Worth the Wait (McKinney/Walker #1)

by Claudia Connor

  “I’m pretty sure Zach knows,” Nick said, scowling.

  “Are you sure? You might want to explain the details, make sure we know where babies come from and all that.”

  Nick huffed. “Fine.”

  She patted his arm and grabbed a water for herself. “You’re welcome to stay for dinner. Stephen says he doesn’t blame you for hitting him. He said he would have done the same thing.”

  Nick grumbled under his breath. He’d punched McKinney the morning the man answered his sister’s door half dressed and looking so damn pleased with himself. Not his finest moment, but McKinney had given back as good as he’d gotten, and they’d come to a certain understanding.

  “See? I told you you’re a lot alike.”

  “We’re not alike, damn it,” he muttered.

  Hannah laughed. “He didn’t like me saying that, either, which just proves my point that you’re—”

  He raised a hand. “Don’t say it. You think this is hilarious, don’t you?”

  “A little bit. I think the two of you are going to be best friends.”

  “That’ll be a cold day in hell.”

  She laughed again, and he loved the sound of it. He’d never considered that she might be lonely for a male companion. He didn't want to think about that and his sister in the same time zone, let alone sentence.

  “Don’t pout. I’ll make you brownies next time. Mia Brownies. Her recipe, remember?”

  He remembered.

  “Stephen’s coming at six thirty. We’ve got some time. Want to sit on the porch a bit?”

  “Can I have a brownie?”

  Hannah pursed her lips like she was considering it.

  “Fine. Forget it. Save all the brownies for McKinney.”

  “I’m kidding. Of course you can have one. Just not the center. That’s Stephen’s favorite.”

  He made a face at that but took the brownie she offered and went outside. The setting sun shot thin streams of light through the pines that surrounded Hannah’s woodland cabin.

  Mia Brownies. He took a bite, and the soft chocolate settled in his gut like a rock. He wanted her, needed her, ached for her. And had no idea how to make it work.

  Hannah leaned her head back while he pushed them in a gentle rhythm. She’d always loved to swing, to rock. Maybe because their mother had rocked her so much as an infant.

  “You still like living out here?”

  “I do. The wide-open spaces of wild grass and the shade of trees, the scents of animals and saddle leather. It comforts me like I’m guessing the scent of stale coffee and mountains of files comfort you. I hope they comfort you,” she added, and he felt her looking at him.

  “You forgot the day-old cheeseburger.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t eat it.”

  He didn’t answer and stuffed the rest of the brownie in his mouth.

  “You’ve been the keeper of us all for so long, I think you’re the one who needs a keeper.”

  “I’m keeping myself just fine,” he lied, stretching his arm over the back of the swing. To say he hadn’t handled things well with Mia would be a colossal understatement. He’d hurt her. Again. Made her cry. Again. He’d spoken everything that was on his mind and nothing that was on his heart. He’d watched her walk away for the second time and done nothing to stop it. He hadn’t forgotten the pain in her eyes, the trembling of her lips as she fought not to cry in front of him. There was no doubt in his mind it was his fault, then and now.

  Regret had settled over and into him until it was a part of who he was. Worse than guilt, which you could rationalize away if something hadn’t been your doing, but regret…that was harder because there were always choices, every minute of every day. Every step and turn led to an outcome that might have been different. And when your choices led to tragedy? Then you’d cut off a limb to change even one of those steps.

  “Am I the reason you haven’t settled down, had kids of your own?”

  Nick jerked his gaze to his sister, trying to bring his brain up to speed. “What?”

  “I just… I’ve wondered if maybe because you had to take care of me, if that was the reason. For all of you, but mostly you. You gave up so much.”

  “I didn’t give up anything.”

  “Nick. You know that’s not true.”

  “I loved you. It didn’t feel like I was giving up anything.”

  “You were always there,” she said with all seriousness. “I don’t ever remember a time that you weren’t there.”

  Except for those forty-two days of which they did not speak.

  “You were so young,” she said, looking up into the swaying trees.

  “I didn’t feel that young. Even before they died. Mom always said I was too serious, even as a little boy she’d say, ‘Nick, you’re an old soul.’”

  “Maybe that’s true, classic first-born, but still, you wouldn’t have been so… stuck if not for me. You could have let someone else take me.”

  He squeezed her shoulders. “Never. Though I wondered a million times if maybe I should have.” Because even though it would have broken his heart, he would do anything to spare her the pain she’d endured. If he could go back. But he couldn’t.

  “I’m glad you didn’t. I don’t remember much, but I remember being scared, and I remember you holding me, rocking me. Did you sing?” She looked at him with big golden eyes that were exactly the same as they’d been when she was two. “I think I remember you singing.”

  “Maybe, once or twice.” It had been almost every night, then later, it had been Mia.

  So many memories wrapped up in Mia. In that one woman who was so deep inside him she flowed in his blood.

  “What was it that you sang? Something about a rabbit?”

  “Buckeye Rabbit Soup. Something Mom used to sing to me. And you, I imagine.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she said wistfully and stared out at the woods like she was hearing the tune. “I don’t remember her singing it. Just you. And don’t forget the bear song. Will you sing it?”

  “Not for a million dollars.”

  She laughed, and they rocked in silence, listening to the creaking, to the birds, before she spoke again.

  “If it wasn’t that, then what?”

  He pulled back to look at her. “What are you trying to do? Marry me off?”

  “No. Yes. Maybe. I just wonder why. You’re a great brother. You’re not entirely ugly.” That earned her a tug on her hair. “You were such a good father to me, I think you’d make a great father. I try to imagine what it was like for all of you, a house of teenage guys and a little girl.”

  “We mostly didn’t know what to do with a girl. When you were older, we’d bribe you out of having birthday parties. The sound you all made when you were in a pack was just…otherworldly.” He shivered. “I feel kind of bad about it now.”

  “What? You didn’t think I liked going to Hooters for wings and cheese sticks?”

  “That only happened once.”

  She smiled. “I know. I felt so grown up. It was good. Made this nerd girl cool for a day or so. Hey.” She covered his hand. “I had a good childhood. Great in fact. You even learned to braid hair.”

  He nodded. “Mia taught me.” And he’d practiced on Mia’s hair for hours. He so enjoyed running his fingers through the silkiness it usually ended with the two of them naked.

  “She was your one,” Hannah said softly. “I think she still is.”

  He couldn’t deny it. Didn’t even want to. He didn’t regret their night, had relived every second of it again and again. But if he could take back his words the morning after, if he could go back and do it over…When was he ever going to stop needing to do things over?

  He gave new meaning to the phrase “you hurt the ones closest to you.” Mia had been like a piece of his heart, and he’d hated himself so…

  “Did it ever occur to you that you both might be single for a reason?”

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t know why Mia hadn’t married.
As for him, he’d never even considered it.

  “If it wasn’t having to raise your sister, was it because of what happened? Later?”

  God, he didn’t want to talk about that with her.

  “Nick,” she looked at him, pleading. “Are you going to spend the rest of your life looking back? Wishing for the impossible? If you do, you’re wasting the life God gave you. I can’t stop you from it, but I also won’t stay stuck with you. It doesn’t help me for you to blame yourself. You know, if you have to blame someone for what happened, you can start with me.”

  “No. You don’t blame yourself. Ever.”

  “Why not? It started with my decision, didn’t it? But it’s not about blame. It’s more about forgiveness.” She turned to face him and touched his arm. “Forgiving yourself is the hardest part, but I’ve learned it’s the most important.”

  “You don’t have anything to forgi—”

  “Just listen to me. For once, listen to your little sister. I need you to let it go.”

  He knew she was right. Knew if he wanted a chance with Mia, he had to figure out a way. He was terrified he didn’t know how to do that. That the guilt was so deeply embedded inside him he’d never shake it. Until now, he hadn’t really wanted to.

  A moment passed before Hannah spoke again. “You still love her,” she said softly.

  His chest expanded painfully with a deep breath. He didn’t have the energy or the will to deny it. “I never stopped. What? Don’t look so shocked. I can be honest about my feelings.”

  Hannah gave him a soft smile that turned serious. “I love you both, but…”

  “But what?”

  “But maybe… and it hurts me to say this, but… I haven’t known about the baby she adopted for very long, she didn’t talk about it with me, but she’s hurting, Nick. I don’t think either of us knows how much. I don’t want her to hurt even more.”

  God, neither did he.

  “I’m not saying you are or you will. I just—”

  “No. I get it.” Mia was like the limb he’d cut off. Unable to forgive himself. Unable to be happy. And what good was it doing anyone?

  “I’m sorry. Now I feel like I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “Don’t worry.” He kissed the top of her head and stood. “I’ll take care of Mia.”

  Chapter 19

  IT WAS NEARLY AUGUST when Mia went to her pantry and got out the tool box, the same small black container her father had sent her off to college with. A screwdriver in one hand, an Allen wrench in the other, she moved down the hall and stopped in the open doorway of Savannah’s nursery. No. Not a nursery. She needed to stop thinking of it that way.

  She’d meant what she said to Abby, she wanted her to have the crib. Better for it to be used by someone who needed it. If it had taken her this long to get around to it, that was only because she’d been busy. She scowled at her own lie, standing in the doorway, taking in the room.

  Even though she had to pass it several times a day, she hadn’t gone inside in over a week. She’d looked but hadn’t entered. She knew she was building it up, making it harder, as if the space held a sadness that had the power to strangle her.

  She took one step, a few more, and knelt beside the crib. Her heart was breaking all over again. Her gaze traced over the lines of beautiful brown wood, the bar that lowered with springs underneath, and the base that held the mattress. She tried to remember the order of putting it together so she could reverse the action. It seemed like a bigger task now that she was on the floor, tools in hand.

  As she fought to loosen the screws, Nick and what ifs assaulted her. What if it was their house? Their nursery? Not like she hadn’t imagined that a hundred times in the years they were together, but it was always in the future. She’d needed to accomplish something, become a surgeon, make her parents proud. Now her parents were dead, and gone and what difference did it make?

  She and Nick hadn’t had as much time as they’d thought they would. A life lesson, she supposed. There were no guarantees. “Savor the moment,” she whispered, then huffed at the hollow-sounding words from a woman with enough regret to fill an ocean.

  Ten years ago, she’d tried to convince herself that what she’d felt for Nick was too big, too deep to be healthy. The way her heart had squeezed almost painfully when he smiled at her with those brooding brown eyes. She’d become too dependent on him. The way he looked at her after a day at the hospital and just knew that she’d lost a patient. The way he’d pull her into his arms, and within minutes of being held by Nick, she’d feel better. She’d feel right again.

  She’d gone from a girl feeling her first love to a woman who’d melded every part of herself to a man. And then he was gone.

  She’d been lost after that. Losing him and the way they had broken had almost killed her. It hadn’t been a sudden death, more like a terminal illness. Slow. Painful. He’d been her world, and she’d been his. Though the years since had shaken her certainty on that. Maybe it had somehow been over for him even before Hannah went missing. She tried to think back, to remember every detail. She must have missed something. What had been said that last morning before everything fell apart, or not said? Had he been pulling away before that?

  She knew what the loss of a child did to parents, how it could draw them closer together or tear them apart. And she’d lived it. That was what had driven her to become a therapist specializing in grief. Still, the knowing didn’t help the pain.

  After she’d gotten herself together, stopped watching for Nick to come after her, stopped diving for her phone every time it made a sound, she’d worked hard to get over him. Tried in vain to convince herself what they’d had hadn’t been real, telling herself they were just a couple that had only stayed together because it was easier than breaking up. A young love divided by years apart. She didn’t believe it, not really, but sometimes it helped to pretend.

  She worked one screw loose with the Allen wrench, then started on the other side, stretching her leg out to hold the bar with her foot so it wouldn’t hang. She tried using the screwdriver to remove the brackets that held the mattress in place, but she couldn’t get a good angle. She used more force, but the bed was on wheels and scooted away.

  She moved it up against the wall for leverage, pushing the screwdriver with all her might, and turned. No one could say she hadn’t done a stellar job putting the thing together. The screwdriver slipped again, stripping the head even more.

  The more she couldn’t get it done, the more she wanted to, needed to. Angry, frustrated tears filled her eyes, making the task a blur. She’d finally worked herself up to this point and now she couldn’t even get the damn thing apart!

  * * *

  THAT WAS HOW NICK found her, crouched on the floor, dark hair hiding her face. But he could hear her shuddery breathing, could see her small hands furiously working a screwdriver against the side of a baby crib.

  “Mia.”

  Her head jerked up. Tear-filled eyes met his. His heart broke right there. In that moment, he would have given her anything, done anything. Whatever it took, whatever he had to do to fix himself, he’d do it. Whatever she needed so that she would love him again.

  “I knocked. The door was unlocked.” He didn’t have the heart to scold her for that at the moment.

  “It was?” She quickly wiped her face with the back of her hand and turned to face the crib. “I must have forgotten.”

  It was clear she was struggling with the tools, and when he knelt beside her, he saw the blood on her hand. “Stop.” He grabbed her wrist. “Damn it. Stop.”

  “It keeps slipping.” She gestured with the screwdriver.

  “I can see that.” And she’d jabbed the tip of the screwdriver down the back of one hand hard enough to break the skin. Helpless anger swelled at seeing her like this.

  “It’s fine.” She tugged her hand away and went back to her task.

  He’d thought about it, of course, heard her and hurt for her, but he hadn’t pic
tured the reality of it. A nursery with an empty crib. A rocker with no baby to rock.

  “I just need to get this screw out.” Her hand shook so badly, she wasn’t even getting good screwdriver-to-screw contact. “I told Abby she could have it. She’s having twins, you know.” She swiped the back of her hand over the tears on her cheek.

  He admired her, ached for her, and fought his instinct to go to her, knowing it wasn’t what she needed right now. “Why are you taking it apart?”

  “It doesn’t fit through the door otherwise.”

  He looked back, eyed the doorway. “Okay then. We’ll take it apart.”

  She turned her back and went at another screw. “I put it together in here by myself. I can damn well take it apart. Why can’t I get it apart?” She kicked at it, and he knew a lot of the tears were out of frustration.

  It struck him as incredibly sad that she’d done this alone. Put the crib together, put this room together. She wouldn’t be alone now.

  The screwdriver missed its mark and, with the force behind her effort, it gouged a deep line in the dark wood. A sound of pure pain was wrenched from her throat.

  “I have to take it down,” she choked. “I have to take it out. Savannah’s not here anymore. Savannah’s not here,” she repeated, still clenching the tool and every word catching in her throat.

  “Okay, baby.” He went to her and covered her hands with his. “Okay. Let me help you.” Gently, he pried the screwdriver from her fingers and silently went to work while she looked on.

  Afterward, Nick found a Ziploc in the kitchen and brought it back to keep all the small pieces collected. When that was done, he joined her on the floor, took her in his arms, and held her while she fell apart.

  She cried against him until he thought she would break. Deep, tearing sobs shook her body, and it nearly killed him.

  “Is it wrong for me to want her with me? To wish her real mother didn’t want her? Am I thinking about what’s best for her? I don’t know. I was best for her,” she sobbed, her fist against her chest. “Why couldn’t I be best for her? I should have run. I should have just left with her.”