Homestands (Chicago Wind #1)

by Sally Bradley

  On Thursday morning, his long cast was removed and replaced with a short one. Most of his forearm was still encased, but with his elbow exposed, he could begin rehabbing that joint, regaining strength and movement there before the rest of the cast came off in three weeks. Carter wasted no time working the elbow muscles, and before Mike left for Meg’s house, he downed a few Advil, praying it’d take the edge off.

  Rehab stunk.

  The medicine had yet to help by the time he pulled into Meg’s drive. He walked to her back door, studying the distant western sky where gray clouds massed. The predicted storm was on its way.

  Through her screen door, he could see Meg seated at the kitchen table, papers spread around her, head bent low and her hair about to drag a magazine clipping to the floor.

  At his knock, she jumped, the clipping beginning its lazy freefall.

  She sighed when she saw him. “I thought you weren’t coming till later.”

  Oh no, the pleasure was all his. He swallowed his irritation while she let him in. “The weather’s so nice I thought we should enjoy it.” He forced a smile. “How about a couple of hours at the lake?”

  “Lake Michigan?” She looked at him as if he was crazy. “It’s supposed to storm.”

  “Yeah, but for now it’s nice, and I want a break.”

  She picked up the clipping. “Fine. But you’ve got to keep Terrell busy tonight. I have to finish this layout.”

  “Is that for the Ashburns?”

  “No. You’ll keep him busy?”

  He gritted his teeth at her brusqueness. “Whatever you want, Meg.”

  She took his sarcasm at face value and disappeared into the foyer. She called up the stairs and moments later returned with Terrell tripping on her heels.

  “Hi, Dad,” Terrell called, flinging himself against Mike’s legs.

  Mike wrapped his good arm around Terrell’s chest and tipped him up over his shoulder.

  Terrell squealed and pounded his back.

  Now here was a welcome.

  “Where’s your sling?” Terrell asked once his feet were back on the floor. “And your cast. Did you get a new one?”

  “Yep. Got it this morning.” Mike squatted so Terrell could reach it easily. “I’ll keep getting a new one every few days until I’m better.”

  “How come?”

  “Because I’m working out a lot, and all that sweat stays in the cast since I can’t clean my arm. Gets kinda raunchy.”

  Terrell’s jaw dropped. “You don’t have to take a bath?”

  “Terrell, I shower a few times a day.”

  “Oh.” His face fell. “That’s a bummer, huh?”

  “It’s real rough.”

  Terrell ran his hand up and down the blue cast. “Why is this cast smaller?”

  “So I can exercise my elbow. They took an X-ray of my arm and saw that I’d healed enough for me to start moving my arm.”

  “When do you start rehab?” Meg asked.

  He looked up, allowing himself to find concern on her face. “Already did. Carter said we were starting light, but he lied.”

  “Are you all right? Terrell, stop that.” She flicked Terrell’s hand from Mike’s upper arm, where his fingers rubbed Mike’s skin.

  “That’s fine. My arms look different, don’t they?”

  “This one’s thinner.”

  “That’s because it’s been lazy. Now I have to make it work so my arms match and I don’t look like a freak.”

  Terrell laughed. “You’re a freak.”

  Mike grinned. “No. You’re a freak.”

  “No, you are.” Terrell poked his chest. “You’re the freak.”

  “Hey, dude. You’re the freak.”

  Terrell’s laugh drowned out Meg’s groan.

  Within minutes, they were in the Range Rover. Mike backed out of Meg’s drive and started east. Dark clouds built in his rearview mirror, and through his open window Mike felt the breeze increase. They’d be lucky to have an hour at the lake, but he’d take it.

  He wove around light traffic on the highway and through the forest of downtown skyscrapers until they opened up to Grant Park. He turned south on Lake Shore Drive and drove toward one of the quieter beaches, praying it would be even emptier with the coming storm.

  It was.

  As they stepped from the Range Rover, the wind whipped Meg’s hair. She pulled a ponytail holder from her wrist and secured her hair in a casual knot. A handful of shorter strands escaped, flinging themselves toward her emotionless face.

  What on earth was the woman thinking?

  Terrell raced across the beach, a purple Frisbee in one hand.

  Mike put on dark sunglasses and an old John Deere hat that Meg’s father had given him years ago as a joke. Between the hat and the sunglasses, no one should give him a second look.

  “Dad! Catch!”

  Terrell launched the Frisbee toward Mike, but the wind caught it and pulled it toward the water. Mike sprinted after it. Between Terrell’s skill level and the wind, he’d get another workout.

  Mike picked up the Frisbee and flipped it at Terrell before glancing up the beach.

  Meg sat on a beige blanket, arms wrapped around her legs. She stared straight ahead.

  Mike followed her gaze. Nothing but water.

  “Dad!” Terrell hollered.

  Mike looked back to find the Frisbee magically on course. It caught an updraft, and he leaped and nabbed it with his fingertips, pulling it in to his palm.

  Terrell whooped and applauded.

  Meg woke from her trance to glance their way.

  This time he purposely tossed the Frisbee beyond Terrell, and while Terrell chased it down, Mike watched her. He couldn’t leave her sitting alone, not when her depression was partly his fault. He had to fix it. “What do I say?” he asked, then frowned when he realized whom he’d turned to.

  Why not? None of his own ideas worked.

  What do I do, God?

  Last Sunday he’d discovered the concordance in the back of his Bible and searched it for verses dealing with husbands and wives. A handful pointed out what he should have done the first time around. One verse even said a man was to love his wife as Christ loved the church, which had been to the point of dying for it. Having to die for Meg was unlikely. But loving her selflessly, serving and protecting her—he was willing to try.

  The Frisbee crashed yards to his left. Mike jogged to it and dusted it off. “God, I’m sorry.”

  The simple words weren’t enough. Was God even listening?

  I didn’t know what would happen. I didn’t know how much I would hurt Meg and Terrell and myself. Help me.

  Please.

  By the time Terrell tired of the Frisbee, dark clouds hovered behind the downtown skyline. Terrell decided to build a sand fort, and Mike walked to Meg, the sand dry between his toes. She didn’t move, and with sunglasses covering her eyes, he couldn’t tell where she was looking or what mood she was in.

  Although he could probably guess.

  He sank down beside her and tossed his hat and sunglasses at his feet. “How are you?”

  “Fine.” She nodded at the hat. “That’s not—”

  “The hat from your dad. Comes in handy. People here don’t pay attention to anyone wearing John Deere hats.”

  She nudged it with her flip-flop. “Looks like you’ve used it a lot.”

  “That, and it’s how many years old?”

  He left silence for her to fill, but she kept her face on Terrell and the water.

  “Meg.” He leaned back on his elbow, waiting until she turned her head. “How long has it been since your parents—since the accident?”

  “Four years in November.”

  “How often do you visit the farm?”

  “Never. I sold it.”

  She’d sold it? She loved that farm. In Texas, she’d talked about it so much that he’d used it as one of his excuses when he left her—he wanted someone who appreciated civilization, not the smell of manure
or a stroll through cornfields. “Who bought it?”

  “I don’t remember. I had a lawyer out there deal with it.”

  “You didn’t go yourself?”

  She pulled in a deep breath. “I didn’t want someone we both knew to see me.”

  Her words punched him. She’d been alone for six years because of him. She’d sold her childhood home because of him. What else had she endured? Because of him?

  He didn’t want to think about the damage his actions had caused her, but now he couldn’t stop. What he’d thought would be an innocent flirtation had destroyed her marriage, kept her from her family, forced her to carry the weight of single parenthood, and left her leery of him and men in general. Guilt stacked on top of guilt, and the weight seemed as real as the weights he’d used that morning.

  He had to do something.

  He sat up. “Meg, I’m sorry about last week.”

  A long chunk of hair fell from the top of her head and flapped in the wind.

  “I assumed you knew I’d dated other women—”

  Her head whipped in his direction. “You want to talk about it? Didn’t you say a few weeks ago that you wanted to tell me everything?” She held out her palm. “Spill away. I’m ready.”

  No, she wasn’t. She’d never be ready.

  “Go ahead. Tell me what life’s been like. Tell me how much fun it was.”

  “It wasn’t.” His voice was hoarse, and though he cleared his throat, nothing changed. He rested his arms and forehead on his knees. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I don’t care, Mike. You owe me the truth.”

  She’d hate the truth.

  “I want to know if you ever remarried.”

  That wasn’t a question he’d expected. “No.”

  “Did you come close?”

  She was digging deep. Resignation settled over him. “Yes.”

  A wind gust swept the beach.

  Mike closed his eyes too late.

  “What happened?”

  He blinked repeatedly, his eyes watering at the grains of sand lodged there. He’d willingly rub handfuls of the stuff in his eyes if she’d stop asking questions. “She broke it off.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “I don’t care what you want!” She faced him again. “You never told me why you left, and I want to know. I’ve lived all these years thinking I was a failure somehow. I don’t care how much I’ll be hurt. I want the truth.”

  She was right. He couldn’t leave her guessing. “Fine.” His agreement lodged in his throat. “Ask your questions.”

  “Where did you meet Brooke?”

  He covered his head with his hands and spoke to his knees. “At a bar during spring training. You were back in Texas.”

  She seemed to ignore his last sentence. “Why her?”

  “You want the truth, Meg? No matter what?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was lonely. She paid attention.”

  He waited for a reaction—anger that he’d blame her or denial that she’d neglected him—but none came.

  Only the wind reacted, a gust whipping his shirt against his back.

  “When did it end?”

  “March, I think.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she found someone else. From what I’ve heard, she’s made a living off dating professional athletes. I was the first.”

  “What about the one you almost married?”

  He gritted his teeth, hating the direction of her questions. “What about her?”

  “How did you meet her?”

  “During my last rehab.”

  She turned her head to him, but Mike could see nothing behind the glasses. He resisted the urge to pull them off.

  “Are you sorry you’re not with her?” she asked.

  “No.”

  She kept her face to his, obviously waiting for more, but he kept silent. She was asking the questions. He wouldn’t volunteer anything.

  “Why not?”

  “Why not what?”

  Her mouth tightened. “Why don’t you regret that breakup?”

  “Because we weren’t right for each other.”

  She looked back at the lake. Swallowed once, twice. When she looked down at her legs and rubbed her hands on her shorts, it signaled some disastrous question was coming. He licked his lips, blurting whatever came to mind. “Do you know I can still picture the first time I saw you?”

  She pulled the elastic from her hair and busied herself finger-combing her hair.

  “I saw you the second you walked into biology class. You walked across the room and up the aisle and sat right in front of me.”

  “It was the only seat left.”

  “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.” He touched the hair ponytailed in her hands, ignoring how she leaned away, elbows out to ward him off. “Your hair was so long, so pretty. You had some fake, hot-pink flower pinned in your hair. The way you walked, the way you held yourself—I never thought I’d get someone like you to notice me.”

  “I wish I hadn’t.”

  Her words closed his eyes. She was sorry she’d married him.

  He was sorry he’d let her go.

  “Mike, how many—how many women?”

  His fingers clenched. “Aww, Meg.”

  “I want to know. How many?”

  Didn’t she understand all of that was over? He toyed with his thumb, tugging at a hangnail until it bled. The pain gave him a mental excuse for the moisture in his eyes. “Not—it’s not like you think.”

  “How many?”

  “Not that many.”

  She gave a soft laugh. “That’s relative, isn’t it?”

  He couldn’t look at her. He wiped the blood across his knee and stared at the water crashing against the dark sand. “After Brooke, there were five.”

  “Five,” she repeated. “So six total.”

  Six. He nodded, unable to speak. Such a small number—Will would laugh—yet it sickened him.

  She heaved a sigh. “I guess… considering—I mean, all week I’ve wondered…”

  Blood pooled along his thumbnail and skin. He watched the blood turn at the base. Whatever wrath she unleashed was less than he deserved. He tilted his thumb and watched blood slide beneath his nail.

  “For all I knew,” she said, “you could have had another child somewhere, but I told myself you’d—”

  His spine locked at her words, his back rigid, breath on hold. The pain slashed through him as torturous as that first time. A guttural moan fought past his lips, and Mike covered his mouth with his hand.

  “Oh no. You do.”

  He closed his eyes as heat seeped out and down his face. He wiped it with the back of his fist, and when he looked down, the blood on his thumb had transferred to the inside of his fingers.

  Beside him, the wind carried Meg’s aching voice away. “You have another child.”

  “Not on this earth.” He swallowed the sting the words brought. “It was after Brooke left. Another woman. Just a stupid, meaningless…” Anguish choked him. “I called after a road trip. Her sister was there—said she wasn’t well.”

  Twenty feet away, Terrell smoothed the crumbling mound of sand.

  Mike pictured another child hunched beside him. “I went to see her. She was a mess. I had to take her to the hospital. They told me she was suffering complications after the—after—”

  A sob shook him. “She did it while I was gone. Never told me. Never gave me a choice. I wanted to kill her.”

  The familiar burn flooded him again. He’d done so much wrong. He’d hurt so many people, had caused so much irreversible harm to so many. Raindrops pelted his back, but Mike let them. He was worthless. All he’d ever done was ruin things.

  Beside him, Meg struggled to her feet. She tugged one corner of the blanket. “Get up.” Tears choked her words. “Get off my blanket.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Severe storms pounde
d the northwest suburbs until midnight, but when Meg woke Friday morning, the sun shone in a brilliant blue sky.

  Meg moved through the day as if yesterday’s clouds still surrounded her. Even preparing for an afternoon design pitch could not force away memories of the awful beach conversation.

  By the time she returned home with the go-ahead on a basement remodel, her neck and back ached. Terrell had spent the day at Jill’s, and Meg called to let her know she was back.

  “Come on over,” Jill said. “Clark’s gone, Samuel’s napping, and Terrell’s in the middle of Monsters, Inc. Bring whatever you’ve got for a salad, and we’ll eat here.”

  The plan appealed. Meg scrounged up a bag of lettuce, croutons, and two dressings before wandering to Jill’s house. Anything more required brain cells.

  Jill emptied her hands at the back door. “Lettuce and stale bread isn’t going to cut it. Let’s see what else I’ve got.”

  Meg leaned against Jill’s chipped laminate countertop as Jill added the food to bowls of cherry tomatoes, freshly cooked bacon, and pungent blue cheese, Jill’s salad staple. Meg dropped her cheek into her palm and closed her eyes. “Sorry. I’m on zombie mode.”

  “How’d your meeting go?”

  “They hired me.”

  “Congratulations. What are you doing?”

  She opened her eyes. “A basement in Barrington.”

  With no warning, Jill tossed her an egg, then another.

  Meg caught them against her chest, relieved that they didn’t crack down her front.

  Jill laughed at her. “They’re hard-boiled. Peel them, and I’ll chop them up.”

  She sniffed. Yes, they were hard-boiled. She tapped the first egg against the counter’s edge, and for a minute the only sounds in the kitchen were the running faucet and eggshell cracking.

  “Are you making it without Dana?”

  Was she? “For now, I guess. I wish she’d come back, but I get it. She doesn’t want to be anywhere where Ben might look for her.”

  “Poor girl. At least she isn’t going back to him.” Jill rinsed a piece of lettuce. “Where’s Mike tonight?”

  “At the stadium. The team’s back in town.” She handed the peeled eggs to Jill without looking at her and busied herself collecting eggshell. Just the mention of Mike, and her eyes were full.