by Karen Cimms
“What’re you doing, Kate?” He was almost yelling. “If I’m gonna get back to Bayonne in time to meet Denny and Steve, I don’t have time for this nonsense.”
She mumbled another apology, then picked up the instruments and hurried toward the back room.
After everything was unloaded and Billy had left, she surveyed the disorganized mess. She had carefully labeled each box so that it would go into its designated room. That hadn’t happened. Boxes were scattered among the kitchen, dining room, and living room.
“Begin at the beginning,” she muttered, stooping to tear the tape off the nearest box. It was filled with boots, scarves, and hats. Probably the last box that needed to be opened. She carried it upstairs to the master bedroom and set it near the closet. The room wasn’t much bigger than what they’d had, but it was theirs. Or at least it would be in thirty years.
After a couple hours of trying to organize and unpack, her growling stomach and aching breasts got the best of her. She needed to nurse Devin, and she wanted to get back before Billy returned. She cut through the alley and walked the few blocks to her parents’ house, where she found Rhiannon in tears at the kitchen table. A ham sandwich sat on a plate in front of her.
She scooped up her weepy daughter and kissed her damp, gold curls as Rhiannon wrapped her arms around her neck and sobbed harder.
“I thought Mom was making macaroni and cheese.”
“She is,” her father said, sounding exasperated. “For dinner. We thought she’d eat a sandwich for lunch.”
“Only peanut butter and jelly.” She’d told her mother this numerous times. She made Rhiannon a new sandwich, then went upstairs to feed Devin. Once both children were down for a nap, she promised to return around dinnertime and headed back to the house, downing Rhiannon’s discarded sandwich on the way.
After pausing to admire the Japanese quince in full bloom outside her new living room window, she made her way across the patio. She grabbed the doorknob, turned it, and slammed into the door. She twisted the knob again. Nothing. It was locked, and they only had one key—the one she’d watched Billy slip onto his keychain at the lawyer’s office.
“Are you kidding me?” She kicked the door in frustration. There was no way she was walking back to her parents’ house on the off chance that her father, who’d probably never picked up a screwdriver in his life, might be able to figure out how to get the door open. She didn’t know any of the neighbors, and besides, she didn’t want them to think she was a scatterbrain who locked herself out the first time she left the house.
As she slumped against the locked door, her eyes fell on a row of bricks edging an overgrown flowerbed. Desperate times and all that, she thought as she dropped to her knees. She tugged at each until she found a brick with some give, then wrested it from the ground. She slipped off her T-shirt, wrapped it around the brick, and took a swing at the pane of glass nearest the door knob. It did little more than shudder. She swung harder the second and third times. On the fourth try, it shattered. Using the sheathed brick, she knocked out the rest of the glass, then reached inside and unlocked the door, careful to avoid the jagged edges.
One of the boxes she’d unloaded earlier held a small broom and dustpan, but it wasn’t among those in the kitchen or the dining room. She was in the living room, prying the tape off the one she thought she needed, when she heard the crunch of gravel in the driveway. A few moments later, the back door banged open.
“Katie!”
Before she could answer, Billy yelled again. She heard his heavy boots going up the stairs.
“I’m down here,” she called.
“Kate!” He bellowed, pounding down the steps. She’d expected him to be pissed about the broken window, but he sounded frantic.
She appeared in the doorway to the living room just as he came rushing down the hall.
“What the hell happened?” he demanded, grabbing her by the arms.
She pulled away gently, confused by his urgency. “I couldn’t get back in the house. The door locked on me and you have the only key.”
He stared at her for an uncomfortable few seconds. “Did you try the front door?”
Oh, shit. “What?”
“Did you try the front door?” he repeated, dragging his hand through his hair. “It was unlocked.”
She rolled her lips together and stared up at him.
“Good job.” He yanked off his T-shirt and tossed it at her. “We have company. You should probably get dressed.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Billy grabbed a beer from the cooler and downed it in two long gulps. The sight of the broken window and open door had sent him over the edge. His first thought was that someone had broken into the house—and the first person he’d thought of was his father. Why his old man might do something like that, he had no idea, but he’d been a vindictive bastard sixteen years ago, and he’d probably only gotten meaner and more spiteful since. And even though he’d agreed to his mother’s blackmail, he couldn’t help worrying that he’d show up anyway.
He raised a second beer to his lips and caught Denny staring at him. “What?”
Denny shrugged. “Guess you’re thirsty.”
He grabbed another from the cooler and tossed it to Denny, a little harder than necessary. “Yeah, I am. I’m sure you are, too.” His tone contradicted his hospitality.
Once they’d emptied Billy’s van, Kate left to go to the market and then to her parents’ to put the kids to bed. By the time she returned toting a couple pizzas, they had finished unloading Steve’s truck and were putting a hurting on a second case of beer.
In the face of her frown, he defiantly grabbed another.
“Denny’s going to come back tomorrow afternoon to help get the furniture upstairs,” he said after a long swig. “And he’s offered to fix the window, so you’re off the hook.”
“I didn’t realize I was on the hook, but thank you anyway.”
She planted a kiss on Denny’s cheek before heading upstairs to continue unpacking.
After they’d devoured the pizza, Billy walked Denny and Steve outside. While they talked about some of his ideas for converting the garage into a studio, Billy reached into the glove box in the van and pulled out the last of his stash. He filled the pipe and lit it. After taking a long hit, he passed it to Denny.
The tension he’d been feeling all day began to dissipate. He tilted his head back, looking up at the velvet night. He hadn’t seen this many stars or heard this kind of quiet since he’d left Kansas. He exhaled slowly, visualizing the tightness around his chest leaving him. When he looked down, Denny was watching.
“What?”
Denny shook his head. “Nothing.”
This was really starting to piss him off. “What?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Denny asked.
“Excuse me?”
Denny snorted and turned away.
“Shut up, Denny,” Steve said.
So much for feeling relaxed.
“You have something you wanna say to me?” Billy’s hands curled at his sides.
“Yeah.” Denny took a step closer. “If I was married to a girl like Kate, I wouldn’t be barking at her all the time. You’ve got the world by the balls, brother. Yet you are angriest motherfucker I’ve ever known. You have a beautiful wife, two healthy kids, and a freaking Grammy.” Denny stabbed one finger toward the house behind Billy. “You just bought a house, and you’re only twenty-six fucking years old. If I hadn’t moved in with Allison, I’d still be living in my parents’ basement.”
Billy pulled up to his full height. He ran his hand across his jaw as he stared down at Denny. “I think you better shut the fuck up.”
“C’mon, guys,” Steve said, trying to step between them.
“Look, man.” Raising his hands, Denny took a step back. “I mean no disrespect. I love you like a brother, but I just think you’re a damn fool. I’ve known Kate almost as long as you have, and that is one sweet little angel y
ou have there. So you fucked up. Get over it and start treating her better, or I guarantee you, if she gets hipped, she won’t think twice about kicking your sorry ass to the curb.”
He wanted to pound Denny into the pavement, beat him senseless so he would never repeat what he’d just said. But he couldn’t move. He was rooted to the ground. When he tried to speak, his voice was barely a whisper.
“What’re you talking about?”
Denny threw his hands up. “You and Christa. Unless there’re more.”
The words hung in the air. “Where did you hear that?”
“More places than I care to remember. At first I didn’t believe it. Steve will tell you. Neither of us did. Hell, I still can’t believe it.” Denny folded his arms and glared at him. “All I’m saying is that you’ve got it all. Be happy. And if you can’t be happy, then pretend you’re happy. Because if you don’t? Then man, someday you are gonna be sorry.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Hot water rained over his body, but still he shivered. Denny’s words were ringing in his head. He felt sick.
If Denny and Steve knew, who else knew, and how long before it got back to Kate? He punched the wall. Cracks shot through two tiles. Dammit. Did he really think no would find out? It had to be Christa, because he sure as hell hadn’t told anyone other than Joey. And he may have convinced her not to go to Kate, but if she told everyone else, what difference would it make? If she was within twenty miles right now, he’d find her and make sure she’d never open her mouth again.
Fuck. He slammed his head against the wall.
He couldn’t allow Kate to find out. Never. She’d never forgive him, had made him promise if he ever wanted someone else to tell her and let her go. But he didn’t want anyone else. Had never wanted anyone else. He was just a selfish, stupid prick. If only she had told him that night she was in labor.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Yeah, right. Because this was her fault.
“Fuck me,” he muttered, then repeated the sentiment much louder as cold water needled his body. They hadn’t owned the house twelve hours and he would already have to replace a window, broken tiles, and apparently they needed a new water heater. Stepping out of the shower, he swiped at the mirror with his hand and stared at his distorted reflection.
Denny was wrong. He didn’t have the world by the balls. It was the other way around.
Exhausted, stressed, and wanting nothing but to collapse somewhere and go to sleep, Billy found Kate in the living room wearing a black lace nightgown he’d never seen before. Candles lined the mantle. A fire crackled on the hearth.
When she saw him in the doorway, she smiled and threw open her arms. “Ta-da—oh, wait.” She rushed to the mattress they’d dragged into the living room earlier and pulled a bottle of champagne from a baggie filled with ice. “Ta-da!” She still didn’t give him time to respond. “Shoot,” she muttered as she scooted back toward the fireplace and pushed the button on a boom box. The sultry voice of Etta James filled the room. Kate rolled her eyes, struck another pose. “Ta-da!” she sang, with slightly less enthusiasm.
His heart tore just a little. Denny was right; she was an angel. She was a lot of things. All of them good. He didn’t deserve her.
“Katie.”
She raised her hand before he could make any excuses. “I know you’re tired and kinda freaked out, but I want you to know how much I appreciate all this.” She pressed a fist against her chest.
“Katie . . .”
A puff of smoke rose behind her.
“I love you,” she continued, “and I want to show you just how much.”
More smoke. The homey smell of a wood fire was stronger than he remembered—especially, he realized, since she hadn’t opened the flue.
“Shit!” he cried, rushing forward and pushing her out of the way. “Dammit, Kate! Open the windows!”
Thick smoke rolled out above the flames, billowing to the ceiling, then swirling down around them. Kate dropped the bottle on the mattress and rushed to push up the window. The smoke, finding an escape, followed.
Trying to keep his hand above the flames, Billy reached into the firebox and grabbed the lever for the flue.
“Fuck!” he yelped. Yanking his hand back, he pressed it into the damp towel around his waist.
Kate grabbed the bag of ice and held it open for him to plunge his hand inside.
As the pain faded, he gave her a stern look. “Kinda foolish to burn the place down before we spend one night here, dontcha think?”
She sat beside him on the mattress, wide-eyed, looking almost afraid to breathe. “I’m sorry.”
All things considered, it was almost comical. He tried to sound tough. “Yeah? You don’t look sorry.”
She rubbed her lips together, but the edges of her mouth were definitely curling up.
He didn’t bother to hide his smile. “I could be wrong, but I think I was about to get lucky.”
“Maybe.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Maybe?”
“Does it hurt?”
He pulled his hand from the bag, wiggled his fingers, then dabbed them with the towel. A bright red streak marked his palm. “I think I’ll live. I may even be able to play guitar again someday.”
“Oh God.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“I’m kidding.” He bumped her with his shoulder. “It’s no worse than grabbing a hot pan.” He rested his other hand on her knee. After a second, he slid it up her thigh and lifted the edge of her nightgown.
“Like I said.” He grinned. “It appears I was about to get lucky.”
“I kinda ruined our evening.”
Slipping his arm around her waist, he kissed her behind her ear. “No, you didn’t. You go ahead with whatever it was you were planning, and I’ll try to forget you smell like bacon.”
She jabbed a finger into his ribs. “Nice.”
“I’m kidding. I’m all yours.”
Kate took his hand in hers. She plucked an ice cube from the bag, and ran it over the burn. “I wanted to make this night all about you to let you know how much I appreciate what you’ve done for us, even though I know how hard it was and how much you didn’t want to do this.”
“Were you planning to do nasty things to me?”
“Pretty much.”
He tossed the towel onto the floor and laid back on the mattress, his hands behind his head. “Go ahead. Show me how grateful you are.” He closed his eyes, then popped one open. “And don’t forget, you just made me burn my hand. I expect you to show me how sorry you are, too.” He closed his eyes again. “Oh yeah, and the door.” He leaned up on his elbows. “Don’t forget the broken glass. I bet you’re sorry about that.”
“Oh, shut up.” She pushed him down and climbed on top of him. Pressing her mouth against his, she kissed him until he finally stopped talking.
Later, as he held her body tight against his, he sighed deeply.
“What’s wrong?” She leaned back to look up at him.
“How can you love me so much when I can be such a jerk?”
“Seriously?”
He nodded.
She shrugged. “I just do. So you get a little cranky now and then. I think that’s to be expected of creative people.”
He laughed. “Where’d you hear that?”
“I don’t know. Seems like some of the most prolific musicians and painters were a bit . . . out there. What about Mozart?”
“You’re comparing me to Mozart?”
“Not really, but he was a little strange. Didn’t you see Amadeus?”
“That was a movie and highly fictionalized.”
“Still, creative people can get kinda testy.”
“If you say so.”
“I know so.”
“It’s still no excuse for me to treat you badly.”
“Where is this coming from?” She lifted up onto her elbows. “You don’t treat me badly. If I do something to irritate you, I expect you to get irritated. I get irritated wit
h you. It’s normal. I know it doesn’t change how I feel about you, and I assume it doesn’t change how you feel about me.”
He gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “No. Nothing could change how I feel about you.”
“Good. Let’s celebrate that.”
She reached for the champagne.
“I hope you know how much I love you, Katie. You are the best thing in my life. I still don’t understand how I got this lucky.”
He clicked his glass against hers. “So, no regrets?”
“None. Well . . . maybe one.”
“Really?” Although she should have a laundry list of regrets where he was concerned, it still bothered him that there would be one.
“I was kinda hoping you would carry me across the threshold.”
He could be so dense sometimes. “Is that what all that was about this afternoon?”
She looked at him sheepishly and shrugged.
“C’mon. I can do that.” He set his glass on the floor.
“Nah. It’s too late.”
He looked at his watch. “It’s only nine thirty.”
“I mean, it’s too late, we’re already in the house.”
“Nonsense.” Standing, he helped her to her feet. “Let’s go.”
She pushed weakly against him. “It’s silly. Besides, you’re naked.”
“I don’t care. We’re in the country. Clothing should be optional.”
“Well, it’s not!”
Undeterred, he scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder.
“Stop!” she cried, hanging upside down. “What’ll the neighbors think?”
“Like I give a shit. They’ll just blame rock and roll.”
She pommeled the backs of his thighs, laughing. “Billy, stop!”
“Nope, this is one mistake I can fix.”
He carried her out the front door and set her down on the porch, then picked her up in the traditional way.
“You’re gonna have to help.” He squatted until she could reach the doorknob. After he’d stepped inside, he asked what was next.