“So you want to trust me?”
She met his gaze. “I didn’t say that.”
He took a step back, his tongue pushing against his cheek, his eyes focusing somewhere above the roof.
He would be angry now, his voice raised, his words blaming her.
But when he spoke, his tone was flat. “Are you coming? On Friday?”
Wouldn’t this feel good. “No.”
He shrugged immediately, as if he’d known she’d never say yes. “Then I’ll take someone else.”
He disappeared around the corner of the house.
Meg stood in the faint light and waited for the good feeling to come.
Waited.
Waited.
After several more seconds, she gave up. She walked inside her quiet, empty kitchen and closed and locked the door behind her.
The faint sound of the running shower met her.
She leaned against her door, wrapped her arms around herself, and closed her eyes. Why did she feel like she’d lost when she’d been so certain she had won?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Midnight passed before Mike calmed down. He lay in bed and stared at the tray ceiling, replaying the evening.
Tonight he hadn’t felt anger but something he couldn’t yet name. Yes, going to her church had upset her, and, yes, they’d experienced friction, but she’d softened so much in the past week. How many times had she laughed while he played with Terrell and listened while he talked about mundane, everyday things?
And tonight kissed him back.
Mixed signals—that didn’t begin to describe what she was doing.
He rolled onto his side and studied the picture on his nightstand. He and Meg stood in front of the dugout, he in workout shirt and shorts, his arm around her shoulder and his glove dangling from his other hand. Meg’s arms circled his waist, and she laughed at the camera, at a joke someone had cracked. He’d found the picture when he moved into the house over a year ago, but he hadn’t set it out until Sara left.
Sara…
With a disgusted snort, he turned onto his back. He couldn’t believe he’d called her.
They had talked awkwardly for a minute before Mike asked her to attend Friday’s fundraiser with him. She said yes. They hung up.
Mike hadn’t been home five minutes.
“Why did I call her?” He covered his face with the crook of his arm. He didn’t want to go with Sara. He didn’t want to go with anyone but Meg. The right thing to do would be to call Sara back and cancel.
And the right thing for Meg to do would be to forgive him.
Since that didn’t seem to be happening any time this millennium, who cared whom he took to the fundraiser?
He blew out a breath and propped his head on his hands, fought against the tightness in his throat. That’s what he felt—pain. Hurt. How he wished there was some way to make Meg forget, some way to tear down this wall she’d built.
How else could he get rid of the pain and guilt of what he’d done?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Meg could not forget Mike’s kiss.
Although the next four days were slow and quiet without him, Meg’s skin warmed each time she relived him asking her to be his date and kissing her.
More than once she reminded herself that saying yes would have given him the wrong impression. He would think their past forgiven and forgotten, and there would be more drop-ins, more dinner reservations, more Mike.
Still, the kiss replayed itself.
As she and Terrell watched Friday afternoon’s Wind game, she tried not to wonder about Mike’s plans. Maybe he’d said he’d take someone else out of anger.
But what if he’d meant it?
What kind of a woman would catch his attention? Some celebrity he’d been introduced to? A pretty fan who’d asked for an autograph? Or worse, one of those women who hung out in the lobby of the team’s hotel?
But she didn’t care. Right? She’d told him no. Let him take someone else.
And good luck to the unfortunate woman.
But the thickness in her throat refused to leave. Meg ate little at dinner, opting instead for popcorn after Terrell was in bed.
She added extra butter to drown her misery and carried the bowl into the family room, where she curled up in front of the news, ready to let the problems of the world minimize her frustrations.
Her plan worked. Meg munched popcorn as she listened to the latest on the Middle East, the flooding in Texas, and the twin gorillas born at Brookfield Zoo.
Terrell would have loved that one.
The broadcast was half over when coverage changed to the evening’s charity event.
Great—just when she’d forgotten, a reminder. She should have realized the event might make the news.
While the blonde anchorwoman talked, footage rolled of Chicago celebrities milling in a packed chandelier-lit lobby. The mayor and his wife, the governor talking with an aging Chicago-born actress, a tuxedo-clad Mike navigating the crowd with a tall, dark-haired woman—
Meg sat up.
The woman’s hair was pulled back in a French twist, her indigo gown reflected in her eyes. But worse than her sophisticated looks was the fact that Mike enveloped her slim hand in his.
They looked perfect together. He, the handsome baseball star, and she, the beautiful whatever-she-was. How could he? Was Mike so shallow that he could jump from one woman to another in four days? How dare he!
Tears stung her eyes, and she flung her handful of popcorn at the television. The kernels pinged against the screen, one leaving a buttery smudge, before falling soundlessly to the carpet. To think that she’d actually started to believe he was sorry—
“Mommy?” Terrell stared at her from the doorway.
“Why are you up?” She jumped from her chair, flicking the television off before snatching tell-tale kernels from the floor. How much had he seen? She tossed the kernels into the trash can beside the desk, her appetite gone. “What do you want?”
“I’m thirsty.” He looked from the silent television to her. “Why did you throw popcorn?”
“I don’t know.” She pressed her hand to her forehead, too weary to make up a story. “Let’s get you some water.”
“Can I have popcorn too?”
“Why not?”
In the kitchen she turned on the light. Terrell hopped onto a chair and dug his hand into the popcorn bowl. “Did you and Daddy fight?” he asked before stuffing his mouth.
“What makes you think we had a fight?”
“He didn’t come over like he said he would.”
She set a glass of water in front of him. “He said he might stop by.”
“But now he’s with another lady on TV.”
So he’d seen it. Her heart sank, and she reached for his hand. His fingers were coated with butter, but she squeezed them, anyway. “Terrell, your dad and I don’t agree on everything. But that doesn’t mean you won’t see him.”
“What about that lady?”
“She’s a friend of your dad’s.”
“Oh.” Terrell scowled at his water. “I don’t like him having other girls for friends.”
Neither did she.
“What’s her name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can I ask him?”
“If you want.” She fought back the urge to have him pass on the information. What good would knowing do? “Finish your water, Terrell. You need to get to sleep.”
“Is Daddy still coming to my graduation?”
“He said he’d be there.”
“And I can talk to him then?”
Someone in this house probably should. Meg gave him her best fake smile. “Talk to him all you want.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Saturday arrived via steam bath. Approaching thunderstorms raised humidity levels, and the sun radiated until the temperature passed ninety degrees. En route to Terrell’s graduation, Mike turned the AC on full blast.
The past
three days had been lonely and miserable, Friday night being the worst. He’d picked up Sara at the last possible second and spent the twenty-minute drive trying to sound interested in her conversation. What had he seen in her, other than another attractive shot at forgetting Meg?
Conversation around their table kept them from private moments. And each time he found himself alone with Sara, someone stopped to talk to him. Mike welcomed each interruption, drawing them out as long as possible.
By evening’s end, his jaw ached from endless smiles and forced laughter, but when he parked in front of Sara’s home, he had to fight back the urge to grin as he announced their arrival.
She asked him to come in.
He said no.
Never again would he see Sarah—or any other woman. Maybe he hadn’t made much progress in his Win-Meg-Over campaign, but she had kissed him back. Some kind of feeling still lived inside her.
And a whole lot of feelings for her, despite her coldness, still burned in him.
He’d hold onto the few, memorable seconds of that kiss.
In a week and a half he’d be back from his road trip, and with school out, he’d take advantage of the mornings. Maybe he’d even go back to that church with her. It hadn’t been too bad. The Father, reverend, whatever, had read from somewhere near the back of the Bible about a guy—Paul, was it?—who’d talked about what a horrible person he’d been. Despite his claim to be a murderer, he didn’t seem to suffer guilt.
How had he gotten rid of that load?
Mike pulled into the school’s lot with three minutes to spare. He parked, locked his Range Rover, and jogged to the entrance where Meg had promised to meet him.
The school lobby appeared empty.
No, there she was—standing far to the right, arms crossed as she waited, her lips firm.
Well. Didn’t look like she’d softened toward him at all. He forced a carefree smile. “Are we in the front row?”
“Close enough.” She turned for the gymnasium door, not waiting for him.
Mike stretched his steps to catch up. No wonder she wasn’t dating anybody. Who could get close?
She led the way to two empty seats on the aisle. Clark and Jill were already sitting beside the seats, and Mike nodded in their direction, glad he’d chosen to arrive at the last moment. Already whispers buzzed through the crowd. Arriving would probably prove much simpler than leaving.
When the program ended, Terrell ran straight for Mike. “I’m glad you came,” he said, arms tight around Mike’s waist. “You’re staying for lunch, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
For whatever reason, Terrell looked relieved.
Meg left to start Terrell’s graduation dinner. Clark and Jill said their goodbyes too, explaining that a church emergency had come up and they would not be eating at Meg’s.
Mike tried to look sorry. Now he could figure out what had her so ticked off.
It couldn’t be that kiss.
Terrell dragged Mike around to meet his friends, which translated into meeting parents too. Mike signed autographs and posed for way too many pictures, his smile painful again.
Finally they escaped. Terrell jabbered away from his seat behind Mike in the Range Rover, and Mike contented himself to listen to this little boy who, miraculously, belonged to him.
Mike pulled into Meg’s drive, and he and Terrell entered the kitchen through the back door, near where Meg stood at the peninsula, shredding lettuce as if it had offended her.
He waited for her to look up, but she didn’t.
Great.
Terrell snatched a piece of lettuce from the cutting board. “Nachos are my favorite,” he said. Meg flicked his hand, and he grinned at her as he chewed the lettuce. “Mom made them special because today’s a special occasion. Right, Mommy?”
She favored Terrell with a smile. “You only graduate from kindergarten once.”
Mike eyed the food spread across the counter—black olives, shredded cheese, guacamole, sour cream, diced tomatoes, green onions, even his favorite, jalapenos. His stomach rumbled at the smells. “Looks good,” he translated.
Meg said nothing.
Well. Good thing he had to leave for the ballpark in less than an hour.
“Mommy, are we eating in the dining room?” Terrell turned to Mike. “Mom says that’s for special occasions too.”
He glanced at the kitchen table, already set. “I can move things, Meg.”
“No. Thank you. I’ll do it.” She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and walked by without looking at him. “You stay with the graduate.”
Happy to. ’Cause the graduate was tons more likable than his mother right now.
Terrell offered him a tortilla chip, and while Mike ate it and listened to Terrell’s chatter, Meg smoothed a tablecloth over the rustic table. Mike took in the palest green walls above white wainscoting, the fireplace, antique sideboard, and a rectangular chandelier that was all bling.
Nice.
How would she decorate his downtown condo? Or his ginormous, empty place in the suburbs?
Meg worked fast, and in moments they sat in the dining room, passing nacho toppings. Once they filled their plates, though, silence reigned.
Mike tried to come up with some conversation, but Meg’s coldness chased his words away and flamed his own irritation.
Even Terrell noticed the tension.
What a bust this party had turned out to be.
When they’d finished, Meg carried plates to the kitchen, again rejecting Mike’s offer to help. “I can take care of it myself,” she told him.
Good. Let her.
“Mom made me a cake,” Terrell said while Meg banged dessert plates in the kitchen. “My favorite. Chocolate with lots and lots of frosting. And a million colored sprinkles.”
“A million, huh?” Mike glanced into the kitchen where Meg seemed to be slicing the cake as if it were him. Enough of the pretending. Maybe Terrell knew something. “I think your mom’s mad at me,” he whispered.
Terrell nodded. “Yeah. She threw popcorn at you.”
“Popcorn?”
“Last night, when you were on TV with that lady. She threw popcorn at you.”
“Oh.” Mike coughed, hiding a smile behind his fist. So he and Sara had made the news.
Meg was jealous.
“Are you going to marry her?” Terrell asked.
“Who?”
“That lady. You were holding her hand.”
His smile froze. That had been on TV? He’d offered Sara his arm on their way through the packed entry, and she’d slid her hand down to his. She’d been the one holding his hand, and it had lasted only seconds. After that, he’d let her forge her own way through the crowd.
“Well, are you?”
He couldn’t believe they’d chosen those few seconds to play. “No, Terrell. She’s just someone I know.” No wonder Meg wouldn’t look at him. “She held my hand so she could get through the crowd. It’s called being polite.”
Meg would never believe him.
“Then you don’t like her?”
He leaned over the table, his voice low. “Not at all.”
“But you like my mom, right?”
Meg’s footsteps sounded. Mike winked at Terrell and gave him a thumbs-up. At least one person in this house knew what was going on.
Meg placed large triangles of cake, half of it sprinkle-covered frosting, before them. Terrell devoured his and begged for another piece. Meg agreed, blaming her leniency on the special day, but Mike knew better. With Terrell at the table, there would be no chance for the two of them to talk.
When the cake was gone and Meg was back in the kitchen, Mike sent Terrell outside with a promise to join him soon. He carried their forks and plates to the sink, where Meg rinsed dishes.
She glanced over her shoulder at him, face pinched. “Go outside with Terrell,” she said, scrubbing a plate harder than seemed necessary. “I’ll clean up.”
“I told him I’d be out i
n a bit.” Mike set the dishes next to the sink. He leaned backward against the counter. “I missed you last night.”
She kept quiet, intent on the dirty dishes.
“They put me at a table with some Bears players. Nice guys. Big, though. The mayor was at the next table over. My friend Travis got stuck with a bunch of highbrows, but knowing him, he probably enjoyed it.”
She dropped silverware into the water, the clatter a slap to his dying patience.
“Felt like I talked to everybody there. People stopped by my table all night.” He gave her a sideways glance, but she didn’t seem to be listening. “Of course, I would have told them to get lost if you’d been there.”
Still no reaction.
“You can’t be mad at me for this, Meg. I wanted to take you. It stunk going with someone else.”
“Didn’t look like it,” she snapped.
This woman… “I paid for two tickets. I had to take someone. So stop making judgments based on what you think you’ve seen.”
She faced him, her jaw clenched, anger blazing in her eyes. “What I think I’ve seen? What about what I know happened?”
“I’m not talking about the past, Meg! I’m talking about last night. You saw… what? Half a second of us with our hands together? I wasn’t holding her hand. She held mine, and I got out of it as fast as I could.”
This wasn’t worth it. This was not worth it. If only he liked Sara; then he’d call her back like she wanted.
But he didn’t like her.
Not that he liked Meg at the moment, either. He bit down on his tongue and forced himself to stay. To wait for her to speak.
She rinsed one dish after another, the dishwasher slowly filling.
She was gonna drive him crazy.
He leaned back to catch her eye and force her to acknowledge him.
Her cheeks looked damp.
“Are you crying?”
“No.” She swiped her cheeks with her wrist. “I splashed water on my face.”
He’d never meant to hurt her. At least, not this time. Why were they suddenly so bad for each other? “Meg, you can’t jump to conclusions.” He reached for her shoulder.
She backed away, sudsy hands in front of her. “Don’t touch me,” she spat, tear tracks continuing down her face.
Homestands (Chicago Wind #1) Page 12