me grin too.
“That’ll be fine.” I watched as he smirked and motioned his hand to the front door, indicating he would wait until I got inside before he left. Basically dismissing me.
I was just dismissed by my own driver.
Not the hill I wanted to die on. It was my new motto. I didn’t have the energy to fight every fight right now, and if Andre wanted to imagine more was going to happen from this breakup, I certainly wasn’t going to be the voice convincing him otherwise.
I trudged up the walk and was just about to press the bell when Alfred opened the door.
“Good afternoon, Miss Margaux. How are you?”
“Peachy and perfect.” I gave him a thumbs-up and a cheeky wink “How are you today, Alfred?”
My tone was off even to my own ears, so I wasn’t surprised when the older man responded with nothing but a quirked brow, as if calling me on my shit. We were all good, but still—had all the service staffers been drinking the same water? They were all too astute for their own good today.
“Is my sister around? I know I should’ve called, but I wanted to stop by for just a few minutes.”
“It’s fine,” Alfred replied. “We were expecting you. Mr. Andre sent me a text and said you were on your way.”
“Did he, now?”
“Begging your pardon, Miss Asher. Don’t blame him. I simply thought you might be coming, and—”
“Did you, now?” Oh, yeah. Definitely the water.
“Well, in light of Mrs. Stone’s delicate situation, it’s been a little touchy around here. I took the liberty of texting him to coordinate. If you’re cross, be so with me, not him.”
“Cross?” I held up a hand. “Alfred, I grew out of Laura Ingalls Wilder a while ago.” When I’d learned it was uncool to root for Nellie instead of Laura. “I’m not pissed. And really, I should have called, so if Claire isn’t up for a visitor…” My voice surrendered to curiosity. Why were we still standing in the foyer? Alfred hadn’t taken another step. A weird shiver skittered down my spine.
“Mare? I’m in here.”
My sister’s voice emanated from the family room but I could barely hear her. I stepped around Alfred, who might have actually tried to intercept me for a second, until I met his stare in a blatant don’t-fuck-with-me face-off. Man, could Alfred bring the Killian Junior act.
Not helping the weirdness up and down my spine.
I found Claire on the couch again, wrapped once more in the faux fur throw. “Hey, baby cakes. How we doing?” I leaned down and kissed her forehead. She managed a small smile, but her color was no better at all. “Yikes. Is the morning sickness back? Is that why Freddie went all stern-man Sergeant Pepper on me?” I perched on the edge of the overstuffed chair near the sofa. “In that case, I really really should’ve called—but apparently, my rat of a driver is now BFFs with him, so we’ve got full kahoots.”
“It’s all good, M. I’m glad you came over. I’ve been wanting to call you myself, actually.”
“Hey! It’s Mare-Bear.” My brother strode into the room, greeting me with a warm smile and bending to kiss my cheek before nearly attaching himself to Claire’s side. “Can I get you anything, Fairy?”
“No, thank you.”
The shiver down my spine turned into a full freeze.
What the hell? Since when did the two of them talk to each other like Charles and Camilla at Sunday tea? And why was Claire speaking in the smallest voice I’d ever heard from her? I couldn’t imagine they’d had a huge fight but I wasn’t here to take the temperature on things between them. I’m sure things hadn’t been easy with her having the Technicolor yawns every hour…
“Do…do you guys want me to leave? I can come back later.”
“Maybe that would be better.” Killian answered.
“Please stay.” Claire said at the same time.
I looked between the two of them like a spectator at a tennis match. Yeeeahhh, something was up, and not in a good way. When Claire’s big brown eyes spilled over with tears, Killian sank fully to the couch with her, gathering her into his arms.
“I’m going. You two clearly need some—”
“I lost the baby.” Claire blurted it out then burst into tears. Killian stroked her back while she cried. He handed her the handkerchief from his back pocket.
“Mother. Fucker.” It just slipped out, but it was exactly how I felt. Margaux Asher, self-absorbed extraordinaire, had struck again. Had I actually come here to cry on her shoulder about my piss ant boy problem when she was dealing with this? The loss of a human life? I wanted to curl up in a ball of shame and roll out the front door.
I did the next best thing. Dropped to my knees next to the couch. “Oh, my God. When did it happen? No, wait; it doesn’t even matter. I’m so…sorry, you guys. I wish I could take all the pain away. I would do it in an instant.”
“We know that.” Killian gave me a brave but wobbly smile. Clearly, he was falling apart inside. The strain I’d sensed was likely his ongoing offer to God to take away every ounce of his wife’s agony. “The doctor can’t give us an explanation. He said it just happens sometimes. It doesn’t mean we can’t try again,”—he rubbed Claire’s shoulder, still papa bear protective—“when we’re feeling up to it. Doesn’t mean there’s something wrong, or that it will happen again.”
Suddenly, Claire yanked back from him. “Okay, just stop.”
The Charles and Camilla formality fell between them again. And what do you know, Kil rose and said, “I’ll go get you some tea, baby. You need to have more fluid.” He glanced at me, his eyes all but screaming help me. “And maybe some girl time.”
As soon as he left, tears welled in Claire’s eyes again. I scooted up, filling the spot Killian had just vacated next to her. “Hey, listen. It’s still so early, baby. Just give it time.” What was the other shit I always heard them say on dorky TV movies? “You and Kil love each other so much, and—”
“Have you ever had a miscarriage, Margaux?”
I reared but then almost grinned. Well, this was more like it. If she’d gone back to the Luna Lovegood whisper and all its forced politeness, I’d be out to cut up some of this fancy new room décor. This was sharp and sad and hurting and real. And if she thought it would get me off her back, she had another thing coming. Her sister was the queen of spouting shitty in times of deep hurt.
I hiked my head up and studied her closely. She sure as hell knew it, too. Back in the day, when we were still in mortal enemies territory, she’d seen this look from me a lot. I knew she wasn’t fond of it. “No, Claire, I haven’t. Nor do I know the exact thing to say to you right now. I do know that I love you, and that I’d lasso the moon for yo
u right now, if that helped you feel better.” I stroked the hair hanging listlessly against her cheek. “But baby, I think the only thing that’s going to help this is time. And I can help hold you through that. So can that incredible guy you’re married to. And all you have to do is let us.”
Well, shit. Now the waterworks came on—for both of us. I looked up to see Killian standing in the doorway to the kitchen, clear from my sightline but not hers.
“I—I don’t want time, Margaux.” Her voice tremored. She pushed the back of a hand over her forehead. “I just want to be whole again. Make me not a failure…please. Make it so I’m not broken.”
I hugged her to me, meeting my brother’s destroyed stare. “Stop this,” I whispered. “What’s this you’re saying about failure? Why would you say something like that? What the hell gives you the idea that a miscarriage makes you a failure?”
“Oh God, Margaux. Isn’t it obvious?” Claire pulled back to push a heavy sob into the handkerchief. “Having babies is what a woman’s body is meant to do—but mine can’t even do that. I’m so screwed up, Margaux. I’m so…broken. How will he want to stay with me like this? He’s going to leave me. He’s going to be just like his father and go find another woman to make babies with. One who isn’t broken.”
“Enough.” I grabbed her by both shoulders. “I will not let you do this anymore, Claire. You will stop this bullshit right now. You are not broken. You are amazing and perfect and beautiful, just the way you are. Did you hear a word Killian said? Nature’s timing simply wasn’t right this time. It had nothing to do with you or your body.” I swung my head toward the kitchen. “And that man in there? He loves you, adores you, and worships you with a power that defies reason. You know how he looks at you, right? Like you have fucking fairy dust coming out of your ass? It’s true.” I stressed it in the face of her incredulous, soppy smile. “Aha. There she is!”