“I . . . have a friend who lives there,” he muttered, his chin touching his chest. He could feel the heat pulsing through his entire face.
“A friend?” his mother echoed. “What’s his name?”
Riley fidgeted. “Her name is Lexie.”
His mother stayed silent before handing him another grape. “That’s a pretty name.”
Riley looked up, surprised. “Yeah,” he offered. “She is. I mean, it is. Pretty. Her name.”
She laughed, seemingly amused by his discomfort. She reached over and ruffled the front of his hair. “It’s great that you’ve made a new friend. But I don’t want you going to Wick Avenue on your own. It’s a long way and that street can get busy.”
Riley swallowed hard. He had a feeling this would happen, but it made him sad all the same. How would he get to see Lexie again?
“Next time you want to go, I’ll drive you.”
Riley’s head shot up. “Really?”
“Really.”
Riley sprang from his seat, almost stumbling when his feet got tangled with the legs of the chair. “Can we go now?”
“Now?”
“Yes. I said I’d see her today. There’s an important space mission, but we need a spaceship. Lexie knows every planet by name and even some of the stars. Did you know that stars have names? She showed me through her telescope. So we’re building a spaceship behind her house in the woods. We’re not going too far, though, because her mom said we couldn’t, but her dad’s cut us some pieces of wood that we can use as long as he can help, even though he calls me ‘that boy’ instead of my name, so we were going to start it today.”
His mother laughed again. “A spaceship for an important mission, huh?”
“Yeah! Lex is the driver. I’m the co-pilot, but I’m still Han Solo.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so? Spaceships are important business.”
“I know!” Riley agreed, relieved that his mother understood his urgency.
“Let’s go.”
Riley wasn’t too embarrassed when their car pulled up at Lexie’s house, but he would have happily hid when his mother insisted on meeting Lexie’s mom, Christine, before she left. In the front yard, he stood, with Lexie at his side, while the two women murmured and chuckled about something they both seemed to find very funny, and looked at him and Lexie in ways that made him want to hide his face in his hands.
“Maybe Riley can stay for dinner?” Lexie blurted, causing Riley’s head to almost topple off his neck in surprise. She glanced back at him quickly and shifted on her feet. “What?” she whispered. “Don’t you want to?”
He did. He absolutely did. The only part of the inside of Lexie’s house he’d seen so far was the kitchen and the downstairs bathroom. The thought of seeing more was kind of exciting. And spending more time with Lexie could only be a good thing.
“I think that would be fine,” Christine agreed with a smile that Riley’s mom mirrored. “Okay, Riley?”
“Yeah,” he answered quickly. He looked back at Lexie to see her grinning. “Yeah.”
“Can we go now?” Lexie asked, all but jumping on the spot, grabbing Riley by his sleeve and pulling him away from their mothers. “We have a mission to complete!”
“I’ll be here at seven to pick you up,” Riley’s mom called after him, but he didn’t reply. He simply waved at her over his shoulder as he ran toward the back of the house beside Lexie.
· · ·
The plane that Carter had organized for Riley and Tate was fancy as hell. Cream leather seats, of which there were twenty. Full bar, mahogany tables, flat-screen TV, and a cute flight attendant who flushed and giggled every time Riley asked for a drink. He would have been quite happy to kick back and enjoy the view of her in her uniform, but honestly, he was far too distracted.
He sipped his bourbon from a crystal glass as he mused. It had been two years since he was last home. He knew he should have been back sooner, and he wished he weren’t such a coward, but, hell, them’s the breaks. The trickle of guilt that had appeared when his mother’s call came through surged now like a fighter jet. Riley rubbed a hand down his face and dropped his head back against his seat as the plane shook with turbulence.
Tate glanced over. “Dad’s gonna be fine, Ri.” He sighed and rubbed his bad knee. “Don’t brood. It doesn’t suit you.”
Through the window, the light at the end of the plane’s right wing continued to flash intermittently. “I’m not brooding,” Riley answered. “I’m worried.”
“Me too, man. Me too.”
Almost ninety minutes later, they hurried through the main doors of Munson Medical Center, where Tate threw some medical-sounding words and their father’s name at a nurse behind the welcome desk.
“Your father’s still in surgery,” she told them eventually, nails clicking on the computer keyboard. “You can go up to the family room on the fourth floor. The doctor will find you.”
It was there that they found their mother.
Riley adored his mom. Was he a momma’s boy? Probably, but he couldn’t have given a flying fuck. It was a label he was happy to bear. Joan Moore was and always had been a force of nature. Being the only woman in a house filled with four rambunctious boys and a husband who worked long hours would be a challenge for anyone, but she’d always managed to make it look easy.
Riley couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen her stressed or unhappy, and he could count on one hand the number of times she’d shouted at him, his brothers, or his dad. She had an infinite amount of patience and optimism, which she used liberally to keep Riley and his brothers in line. And it worked, too. Although the disciplinarian had always been his father, Park, it was always Riley’s mother who Riley endeavoured to keep happy.
He would never forget the look on her face the first time she came to visit him in Arthur Kill. It had ripped his heart in two. Despite his towering over her five-foot-five frame from the age of sixteen, Joan’s blatant disappointment had reduced Riley to an inch-high asshole who never wanted to see that look in her eyes again.
“Mom?” he said from the doorway.
She looked up quickly, her green eyes tired and red. The thought of her crying twisted something fiercely protective in Riley, something that had his legs eating up the distance to get to her as quickly as possible. He pulled her into his arms and wrapped her up in a tight hug while Tate, who wasn’t much of a hugger, hung back. Joan’s head fit under Riley’s chin, and the familiar scent of the sweet perfume in her ash-blonde hair caused Riley to close his eyes. She felt so small and vulnerable in his arms, and it scared him.
“Oh, Riley,” she muttered into his chest.
Riley shushed her gently, squeezing her closer. “It’s okay, Mom. He’s gonna be okay.”
“What the hell happened?” Tate asked from their side, a rare outburst of frustration.
Joan looked up and released Riley, reaching out a hand to squeeze Tate’s forearm. “He was fixing the roof on the damned addition.”
Riley and Tate both huffed.
“I told him he was a fool for doing it,” she continued, rubbing her palms down her jeans and sitting back down. “But you know what he can be like.”
“Stubborn old coot,” Tate commented, shaking his head. “Where was Seb?”
“He’d stepped out to grab something for dinner. He came back as your father was being put into the ambulance.”
Riley took the seat next to his mother. “Did dad manage to get down before he . . . ?”
“No.” Joan wet her lips and pressed them together. “I heard him shout and then a loud bang. He landed on the lawn, but it was still a ten-foot drop. He hit his head, and . . . I called 911 right away.” Her voice shook before she placed a hand over her mouth. “The doctor said they plan to insert a stent in his valve?” She looked toward Tate, who nodded. “But they don’t know how badly damaged his heart is.”
Tate sat at her other side and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I’m sure it’
ll be okay,” he offered. “They got him here quickly. There’s so much they can do for the heart these days.”
“I know, but they’re concerned . . . It’s not long since . . .”
Riley gritted his teeth, hating the shake in his mother’s voice. Seeing her so despondent was as terrifying as it was alien. He wished he had something to say that would make it better, but he was at a loss. Even Tate, always the calm and objective one, looked more anxious than he would ordinarily allow people to see.
“Hey, guys.”
Standing in the doorway with two cups of machine coffee in his hands was Seb. Riley hadn’t seen his baby brother for six months, the last time being when Seb had flown into New York from Chicago at Christmas, and he looked as tired as Riley felt. He approached them, handing one of the cups to Joan, and welcomed the hug Riley offered. Despite his being a professional fitness coach with his own gym and being built like the regular rugby player he was, Seb stood a couple of inches short of Riley’s six foot two, which always gave Riley the advantage when they tussled.
“Hey, man,” Riley said, patting his baby brother on the back.
“Hey.” Seb stepped back and pinched his large shoulders. His gray-blue eyes were dull, he was unshaven, and his brown hair had grown so long that he wore it in a small bun at the nape of his neck. Had the situation been different, Riley would have started ripping him for having hair like a girl. As it was, he kept his mouth shut and watched as Seb shook Tate’s hand and asked, “Any news?”
Joan shook her head and clutched the cup closer to her chest.
“Well, that sucks,” Seb commented before sipping his coffee. He grimaced and looked down at the cup in disgust. “As does this shit.”
The chairs in the waiting room were a chiropractic nightmare, which made for a shitload of pacing from all four of them as they waited for the next two hours. “You heard from Dex?” Riley asked as he looked over a notice board filled with leaflets.
“He’s in Thailand for work,” Joan replied, running a hand through her hair and suppressing a yawn. “I called him, but with the time difference . . .”
Riley’s eldest brother, Dex, traveled around the world, fucking around on computers and making an absolute fortune. He was a hacker or . . . something. He was a glorified computer geek, as far as Riley was concerned.
It was another two hours before the door of the waiting room opened, rousing Riley and Seb from a fitful doze. The doctor was still in green scrubs, the obligatory face mask dangling around his neck. He smiled tightly, making the salt-and-pepper mustache on his lip twitch. At the sight of him, Riley went from dopey to wide awake in three seconds flat. He got to his feet quickly, clasping a hand to his mother’s shoulder, holding on to her for his own sanity should the news be bad.
“Mrs. Moore,” the doctor said. “My name is Dr. Fitz. I operated on your husband.” He glanced at Riley and his brothers.
“It’s fine,” Joan said, gesturing around herself. “These are my sons. How is Park?”
The doctor crossed his arms and Riley’s lungs squeezed. Shit.
“He’s in the ICU. The surgery went well. I managed to insert the stent and check the valves, which seem fine, but his heart is very weak. In spite of Mr. Moore’s fitness, two heart attacks in as many years is a lot for a man of sixty-two.”
“Can I see him?” Joan asked immediately.
The doctor sighed gently. “Yes, but only for ten minutes. My patient needs his rest.”
Joan stood and began gathering her purse and jacket. Riley watched her and waited for someone else to speak while his pulse pounded in his ears. He closed his eyes and gripped the bridge of his nose in an effort to ease it. Tate spoke first, asking the doctor questions that Riley didn’t really understand but appreciated all the same. Not that it eased his worry any. He’d heard the doctor loud and clear: his dad wasn’t out of the woods yet.
When he reopened his eyes, the doctor and his mother had gone.
“So what now?” Seb asked, pushing his hands into his jeans pockets.
“We wait for Mom and go home,” Tate answered, holding a hand up toward Riley when he opened his mouth to protest. “There’s nothing more we can do. He’s in the best place. We can come back first thing tomorrow. We all need to sleep.”
Riley glanced at his watch to see it was almost 5 a.m., and then at Seb, who shrugged. “Fine,” Riley retorted, suddenly feeling really fucking tired. “Fine.”
3
Eighteen years ago . . .
Lexie’s mom, Christine, opened the front door and smiled. “Hi, Riley. How was school?” Instead of answering, he glanced over her shoulder toward the stairs leading up to Lexie’s bedroom. Christine opened the door wider to let him pass.
Riley entered and placed his school bag, as he always did, under the coat rack next to Lexie’s, and shucked off his coat and the January cold, hanging it up. “Is she feeling better?”
Lexie hadn’t been to school for three days and, Riley had to confess, it sucked ass. His walks to and from the place and lunchtimes were certainly quiet. And boring. He wasn’t too cool to admit that he missed her.
“She hasn’t been down since lunch,” Christine replied, walking toward the kitchen. “I just made some hot chocolate. How about you take it up for her?”
Riley shrugged and followed. He’d always felt at home in Lexie’s house, but it was still weird talking to her mom without his friend there. “Is she still sick?”
Christine poured hot water into three cups, glancing back at Riley a couple of times before she spoke. “No. I think whatever she had has passed.” She held up a bag of sugar and Riley nodded. He liked his hot chocolate sweet. “So maybe you can help me with something, Riley,” Christine added as she spooned the sugar into the cups.
Riley frowned and took a step closer. “Help you?”
Christine hummed and turned, holding out a cup, which he took. She leaned her hip against the kitchen counter and blew into her own hot chocolate. “I was wondering if you know a boy at school named Blake Richards.”
Riley pursed his lips at the sound of the name and huffed. Yeah, he knew Blake Richards. Everyone knew him. He was the new boy in fifth grade—he started a little before Christmas break—and he talked to Lexie a lot. He also made her laugh, and Riley really didn’t like it. Him. Riley didn’t like him. He was so full of himself. And he had weird hair.
“Is he a nice boy?” Christine asked.
Riley lifted his gaze. Christine looked worried. “I don’t really know him,” he muttered. It wasn’t a total lie. He simply hadn’t made an effort to get to know the douchebag. Lexie seemed to like him. He licked his lips at the sting of that thought. “Why?”
She placed her cup down next to the sink. “Lexie won’t tell me because I’m her mom, and I know it’s uncool for an eleven-year-old to talk to her mother about stuff, but I think she might talk to you.”
Riley was entirely confused. “About what?”
“I think Blake Richards might have . . . upset Lexie.”
At her words, something dark and angry squirmed in Riley’s chest, causing him to squeeze the cup in his hand. If someone had hurt Lexie, Riley would have plenty to say about it. “What do you mean?”
“It’s just a feeling I have.” Christine smiled tightly. “It could be nothing. Maybe you could find out for me?” Before Riley could answer, she handed him the last cup of hot chocolate. “Here. Take this up to her. You wanna stay for dinner? I’m making lamb chops.”
His favorite. “Sure.”
“I’ll call your mom and tell her.”
Holding the two cups of hot chocolate, Riley crept up the stairs to Lexie’s room and knocked on her door with his elbow.
The voice he heard sounded tired and very unlike the Lexie he knew. “What?”
“It’s me,” he called back. “I brought hot chocolate.”
“Come in.”
Using the same elbow to push down the door handle, Riley managed to open it. The first thing h
e saw when he entered was a Lexie-shaped lump on the bed under a bright pink duvet. Actually, most of Lexie’s room was pink. Everything from her carpet to her curtains was some shade of flamingo. The only things that weren’t were her desk and wardrobe, though she constantly pestered her mom about painting them to match.
Riley approached the bed, rolling his eyes at the new posters she’d put up above her bed next to the Spice Girls and solar system ones she’d had up for ages. They were of that dude from Titanic, the one with the stupid floppy hair. Lexie said he was “dreamy,” whatever that meant. In fact, looking at the posters now, Riley was reminded of Blake Richards and the new word Tate had taught him. Douchebag.
He placed Lexie’s cup of hot chocolate on her bedside table and moved to the chair by her desk. He swung the chair a little from side to side while fingering the pile of books and CDs on the shelf closest to him. Despite there being a good selection of bands and singers in the music pile, she still listened to the Spice Girls and the Backstreet Boys constantly, but Riley didn’t mind. He liked watching her sing and dance along to them.
The duvet moved and Lexie’s head gradually appeared. She squinted at him over the edge of the covers and grimaced. Riley had never seen her look so awful. Her blonde hair stuck up in several different directions and her blue eyes were surrounded by large, dark circles. “How are you feeling?”
“Crappy,” she answered, her voice hoarse and quiet. She reached for her cup and the pair of glasses she’d had to start wearing three months prior, and sat up against the headboard of her bed with a sigh. As much as Lexie complained about having to wear the glasses, Riley liked them. They were pink, of course, and made her—in Riley’s opinion—look sophisticated.
As she adjusted herself on the bed, he noticed she was wearing the Suicide Squad hoodie he’d loaned her one night when they’d been hanging out in the woods behind her house and she’d gotten cold. For some strange reason, seeing her wearing it pleased him.
“Are you coming back to school tomorrow?” he asked hopefully.
A Measure of Love Page 3