“I’ve lost two mothers, Connor. Two. The first one—” Raines shrugged. “Nothing I could do there; I was a kid. But the second one…” He swallowed. “Baseball was gonna get her away from my dad. I could have provided for her. Could have taken care of her. But you made sure that didn’t happen.”
If only the girls were gone… Then he’d give in to his rising anger and rush the guy. Raines might not be a good shot. Sure, the guy had forty pounds on him, but they weren’t forty pounds of muscle. Without the gun, Mike could take Ben. He knew it.
If he could just get close enough…
“What? You got nothing to say?” Raines snapped.
“What am I supposed to say? That I’m sorry? I didn’t do anything.”
Raines jammed the gun against Brooke’s head.
Brooke cried out.
“Okay.” Mike took a step closer, his hand stretched out. “Okay. Come on, man.” He tried to force some sorrow onto his face. “Look, Ben, please. Really. You’ve got to let these girls go. You know what it’s like to lose a mom. You’d do that to two little boys? Two boys who’ve never done anything to you?” He scrambled for something that would get through to Ben. “What about Dana?”
Raines lowered the gun a little. “What about Dana?”
Great. “You talked to her lately?”
“What do you think, Connor? You got the cops involved. Of course I haven’t talked to Dana—”
“You love her?”
“Yes, I love—”
“Do you? What would she want you to do, Raines? What would she think if she knew you were holding us hostage, threatening two women who’ve done absolutely nothing to you?” He raised his hands in the air, just to show his helplessness. “What do you think she would say?”
Ben growled at him. “I don’t care what she’d say. She’s weak. But I’m not. I’m gonna do what needs to be done. I’m going to make it all even between us. Starting now.”
The gun pointed his way before Mike could blink. The boom reverberated through the room, and something spun him around, knocked him backward over Meg.
They tumbled to the ground—arms, legs tangled.
Ears ringing, Mike scrambled off her. Was she okay?
Behind them, Brooke cried. She was alive at least. But Meg?
Her eyes met his, scanned him. “Are you hit?” she asked.
Was he? Where was the pain?
On his knees, he spun to face Ben—
To face the gun a foot away from his mouth.
So this was it.
Except Ben looked at the gun, the top of it slid back. Stuck.
Jammed.
Mike’s eyes met Ben’s. Now this was it.
Mike knocked the gun away, lunged to his feet. Tackled Ben around the waist and fell on him. They tumbled against the corner of the couch, an edge banging Mike’s ribs.
He shoved the pain away. Wrestled for control of Ben, fought to get on top of him.
And then hands grabbed him, hands stronger than Meg or Brooke, and hauled him back.
Mike fought them.
“Hey! Connor!” A face appeared in his vision. A badge. A uniform.
The fight left him.
The two cops who’d grabbed him kept him on his feet.
“Where’s my—” She wasn’t his wife yet. “Where’s Meg?”
One of the cops pointed to the hallway where Meg and Brooke stood, officers surrounding them.
Meg was shaking, tears running down her face.
Mike shoved his way through the cops. Was she hurt?
She opened her arms to him, and he flung himself against her, crushing her to his chest.
But she fought against his hold, pushing against him until she could get a grip on his cast. “Are you hurt?” she asked, her voice demanding.
“Meg, I’m fine.”
She dragged her finger down the notch on the surface of his cast. On the divot that hadn’t been there before.
Meg looked up at him. “He hit you.”
What did it matter? It was over. Mike looked back into the hotel room, where Raines lay on his stomach, hands cuffed behind him, three officers standing around him. “He won’t hit anyone else, Meg.”
She tugged him a few steps away from the growing crowd of security and police officers and pulled his face down to hers. Kissed him with an intensity he never thought he’d get from her again.
And just when it was all settling in his brain, just when he’d caught his breath, she pulled back from him—tears in her eyes, a grateful smile on her face. “You could have been killed.”
Yeah, and he didn’t want to think about it. “Just as long as you weren’t, Meg. ’Cause it’d be hard to get married without you.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
“Are they still asleep?”
From her spot in the bedroom doorway, Meg glanced over her shoulder at Mike as he came down the hallway. She nodded and looked back at the two boys in the twin bed, blonde hair standing out against dark pillowcases, mouths open in deep sleep.
Mike slipped his arms around her waist and settled his chin on her shoulder. “You going to watch them all night?”
She smiled, cocked her head. “Maybe?”
“Don’t you think you’d rather watch me sleep?”
“Why? Are you planning on snoring again?”
He shook his head as she turned in his arms, his expression one of feigned hurt. “I told you. I don’t snore.”
She patted his chest. “Right.”
He caught her left hand in his and played with the rings on her finger. “Why are you watching them? They’ve been asleep for a while.”
“I know.” She glanced back at two boys who owned her heart, even though one didn’t call her Mommy, wouldn’t yet open himself up to her. “This is the third night in a row that Noah went to sleep without crying. I just wanted to make sure…”
Mike brushed his lips against her temple. “Okay. We’ll watch them awhile.”
She settled back against his chest again. “How much longer are you home?”
“Five days. But I don’t want to talk about spring training until I have to.” His lips traveled to her ear. “I’m going to enjoy every second I have with you.”
“I’d forgotten how fast these off-season months go.”
“Me too.”
She settled herself more snugly into his hold and closed her eyes. “Hey. Happy six-month anniversary.”
He pressed his fingers into her side until she stifled a giggle. “Like I didn’t tell you that first at breakfast, woman.”
“I know. You’re such a romantic,” she teased.
“Don’t forget it, either.”
There was very little about the last year she wanted to forget. Ben’s attack, yes. The pain of finding out that Mike had another son, sure.
But all of those losses had been redeemed. Mike and Meg had flown to Dallas the day after the All-Star Game to meet Noah. And while he’d definitely been the wild child she’d worried he might be, there was still a sweetness in him that pulled at her heart, partly because of what she knew he was about to face.
Losing a parent wasn’t easy.
At any age.
Mike convinced her to marry him—after a game and before another off day like they’d done twelve years ago. So on a Sunday evening in early August, Meg married Mike in the church offices with just a few friends and Mike’s family there to see it. He’d told her she could have a big wedding, but she hadn’t wanted it. That would take too much time. And Mike was right—they needed time for themselves before Noah arrived.
Before September had ended, Meg asked Mike what he thought about moving Brooke and Noah up by them so Noah could get attached to Mike, at least, before his mother died. Mike had agreed, and so had Brooke who knew she wouldn’t make it through the year. The move had been hard on her—had probably taken days from her—but it was the best thing for Noah.
He needed to know his dad well before that awful day came.
&nbs
p; Not that Brooke’s death was made any easier for the little boy. As much as they’d tried to prepare him, he hadn’t fully understood. The nights of tears and tantrums and sobbing almost seemed like they’d never end.
Until finally Terrell began to climb in bed with Noah, talking to him while he whimpered for his mother. Or while Meg stroked his hair and cried silently with him. Or while Mike held the whimpering boy on his lap, Mike’s own eyes closed as tears seeped from beneath his eyelids. Some nights it felt next to impossible to love this little boy who didn’t want her, who wanted a woman who’d taken from her.
But tonight… Tonight there was hope.
That the worst was behind them.
That life would settle down.
That they could finally be a family of four.
Her stomach moved.
Make that five.
She grabbed Mike’s hand and pressed it to her abdomen. “Feel that?”
“No.”
She held her breath, waited. Come on, baby. Do it for your daddy.
There it was.
She pressed Mike’s hand firmly against herself and looked up at him, biting her lip in excitement. “You feel it?”
His grin lit up his face, his eyes. He leaned down over her shoulder, their position a bit awkward, and kissed her. “I felt that.” He ran his hand gently over her stomach. “First time. That was awesome.”
Yeah, it was.
“And a little weird too, I gotta say.”
She elbowed him in the stomach.
“Are you sure it’s the baby? It’s not gas?”
“Michael!”
“If you need to use the bathroom, Meg, just say so. Don’t blame it on ‘the baby.’”
She turned on him, swatted him on the arm.
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. His lips closed over hers, and she stilled beneath his hold, lost in the happiness of marriage to Mike.
He straightened, his smile warming her. “I wonder what this one will look like.”
“Are you kidding?” She looked over her shoulder at the sleeping boys. “Have you seen how strong your DNA is?”
He chuckled. “You ready to let these guys sleep?”
She sent them one last look, her two little boys tucked together in one small bed.
Yes, she could let them sleep now.
Smiling, Mike took her hand and led her down the hall.
Dear Friend,
As always, I’m so grateful to meet you here. You’ve spent your time and money on my characters, and I hope you enjoyed every moment with Mike and Meg. They’re the first in a series dealing with second chances, so watch for book two in the Chicago Wind series, Shelf Life, which will be coming out winter, 2016/17. If you’d like to be the first to know when the book is available, please subscribe to my newsletter. And do feel free to keep in touch! I thoroughly enjoy connecting with my readers.
If you’re looking for another book to read, may I recommend Kept, my first book? Readers have compared it to Francine Rivers’ Redeeming Love¸ and it’s been very well received. It’s about a woman who’s fallen for every lie society preaches and a man who’s given every bit of himself to God. So how could these two have a future together? I hope you enjoy this one while you wait for Shelf Life.
If you’d like to contact me, please visit me at my website, sallybradley.com, or my Facebook page, Sally Bradley, Writer. Until then, I pray you stay close to God and let His Word guide you every day.
Sincerely,
Sally Bradley
PS: Turn the page for a sneak peek at Shelf Life!
Prologue
October 18
Nothing good would come from this.
Kyla Burkholder eased onto her cream sofa. Why had they agreed to do this interview again?
As far as she could see, her home was in chaos. The crew from ESPN had covered half the living room with their equipment—wires, lights, cameras. They’d dragged the couch across her Brazilian hardwoods and positioned it several feet in front of the fireplace. As if the eyes in the back of their heads appreciated that view.
They’d need eyes in the back of their heads once the interview aired.
Of course, Brett didn’t agree. He’d convinced her so well after ESPN first called, asking them to relive the nightmare for the entertainment of sports fans everywhere.
Kyla shivered.
“Cold?” someone asked.
She looked up.
Angelina, the make-up artist, stood in front of her.
Kyla shook her head. “Nervous.”
“Don’t be. You’re made for TV. Let’s do a last touch-up, and you’ll be set.”
Angelina held up her powder and brush, and Kyla closed her eyes. If the worst that came from this was a gouge in her floor or something knocked over and broken, she’d be ecstatic.
The brush swept across her cheek and nose.
Maybe whoever had sent the letter wouldn’t see the interview. She’d pray nonstop that the writer would be at work when it aired. Or sick. Or—better yet—dead.
Dead would be great.
Angelina adjusted her hair. “All done. You can open your eyes.”
The key lights had been turned on, momentarily blinding her. She looked away, toward the foyer doorway just as Brett entered.
He crossed in front of the couch and plopped down beside her, his face and shaved head touched up with just enough makeup for television. He took a deep breath and blew it out.
“Sure we should do this?” she asked.
“Of course.” The look he shot her asked if she was stupid. “Nothing’s going to happen.”
“You don’t know that.”
“And you don’t know anything will. It’s been a year, Kyla. If they haven’t done anything yet, they’re not going to. Besides”—his smile felt cold—“this turns the tables on them. It shows if you pull stunts like that, people are coming after you. Ain’t that right, Ryan?”
Kyla looked from Brett to Ryan, the producer, who’d walked up to them.
Ryan nodded. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I’ll side with the guy any day.”
Brett lifted a fist, and Ryan bumped it with his own, then winked at her. “Brett, let’s have you move right next to Kyla. And put your arm around her.”
“Like we’re in love?” Brett slid his arm around her shoulders, sending her his own bold wink as he did.
The three men on the crew chuckled, and Kyla rolled her eyes in pretend annoyance. Leave it to Brett to get all flirtatious with an audience present.
He started to pull away. “Now if we were an old married couple—”
She flicked his thigh. “We are an old married couple. We’ve got the kids to prove it.”
He leaned in close, eyes sparking with a look she knew well after almost ten years together. “We are not an old married couple.”
She held his gaze. His eyes snapped with a warmth she hadn’t seen in months. Where had this come from?
A snicker sounded from one of the crew.
Of course. She lifted her chin. Just like Brett’s pitching, his kids, his personal life, and his marriage had to be the best, and everyone within viewing distance needed to know it.
That had been fine when what he bragged about was true.
“That’s great. Stay there.” Ryan checked his clipboard. “We’re going to tape the part where Kyla finds the death threat. Kyla—” He smiled at her. “Just talk to us. We’ll stop you if necessary, but tell us what happened, what you did, all that stuff. Keep your eyes on me like we’re talking. If you want to glance at Brett from time to time, go ahead. Just don’t overdo it.”
She nodded. An acidic flavor coated her throat, and she swallowed it away. She hated what this shadowy person had done to them. The threat might be old, but the fear came fresh every morning. If telling the story would end it, then she’d tell it. She was tired of living scared.
She folded her hands and tossed her head.
Angelina darted forw
ard.
Kyla cringed. “Sorry,” she said as Angelina toyed with a long strand.
Brett’s callused fingers caressed the base of her neck, and she turned her eyes to him. What would she read on his face this time?
“You’ll do fine,” he whispered. His eyes drilled into her, encouraging her, supporting her.
Kyla willed her smile to be strong. Sometimes hope surprised her.
Chapter One
April 12, six months later
Only eight minutes from home.
Only eight minutes from chatter to silence.
Only eight minutes from life to death.
Kyla turned her Escalade onto the side street and drove beneath a chipped concrete trestle complete with a graffiti-covered train. She scanned the drab scene before her—a used car lot on one side, a black chain-link fence on the other, that overgrown evergreen, and then the sign for Lakeland Memorial Park. She flipped on her blinker. How fitting that the closer she got to the cemetery, the uglier the surroundings would be.
Above the cemetery’s sign, treetops covered with infant buds and baby leaves announced that spring had arrived, that nasty season she’d learned brought only bad things. She drove through the gates. At least the grass was lush and green, thanks to a snowy Chicago winter. And overdue for its first mowing. She twisted her mouth at that. They should have looked for a better cemetery, but she’d liked that this one was so close to home. And two years ago no cemetery had seemed good enough to leave a child.
Halfway down the second curve, the marble tombstone appeared on her left. She parked and turned off the engine, then searched the grounds for Brett’s gaudy red Alfa Romeo.
The tiny cemetery was empty.
She rested her head against the steering wheel and blew a deep breath into its center. Why she got her hopes up time and again made no sense. Brett had made himself clear—their loss was sad but over. The baby girl they never knew had little effect on him.
Kyla would never be the same.
She opened her door and stepped down. Robins chirped in the branches high above her. Maybe he’d come later—
Homestands (Chicago Wind #1) Page 28