Break The Rules

by CC MacKenzie

  "Just because you're all loved up doesn't mean everyone else wants what you have, you know." The sound of a bath being run, made T.C. scowl. "And who the fuck is that in my bathroom!?" she roared at the top of her voice.

  Danni's head popped around the bathroom door.

  She beamed at T.C. "Me. You stink."

  T.C. looked as if she was about to blow a blood vessel. "Get the fuck out of my house."

  Again Danni beamed. "No."

  T.C. blinked, looked at an Ana whose brows lifted. "You two are something else, you know that? So if I have a bath and a hair wash will you two just leave me the hell alone?"

  "We might," Ana informed her, promising nothing.

  T.C. got out of bed and marched like a toddler having a tantrum into the bathroom and slammed the door so hard the chandelier on the ceiling danced.

  Meanwhile, Ana took the opportunity to open the floor to ceiling curtains and folding doors to let much needed fresh air into the room.

  She bit her lip at the squalling cat fight going on in the bathroom. Seemed when Danni was determined and persistent about something, like a new shampoo and bath foam, she got her own way. When T.C. informed Danni she was a skinny skanky little cow and Danni shot back that T.C. had better brush her teeth because the fumes of breath were about to knock her unconscious, Ana simply looked to heaven as she stripped the bed and made it up with clean linens.

  Danni opened the bathroom door wide enough to toss filthy pj's and panties out.

  She held out a hand for the clean clothes Ana handed her, closed the door and locked it.

  Wrinkling her nose, Ana piled all the dirty laundry in a basket and headed out the door.

  Her destination—the tiny laundry room off the kitchen.

  In the open plan sitting room, Sean's head lifted from his laptop.

  In a flash, he was on his feet to take her load from her. "No heavy lifting for you."

  "I'm pregnant. Not sick, Sean."

  "Don't argue with me, Ana. I'm not in the mood. I heard her yelling. I take it this is a good sign."

  "Danni's got her in the bath and they're fighting like a pair of cats. So, yes. I'd say it's a good sign."

  As he piled sheets and pillowcases into the washer, he watched Ana pour detergent and fabric softer into the dispenser and turn the dial to the correct setting.

  "I've tried to contact her parents. No luck. I don't know what to do," he admitted.

  Ana's mouth was hard as she nodded and led the way back to the kitchen-dining-sitting area. She filled the kettle and switched it on before turning to bean him with a dark look.

  "We need to break her."

  Sean blinked. "I don't understand."

  "We've tried sympathy and that didn't work. We've tried understanding and everything else over the years and they didn't work either. So it's time to bring out the big guns."

  "I wish I knew how to fix it."

  "You're dealing with a deep-seated guilt over something she feels responsible for. Personally, I blame her parents for the whole sorry mess. A mess which has been a dark cloud hovering over T.C. for far too long. She needs to let it go. Don't get me wrong. We're entitled to our own feelings. We all live with different levels of regret. But she cannot let it go. She knows it. Danni and I know it. You know it."

  "Don't you think she's had a tough enough time with losing the baby?"

  "Of course! But if we don't do something she'll just internalize that loss, too, because that's how she rolls."

  Sean opened his mouth, but before he could articulate a sound, Danni shot into the room in bare feet. Her face was flushed and her jeans and T-shirt soaked. She skidded to a halt.

  "The eagle has landed. She's crying and beating the crap out of an innocent pillow."

  Ana rubbed her hands. "Okay. Showtime."

  Kneeling on the bed, Ana held a sobbing T.C. in her arms and rocked her like a baby, letting her own tears flow freely.

  She hoped to hell she was doing the right thing. "I want you to stop beating yourself up like this, T.C."

  A teary looking Danni and very pale Sean sat on the edge of the bed and simply watched the scene.

  Ana guessed that at some point T.C. would run out of steam.

  She told herself to have patience and wait.

  They didn't have to wait long.

  Wet hair piled in a messy knot on top of her head and dressed in black yoga pants and matching oversized sweatshirt, T.C. swiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand and hugged the battered pillow close.

  She closed her eyes.

  Her shoulders drooped.

  She heaved a deep sigh.

  At last, her emotions were utterly spent.

  Ana, heart breaking for a misery her friend could not, cannot, will not, escape, stroked T.C.'s arm.

  "You need help, babe. Help that is long overdue. You need to talk to a professional to help you think clearly, to help you see..."

  T.C.'s mouth went hard as she shook her head and refused to listen. "It won't change anything. This argument is getting old."

  "No. But it might change how you're not dealing with it."

  "Okay. I'll give the shrink a call," T.C. said, her voice hoarse.

  Ana recognized a lie when she heard one and this time she wasn't going to let it go. "Why don't I drive you?"

  T.C. lifted her head, opened her mouth, caught the look in Ana's eye and closed it.

  "Okay. But I can't see how talking to a stranger is going to change things. This—me losing my baby—it's Karma, isn't it?"

  Ana didn't blink. "No. But the problem is that you believe it is."

  She let that statement sink in.

  T.C. heaved a great shuddering breath. "Do you really think this stranger can help me?"

  "She might. What have you got to lose?"

  "Nothing."

  "There you go. I'll phone and make an appointment."

  T.C dropped her head to study her fingers pluck-pluck-plucking at the white cotton of the pillowcase.

  "'Kay."

  As they left T.C. with Sean, Ana knew they weren't out of the woods yet.

  But at least T.C. had taken the first step to wellness.

  She hoped.

  Deep in her heart Ana also knew that Sean Kennedy needed all the luck he could get in dealing with T.C.

  Poor man.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  T.C. couldn't believe she'd been able to talk from the heart to a strange woman, who looked for all the world like Nanny McPhee without the wart and big nose. She sounded like her, too, which seemed to help.

  "It's supposed to be a happy time, but I hate summer," T.C. said, as the random thought entered her mind.

  "You've told me a lot about Harry. I suspect he adored building sand castles and paddling the waves."

  T.C. nodded as her mouth curved with a sudden happy memory. "He loved splashing me. The little shit."

  She'd no idea a single tear ran down her cheek.

  "Grief is a wound like any other and it takes time to heal. If you broke a leg and it was a complicated fracture, you wouldn't expect it to heal in a couple of weeks. Internal healing of a physical wound may take a long convalescence, which is comprehensible and easy to understand. It is the same with grieving a loss of a loved one. You need to emotionally convalesce."

  "I haven't done that, have I?"

  "Sometimes we become stuck and sometimes depressed and we think that is normal grief, when in fact it has turned into complicated emotions or clinical depression. We don't reach out for help and the emotions and depression can worsen. I am here to help you process those emotions and to help you decide if you need medication."

  "I medicate myself with wine and random sex."

  "How does it make you feel?"

  T.C.'s eyes filled. "Like shit."

  "You mention summertime. Frequently, when we think we have a handle on life, we hit a grief bump, which appear at the time of year a loss happened or on a special event like a birthday. And those tim
es can bring back the pain as if it were new."

  "I don't know how to deal with it."

  "Anniversaries of the one we've lost are often sad days. Make a little time to commemorate Harry. Have a conversation with him. Perhaps place a candle or flowers near a photograph. Share how you're feeling with trusted loved ones. Reduce your stress. Simplify and change your traditions."

  T.C.'s heartbeat was a pulsing thump behind her breastbone.

  Tears stung her nose, were an acrid sting at the back of her throat. "I want my baby back."

  "Of course you do. You don't have to pretend to be strong. At the moment you're feeling overwhelmed and exhausted, both from your physical reaction to the loss of the baby and from the stress of the anniversary of the loss of Harry. As much as possible, keep to a routine. Get to bed early and take naps."

  "My friends are awesome."

  "Try and imagine Harry being present in spirit with your friends. How would he have interacted with them and appreciate and love each of them."

  "He'd adore them. He'd adore Sean, too."

  "Be patient and kind to yourself. Grief takes us up and down. Let your journey to wellness be what it is."

  Sean sat in his car waiting for T.C. to finish her third therapy session.

  To be honest, he wasn't sure if they were doing her much good or not.

  She'd stopped with the F-bombs. Not that he cared a damn about those.

  This week, she'd dropped her regular afternoon nap, although she still went to bed early.

  He was determined not to put her under any more pressure.

  Therefore, they hadn't discussed their relationship or where it was going, but she'd been content to let him hold her through the night. And for that he was eternally grateful.

  Each session always left her emotionally and physically drained and pale.

  He'd taken to tip-toeing around her and speaking in soft tones as if waiting for another shoe to fall, but nothing had erupted and he'd been careful to say nothing to upset her or make her break.

  Recently, he'd begun to wonder how long he could cope with things the way they were between them. He told himself to man up and put her needs first.

  When she slid into the passenger seat, she looked pale but not upset.

  No teary eyes.

  Thank God.

  She turned to him and her mouth curved. "I don't feel like going home. Can we go for a coffee?"

  Well now, this was a change for the better.

  Delighted with her, he smiled. "Sure. The park café or something swanky?"

  "The park's fine."

  As Sean steered his shiny black BMW out of the car park, he glanced over to find her staring out the passenger window. Today she wore her blonde hair loose, just the way he liked it. Her black skinny jeans and matching leather flats made her sensational legs appear endless. The sleeveless shirt was the exact color of her eyes. To him, even without makeup, she looked absolutely stunning.

  When she reached out and took his hand as they strolled down the cobbled path to the café, he felt something deep inside, a sort of tension mixed with worry, settle. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. She squeezed his back. A simple gesture that made him feel as if he was walking on air.

  Since the weather was behaving itself, they took a seat outside to people watch.

  "I'll have a hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows," she told the young waitress.

  Sean had to laugh. "I'll have the same, thanks."

  "I'm hungry," she told him by way of an explanation.

  "Did I say a word?"

  "No. But your face did."

  "Nothing I can do about my face. I've had it all my life."

  Her mouth twitched. "You have a sort of tough, raw, manly face. I like your face."

  He wiggled his brows. "I like your face, too."

  Hers went serious as her blue gaze stayed steady on his. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome. What did I do?"

  "You didn't give up on me."

  He took her hand, brought it to his lips to press a gentle kiss on her knuckles. "Never."

  "You're incredibly stubborn."

  "Persistent."

  "That, too."

  His eyes popped when their hot chocolate arrived in a huge clear glass cup with two handles. "There must be three thousand calories in this."

  As she dug into hers, she grinned, and the old T.C. was back in her eyes. "At the very least."

  Sean decided this might be the right time to bring up a plan.

  "Nico phoned me this morning. He's taking Bronte and the kids to Lake Como to spend time with Tonio and his uncle Gregorio Ancelotti. He'd like me to come along to head their personal protection team. Pete's doing a great job with Ana."

  Her eyes grew wide with a disappointment that was clear to see. "Oh, okay. When do you leave?"

  He took her hand. "I don't intend on going alone. Nico wondered if you'd like to come along and be company for Bronte. He's planning two, maybe three weeks. What do you think?"

  She smiled. "I'd love to come."

  He nodded and kept his gaze on hers. "I thought we could both do with the break and a change of scene."

  Then he reached over the table to take her hand, his thumb gently stroking her silky skin.

  "You have lovely long fingers."

  Her mouth twitched. "Why, thank you. I've had them all my life."

  "You don't wear rings."

  She blinked. "Well, no. They tend to bug me."

  He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the ring finger of her left hand.

  "I think this finger deserves a ring. What do you think?”

  The long silence as she stared into his eyes as if catatonic began to scare him.

  "Are you asking me to marry you?" she whispered, shock clear in her vivid eyes.

  "I'm asking you to think about promising yourself to me. I want everything with you. But I'm not going to pressure you into an answer right this minute—"

  She sat up. "You mean to say you're talking to me about rings, but you don't have a ring hidden about your person right now?"

  "Actually, I might have a ring hidden about my person."

  Her eyes lit up and went wide.

  She thrust out her left hand. "Gimme."

  And just like that, the old T.C. was back.

  Around them, the tables went quiet and all conversation ceased.

  Someone whispered, Aww.

  Just to torture them both, he patted his jacket pockets until he found the small leather box and placed it on the table.

  Instead of diving into it, she pressed her fingers to her mouth and simply stared at the box.

  "Want me to open it for you?"

  Big blue eyes filled with anxiety and hope met his and she nodded.

  He flicked open the lid and her eyes popped.

  The ring was a sliver of rose gold with a tiny but flawless peach diamond drop.

  "If you don't like it—"

  She placed a finger on his mouth.

  "Oh, Sean. I just love it."

  He slipped it on the ring finger of her left hand.

  A perfect fit.

  His heart was pounding like a road drill.

  "Will you marry me, Theresa, my darlin'?"

  Her eyes glistening with happy tears, T.C. nodded and then she was in his arms and his mouth was on hers.

  The roar from the tables had T.C. laughing so hard, she couldn't kiss him.

  She buried her face in his neck. "Omigod, Sean. I forgot we had an audience."

  "We've made their day."

  She lifted her face to his in a silent invitation to kiss her again.

  He didn't need to be asked twice.

  "You've made mine," she said and put his mouth to hers to prove it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  "I love Italy!"

  Bronte Ferranti turned to grin at the girl wearing a skimpy red bikini lazing on the sun lounger next to her.

  Seven days in the clean air of
Lake Como had given T.C. her color back.

  At the moment she was happily admiring her engagement ring.

  Again.

  "It's a gorgeous ring," Bronte told her for the hundredth time.

  T.C. turned to beam at her. "I know. It's not a knuckle dragger like some people's I could mention. I bet Danni gave him pointers. Ana could care less about jewellery."

  "How are you feeling in yourself?"

  The smile slid from her face, but her blue gaze was clear of hurt. "A lot better. Thank you for being there."

  Bronte leaned over to rub T.C.'s arm. "I love having you here. And Sean is crazy about you."

  A glint of sheer mischief entered T.C.'s eyes. "I know. I'm so lucky to have him in my life. When I first met him I couldn't stand him. I thought he was a muscle bound dimwit Neanderthal."

  Bronte had to laugh. "He's anything but."

  "Yeah. Well, I know that now, but at the time I just wanted to kick him in the nuts."

  "That's a man for you. We either adore them or want to kill them."

  "It's weird how they can do that to us. One minute I want to hug him or the next I want to hit him over the head with a blunt instrument. There's no middle ground."

  Roars of delighted male laughter came from two sailing boats on the mirror like water of Lake Como.

  T.C. propped up on an elbow and used her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. "The kids are having fun. As are the big kids with them."

  Dressed in cool kaftan split to the thigh, Bronte had to laugh. "If Gregorio does another bum boogie he'll tip the boat."

  "Sean's just as bad. They're all over-competitive."

  "They like to be on the winning side alright."

  A murmur from the travel cot set beneath a sunshade had Bronte bend to lift her youngest daughter, Eve. She held her high to sniff her diaper. "Nice and clean."

  T.C. shifted to swing her legs to the grass. "Can I hold her?"

  Bronte popped a sunhat on the toddler's head and handed her over. "Please." She rummaged in a huge padded bag and produced a bottle of milk and handed that over, too.

  On her lap, T.C. snuggled a pink-cheeked little cherub.

  Eve gripped her bottle and blinked up into T.C.'s face like a drowsy baby owl.

  "You are so cute."