Standing at Emily’s condo door, Michael smoothed one of the wild curls near his forehead. He tucked his first aid kit under his arm and knocked on her door. Every time he contemplated why on earth she might need gauze, he got heart palpitations. It had only been seconds since his last knock, but he knocked again.
Emily opened the door and poked her head around it. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
Forget flattened kittens. The steamroller must have hit Emily instead. Her skin appeared bleached and her green eyes were red and haunted. A funny sensation tightened in his chest, making him want to pull her into his arms. Someone had hurt her, big time.
She knew.
Michael bit his lip so he wouldn’t jump down her throat, demanding answers. Settle down, dumbass.
She held the door open. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
He walked in and set the first aid kit on the hallway table. “Why wouldn’t I? I said I would.” He reached for her right hand, wincing when he saw the cut there and the start of a fascinating bruise. “Good Lord, Em. Are you an MMA fighter in your spare time?”
“It does seem I missed my calling.” When he fingered her knuckles, she sucked in a breath.
“Sit down. Let me patch you up and then you can tell me all about it.” Michael put his hands on her shoulders and urged her to sit on the hall chair. He knelt before her, examined her hand, and opened his first aid kit. “It doesn’t look broken, but that cut stretches right across all your knuckles. Looks like the paper cut from hell. Can you move it?”
“Yeah, but it hurts.”
“I bet the other guy feels worse.” When he applied rubbing alcohol, causing her to squeeze her eyes shut against the pain, guilt tore through him. He reached for the ointment and she chewed on her lip, bracing herself. He rubbed a thin layer on her skin, careful not to apply too much pressure, and then gently wrapped her hand in gauze. His wary gaze was trained on her the whole time. “Talk to me.”
“The short answer is I punched my fiancé in the face. Well, it might have been the neck. He’s pretty tall. I’m not actually sure where I nailed him, but I managed to knock him down.”
Michael had to shut his gob. Kind-hearted, dainty Emily beat up the big, bad douchebag? He couldn’t believe it. She looked too much like a princess on the cover of a fairy tale book for children. “Did he hurt you? Because if he touched…”
“No. He didn’t touch me. He hasn’t for a while, truth be told.” She looked down at her hands. “But you’ve probably already figured that out, haven’t you?”
Only then did he notice she no longer wore her engagement ring. He rubbed his thumb over her bare ring finger, caressing the pale strip of skin that used to hide under her ring. “Em, I’m sorry.”
She nodded, ready to cry. Or was she? She might be fighting the tears with everything in her, but she looked as if it would only take one wrong word to set her off. She kept blinking, and her bottom lip quivered. For some reason that played havoc with Michael’s mind, he wanted to be there when the dam broke. Not because he cared to see her in tears, but because he wanted to be there for her period.
“Let’s sit in the living room.”
She nodded and stood and he rose as well, his mind racing. Michael followed her into the living space and waited for her to take a seat first, but she motioned for him to go ahead. He appraised the seating area. A small condo, it didn’t boast a lot of options as far as seating. There was a comfy modern loveseat and two antique chairs with embroidered designs of country scenes. They appeared too petite to hold him, so he sat at one end of the loveseat.
To his simultaneous horror and delight, Emily sat next to him.
He stood up again. “I can take one of the chairs if you want to spread out.”
“No, you’re fine. Sit. We usually sit on the loveseat anyway. Trent says my grandmother’s chairs are too fussy to be comfortable.” She frowned.
“About Trent…”
“We rescued the chairs from Nonna’s place. I don’t know much about antique furniture but I researched these ones. They’re Queen Anne chairs. My mom took a couple too. Everyone in the family adopted some of Nonna’s things. I’ll be honest. I might even have taken a doily or two, but I keep those in a drawer.”
Okay. She obviously wasn’t ready to talk about her fiancé yet. He wouldn’t push her. He could make small talk if that’s what she needed. “Doilies, huh? My grandmother had a few of those too. Do you want me to get you something? A drink, maybe?”
She shook her head. He didn’t much feel like drinking either.
Conversation stilled. Michael didn’t hide the fact he was staring, but it wasn’t so much to check her out as it was to inspect her for signs that Trent had fought back. Aside from her sore hand, she seemed physically sound. Emotionally? She looked ready to drop.
Dragging his gaze away so he didn’t resemble a crazed stalker, he cast a glance around Emily’s home and tried to decide how to broach the subject of her argument with Trent. She had a nice home, feminine but not too frilly, with colored cushions and a purple orchid near the window.
No sign of Trent anywhere. There were a couple of small photos on the bookshelf nearest him, both of them turned face downward on the shelf. Must have been photos of the douchebag.
“I assume Trent has moved out.”
“He never lived with me. He has his own place downtown.”
“I guess I assumed you lived together. Most of the engaged couples I know do.”
“Same here, but if he lived with me, it would make it hard for him to cheat and get away with it.”
“Did he finally talk to you?”
“Oh, no. That would have required balls.”
Michael tried not to smile.
“I saw them together outside a bar. Kissing.” She snorted. “Even from a block away, I could see their flailing tongues.”
He nodded at her bandaged hand. “Is that when the brawl started?”
“I don’t know what happened to me. I saw them and, all of a sudden, I turned into this hungry lioness who just found her mate sharing his kill with another female. I lashed out. His girlfriend, his other girlfriend, threatened to call the police.”
“I had no idea you were such a hell raiser.”
“Neither did I.”
“Do you want me to rough him up some more?” Although Michael meant it as a joke, he was surprised at how badly he wanted to follow through. His dick radar had never failed him and the day he met Trent, it had been on full throttle.
“Could you? I’d sell tickets.” She looked at her lap and picked at her leggings, plucking at the fabric and letting it snap back. “I’m sorry, Michael. You’re being nice, but I shouldn’t be crying on your shoulder.”
“You’re not crying at all.”
“Oh, well.”
“You can, if you need to. I don’t mind.” Watch it, Zorn. You’re still playing with fire here. You have no idea how this will end. “I realize we haven’t known each other long, but I make quick impressions of people. I like you and I don’t want to see you upset.”
The left side of her face twitched. “Thanks. I feel the same way.”
“So feel free to shout or hurl some plates at the wall. It’ll be good for you. Just maybe don’t use your sore hand.”
Her sad grin curled further up her face. “Boy, do you counsel all the Handymen guests?”
“No, just the ones with a killer right hook who scare me a little.” Her pathetic giggle tugged at his heart. “And I’m not trying to counsel you.”
“What are you trying to do?”
“I don’t know. Be a good TV host. Be a friend.” He winked. “A good first aider.”
“I’ll be honest, Michael. I don’t tend to talk about my personal problems a lot, but right now, I appreciate seeing a friendly face on the other side of the loveseat.” She stared at a spot in the distance but her eyes remained unfocused. “Trent tried to pin this on me.”
“How?”
“He accused me of flirting with you.”
Michael’s skin grew hot from the collar up. “Can I call him a turd now?”
“Please do.”
“Fucking turd. Look, Em. You’ve been through hell. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to take some time away from the show. I can talk to Lacey.”
“No way. I want to do Handymen more than anything. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this?”
“A while, I’d expect.”
“Yes, and do you know what my job was before?”
“What?”
“Handling complaint calls from angry grocery store owners who didn’t get their shipments of hot dogs on time.”
“Not your dream job, I guess?”
“Not by a long shot. I don’t even eat that crap. I quit my corporate hellhole of a job and sank most of my funds into this venture. I want to do this show, I need to do this show, and I’m thrilled the producers chose me. I would never walk off the set like some sort of backlot diva. Or Trent.”
“What happens with him now?”
“I was sort of hoping he might fall off the nearest cliff.”
“Emily, can I be brutally honest with you?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“You dodged a bullet.”
“Thank you, but did I really dodge it? It doesn’t feel that way. So many things make sense now. His moods. His ambivalence. I saw the signs but I thought he might be depressed. I thought it was my job to help him through it and he treated me like dirt. I should have walked away long ago.”
“You loved him. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to help others through bad times. Unfortunately, some of them don’t deserve our help.”
She quietly searched his eyes. “I hope you don’t think I’m a fool.”
“No. Trent’s the fool.” If anything, the only thing Emily had been guilty of was forgiving too easily, but Michael didn’t necessarily consider it a fault.
Michael, however, didn’t forgive and forget quite so easily. There might be a lot of good people in the world, but he knew for a fact there were just as many bad ones.
The dull throb at the back of his head flared into a pain that sliced through his temple. He cursed under his breath as he was struck by a flashback.
Jane Ashton, collapsed in the corner of her living room, a gunshot wound in her chest.
Her ex, wielding a gun, his hand shaky.
The children from her daycare, rounded up in a corner, screaming.
The blood…
“Michael, are you okay? You just went white.”
He looked up, and for a second didn’t recognize the blonde woman sitting next to him. Michael took a deep breath and his pulse resumed its beat. Emily Daniels. Handymen. Dickweed fiancé.
Right. He was okay.
“Yeah. I’m fine. I just…I get headaches here and there.”
“Is it because you haven’t been sleeping well?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Do you want me to get you something?”
“No, thanks.” He grabbed his jacket from the side of the loveseat and produced the bottle of Tylenol. “I came prepared. Do you mind if I grab some water?”
She jumped off the loveseat and headed into the kitchen to fill a glass. She returned and gave it to him and he popped a couple of pills, downing them with some water.
Emily seemed ready to say something but her cell phone buzzed from its perch on the table. She stood and looked at the display. “For heaven’s sake. What does he want now?” Her breath escaped in a defeated huff.
“Would you like me to talk to him?”
“Tempting, but no. I want to hear what he has to say, and then I’m done.”
“I can go.”
“I’d like you to stay, but if you don’t mind, I’ll take the call in the other room.”
“Of course.”
Emily grabbed her cell phone and padded toward her bedroom. As she closed the door behind her, she gave him a tight grin. Michael threw her a “thumbs up” for luck.
He sat still and tried hard not to listen to her muffled voice, but his curiosity got the better of him. Her voice grew louder anyway, and it was impossible not to get the gist of the conversation. A few phrases made their way to his ears.
“Veronica, of all people?”
“You felt resentment over my new business? Well, that makes everything okay.”
“There’s no excuse.”
“I’ll never forgive you.”
Shaking his head, Michael grabbed the TV remote from the table and turned on the TV, hoping to drown out the sounds of her pain. At the same time, he felt he needed to be a witness so he could support her better.
He couldn’t deny he was pleased to see the back of Trent Andrews, and he hated himself for thinking it. He wasn’t the sort of man to yearn for the demise of another couple’s relationship. Even though he no longer harbored feelings for Lacey, he remembered how shocked he’d been to discover she’d cheated with Alistair. No one wants to be the person who discovers their partner is cheating.
The door creaked as Emily opened it. Michael inhaled, expecting tears or grunts of frustration or…something. She stared blankly.
He eyed her warily. “Well?”
She picked her way back to the loveseat and sat, unnaturally poised, like that guy who walked the tightrope over Niagara Falls. Michael sensed Emily was keeping her emotions at bay for some strange reason. Her eyes were still dry.
“He tried to tell me it was a lapse in judgment.”
Hadn’t Lacey used those same words? Couldn’t people come up with better excuses?
“He said he felt a need for excitement. Apparently, I didn’t excite him. He felt stifled by our engagement, and after he lost his job, he became resentful of my plan for starting my career. When Veronica showed interest a few months ago, he thought it might be a chance at a cooking job, a way into her bar. Looks like he found the way into her pants instead.”
“Didn’t he used to cook gourmet food? Why would he want a job frying chicken wings?”
“He’s trying to justify his actions. At the end of the day, he’s a cheater and a liar.” Her long bangs fell across her forehead and she blew them up out of her face. “I had no idea I was so boring.”
Her curvy figure and sweet voice inspired anything but boredom in Michael. “Em, this was never about you. You must know that. This has everything to do with Trent’s inability to commit. He clearly has fois gras for brains.”
“He apologized, but not for cheating. He apologized for how I found out. To me, that says everything.”
“Are you okay?”
“Can I be brutally honest with you now?”
He nodded.
“I feel even worse than before.”
She settled in and turned her attention to the TV. When Michael had turned it on, he’d landed on a Sylvester Stallone movie and he’d left it there. Emily didn’t object, and didn’t ask him to leave, so he sat back too and watched it with her.
About ten minutes later, she reached across the loveseat and grabbed his hand. Michael knew from the turn to her mouth she needed a friend, even more than he needed to haul her into his arms and show her she was the least boring person he knew.
He settled for squeezing her hand. He could be her friend for now.
***
“Welcome to drywall day, everyone.” Lacey stood before the gathered crew before the cameras started rolling. “Although we’re booked to be here the entire day, I don’t anticipate using a lot of these shots. In my opinion, drywall isn’t as sexy as demolition. That is, unless someone volunteers to test run those awesome sleeveless tees.”
“Hey, Lacey,” Louie called from the back of the room. “If you want sexy, I volunteer to wear one of those tank tops.”
“Sorry, Louie. You’re not quite what I was going for.”
Emily didn’t know why they were joking about tank tops, but the rest of the crew seemed to think Louie wearing one was laughable. She supposed, if she understood the context, she’d howl along with the others. That is, if she could summon a chuckle. As it stood, she couldn’t.
She now understood what the term “shell-shocked” meant. Not that she could compare her state to that of someone who’d lived through a war, but she’d been seized with numbness when she awoke. After having eaten her breakfast on automatic pilot that morning, she had tied her sneakers without realizing it, and could barely remember getting into her car. Even now, as Lacey spoke, she couldn’t process the other woman’s words.
Other woman. She’d never given much thought to the term. She’d only ever heard it applied on those cheesy soap operas her mother used to watch. When she pictured those other women, she envisioned ladies with big hair and shoulder pads who had cat fights. Veronica was someone she used to like, a regular person with a job and ambitions. She wouldn’t have pegged her as other woman material.
Her tummy issued a warning growl. Her breakfast, plain toast, wasn’t sitting well. It served her right for forcing it down her gullet when she hadn’t felt like eating. Even her beloved coffee had tasted like vinegar.
Maybe if she closed her eyes for a few seconds, everything would go away.
When she opened them, Michael was staring at her. He smiled, his eyes lit with warmth.
He’d been so good the previous evening. Emily didn’t know what she’d done to deserve his friendship, but she appreciated having him around at such a difficult moment. Michael hadn’t grilled her after her conversation with Trent. He hadn’t forced his opinions on her. He’d simply spent time with her so she didn’t have to feel alone.
She’d thanked him at the end of the evening, of course, but she doubted he understood just how much his presence meant.
In an attempt to distract her, he had also treated her to his tragic Rocky Balboa impersonation. Several times.
Even now, as Lacey continued to give notes to the crew, he meandered over to Emily and reached for her hand, running his thumb over her wrist. “How’s your right hook today?”
“Much better, thanks.”
“Did you sleep last night?”
“Not really. Did you?”
“Not really.”
“Another headache?”
“You could say so. I’m used to them now.” Michael winked and pretended to put up his dukes, like a boxer in the ring. “Yo, Adrienne. Gonna fly now.”
She looked pointedly at his imaginary boxing gloves. “How long are you going to keep up the Rocky routine?”
Still speaking with world’s worst Sly impression, he said, “As the great Stallone once said, ‘Let me tell you something you already know.’ I’m going to milk this one until the cows come home.”
“I was afraid of that.” She cracked a smile, amazed he could wring one out of her under the circumstances.
He pretended to take a swing at her arm, but upon making the lightest of contact, he stumbled backward. “The champ’s going down!”
Emily put her hand over her mouth, more amused than she ought to feel.
Eli and Nick walked up to them. Eli rolled his eyes. “Let me guess. Rocky Balboa? Michael has a fetish for Stallone movies.”
“You don’t say?” said Emily.
“You really shouldn’t encourage him,” said Nick. “It’s embarrassing for all of us.”
As Michael struggled with his imaginary foe, Emily turned to Eli. “How are you feeling?”
Eli rubbed his shoulder. “I’m stiff, but I’ll be okay. We’ve all had worse injuries on the job site.” He nodded at her gauzed hand. “And you?”
“Just some bruised knuckles. Nothing I can’t handle.”
Nick’s eyes lit up. “Eli, remember that time I put a nail through my hand? That was awesome.” He held up his left hand for Emily to see.
Sure enough, he had a scar along the flap of skin between his thumb and pointer finger. Emily grimaced as her toast made another appearance.
Michael rejoined them, having left Rocky behind. “That’s nothing. You didn’t even hit bone. I’ve hit bone.”
“Uh, guys,” said Eli. “Emily’s gone green. Maybe we should end this conversation.”
Nick grinned. “Aw, you’re adorable when you’re green.”
Michael didn’t comment but he analyzed her face, his lips quirked, as if he appreciated having a reason to look at her.
“Ignore him,” said Eli. “So Michael told us Trent won’t be joining us for the rest of the shoot.”
She looked at Michael. “You did?”
“I just let the team know Trent is no longer available.”
She let out the breath she was holding and thanked him with a nod. “Right. He had…a conflict.”
“No matter,” said Michael. “We’ll be just fine, won’t we, Em?”
She nodded through her melancholy. Last night, sitting on a couch with Michael, she’d been encouraged, able to face the world. Now, in the light of day, the reality of her situation hit her. How would she explain the situation to people? Never mind the Handymen crew, she still had to talk to her family. What would they say? Chris would take her side but he’d want to point out all her errors. Her mom had never warmed to Trent. She’d say Emily lost two years of good time when she could have been planning a wedding with a more deserving man. As for Emily’s father, she’d have to drag him away from The Price Is Right for five minutes in order to drop her bombshell.
She had no idea what she was supposed to do next. She felt hollow and drained, like a water pipe that had had its valve shut off.
Her man had found solace in another woman’s arms, despite the fact Emily had tried to comfort and support him time and again. That hurt her more than imagining them between the sheets. If she tried, she might actually be able to forgive the physical betrayal. It was the emotional one that cut deepest.
She wondered what Trent was doing now. Was he at home, licking his wounds, dismayed at being caught? Was he systematically shredding all her photos, taking care to lop the little heads off first? Perhaps he was fucking Veronica without a care in the world.
Michael wrapped an arm around her shoulders, somehow understanding everything. “Come on. I know demolition is done, but maybe I can find something else for you to smash.”
“I’d like that.” Outlawing all thoughts of Trent for the rest of the day, she followed Michael.
***
“You’re in a good mood today.”
Michael looked up from his lunch and turned toward Nick. “Why shouldn’t I be? We haven’t run into any issues on the job yet. Emily’s grandmother took good care of the house, so we don’t have to do a lot of the work that would have slowed us down on other renovations. Most things are up to code. We’re ahead of schedule and Emily’s happy with the progress. Am I not allowed to be happy too?”
“By all means, let your happy flag fly.” His brother took a huge bite out of his sandwich and chewed. “It’s just when Trent was around, you were a bear. He miraculously disappears and you’re as playful as a puppy. Which leads me to one question.”
“And that is?”
“Did you kill Emily’s fiancé?”
“Would you please shut your mouth?” Michael glanced toward Emily to see if she’d heard the comment, but she was deep in conversation with Franka. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nick has a point,” said Eli. “We have a surplus of concrete on this site, more than enough for cement shoes. Besides, you and Emily have gotten chummy really fast.”
“Is that a crime?”
“No,” said Eli. “But I think you know what we’re getting at. Trent may have pulled another no-show, but last we heard, they were still engaged.”
“That’s because I haven’t updated you.” Michael lowered his voice. “She called it off. She caught him mauling another woman. It’s been going on for six months apparently.”
“Whoa.” Nick whistled long and low. “Harsh.”
“Yeah. Keep it to yourselves. She’s mortified.”
“Holy shit.” Eli’s mouth fell open. “Her hand. Please tell me she broke that frat boy’s perfect nose.”
Michael nodded.
Nick grinned in appreciation. “Forget your friendship. I think I’m in love with her.”
Michael pointed at his youngest brother’s chest. “Back off. She’s calm but not in a good way. Personally, I think she’s barely keeping it together. Between you and me, I think she needs to scream or cry or let it out. It’s not good for her to cover up her feelings.”
“I can’t imagine anyone doing that.”
Michael ignored the wry tones in Eli’s voice.
“Be careful with your new friendship,” warned Eli.
“Why? There’s nothing going on. Look, I like her. I won’t deny it. We’ve become friendly. Men and women can be friends, you know.”
“We’re just looking out for you, bro,” said Nick. “Emily’s cool. We agree with you there, but you’re in the rebound zone right now.”
“Rebound zone. What have I told you about reading Cosmo?”
Nick put up his hands. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not opposed to being a woman’s rebound man. When there are no strings attached, the sex can be hot. That being said, you and Emily are already friends. I doubt you’d want to mess it up.”
Rebounds. Michael hadn’t even considered the possibility. Rebounds never led to anything substantial and worthwhile. They were only good for sex, the kind where you could take a woman up against the wall and bang all her frustrations out in a numbingly cold encounter. A raw, physical moment of temptation that led nowhere.
He glanced at Emily, taking note of the pleasing curve to her hip.
He might be okay with a raw, physical moment of temptation. Or twenty.
Only Nick was right. Michael liked her too much. Emotions were already involved.
Right on cue, another headache started at the base of his skull. He didn’t even wait for it to get worse. Grabbing a couple of Tylenol caplets, he drank them down with some water.
“You need to go back to that doctor.”
Would Eli never stop harping about the doctor? If Michael didn’t know any better, he’d swear his brother was part of the shrink’s marketing team. “He was a quack. All he wanted to do was teach me deep breathing techniques. I’ve been breathing a long time. I think I’ve got a pretty good handle on it.”
“You never even gave him a chance. Michael, it might not be such a bad thing for you to discuss your feelings with a professional.”
“What feelings?”
“Don’t even bother.” Nick dismissed the topic with a wave. “How many times have we tried having this discussion? He’s pig-headed.”
“Hey.”
“Bro,” said Eli, peering at Michael as if he were a test specimen in a lab. “You lived through a traumatic situation, one that could have been a whole lot worse. You need to talk about it.”
“There’s been enough talk about the subject. It was a year ago. It’s done.”
“Hey,” said Nick. “Now that you mention it, didn’t the shooting take place exactly a year ago?”
Michael considered the date. Jane Ashton died on June twentieth. That meant, in a few short days, it would indeed be a year since the shooting.
All of a sudden, it felt as if someone had poured alcohol on the open wound that was his heart. One year since they put a healthy, vibrant woman in the ground. One year since Jane’s daughter Penny lost her entire immediate family. No one ever talked about her or her struggles. Penny was a kid, not even out of college yet, and had to deal with having a murderer for a father and a dead mother. The news reporters never wanted to discuss Penny’s issues. Perhaps her struggles weren’t sexy enough for the nightly news.
They just wanted to splash Michael’s photo around because people knew his name. They wanted to make him a hero for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but no one thought Penny was a hero for dragging herself out of bed every goddamn day?
In a matter of days, hours really, it would be one year since an innocent group of children got the shit scared out of them.
Happy fucking anniversary.
“Michael?” Eli’s voice sounded far away, a universe away. “Are you listening?”
“What? Are we done here?”
Eli shook his head and put his remaining segment of sandwich down on a plate. “And you’re worried about Emily hiding her feelings? We are done here. I’d rather talk to that piece of drywall over there. It’s more responsive.” He abandoned the lunch table and went back to work.
Nick grabbed Eli’s sandwich. “More for me.”
Almost three hundred and sixty-five days. He could have sworn it was longer. In many ways, it might have happened yesterday, the pain was still so fresh.
Michael abandoned the remainder of his lunch as well and headed to the door so he could grab a breath of fresh air. All of a sudden, Nonna Olivia’s house felt small and close, almost closing in on him.
He knew his brothers were right. He should probably talk to someone, anyone, about what happened at the daycare, but he couldn’t seem to form any words to describe his feelings. What goes through a man’s head when he sees ten toddlers lined up against the wall, facing a man with a gun? There were no words.
As for emotions, he’d only known one in that moment. Utter fear that he wouldn’t be able to help them. It had all happened so quickly, he’d barely been able to muster any fear for himself.
Somehow he’d been able to rally and had tackled Henry Ashton to the ground, disarming him from behind. The man had been incoherent and hadn’t put up much of a struggle anyway. After shooting and killing his ex-wife, his eyes had been wide with shock. Did he even remember what he did? Would he have any sort of recollection of how the bullet tore through her chest, leaving a trail of blood and tissue?
Michael remembered. Every night, he remembered the agony and terror on Jane’s face. The shock of having her life cut short by a man who claimed to love her.
He set foot on the front porch and the fresh air hit his face. He breathed deeply and tried to banish the terrifying imagery in his mind.
A womanly giggle caught his attention. Lacey stood by the equipment trailer parked in front of the house. She was eating lunch with Jacob, their intern. At least, they had been eating until he showed up. Once Michael appeared, she glanced at him and then flashed her high beams at Jacob. He must have said something witty because she laughed out loud.
“Jacob,” she drawled, running a finger up his arm. “You’ve been working out, haven’t you?”
The intern melted under Lacey’s touch and praise. “Um, a bit. Does it show?”
“God, yes. Keep it up. Good stamina is so important.” She whispered something into Jacob’s ear and the kid’s face turned scarlet.
Michael shook his head. Poor Jacob. He had no idea Lacey was putting on a show for another man’s benefit, but he certainly didn’t seem to mind. Ignoring them, he stormed down the walkway.
“Enjoy your walk, Michael,” Lacey called, still gazing into Jacob’s eyes. “Hopefully it’ll clear your head. I know you’ve been having trouble seeing sense lately.”
He grunted. Jacob was welcome to her.
***
The shoot was going well, or so the experts assured Emily. Two days later, as she sat in her condo drinking lukewarm tea, she actually missed being on set. However, the crew was in the midst of installing floor tiles today and Lacey had told her she wouldn’t be needed at Beatrice Street.
“You’ve been working so hard. You look exhausted. Maybe treat yourself to a facial or something to help those dark circles. Take a day off, hun,” the director had drawled as they wrapped up the previous evening. “Once the men start tiling, you’ll just get in the way.”
Get in the way in her own house? Dark circles?
Emily had bitten back the retort on her tongue and had deferred to Lacey’s wishes. The woman was the director, after all. She knew who she needed on set…although she guessed Lacey was happy to get her out of her coiffed hair for a while.
She couldn’t miss the tension between Lacey and Michael. There were so many pointed looks between them and each conversation seemed to echo with unvoiced resentment.
They’d slept together. Maybe not recently, but they had at some point. Any woman with half a brain would be able to recognize the masked longing in Lacey’s gaze when she looked up under her eyelashes at the contractor.
Perhaps Michael still harbored feelings for Lacey as well. Who wouldn’t? She made other women look like runts from an especially feeble litter.
A knock sounded on Emily’s door and she walked down the hall to open it. She’d finally updated her brother Chris about the situation with Trent and he’d insisted on coming right over.
The poet stood outside her door, his blond hair tossed by a spring wind, two bottles of wine in his hands. “Hey, Em. Ready to drink?”
She nodded and held the door to her unit open so he could enter. Chris walked in, put the bottles down on an occasional table, and held out his arms.
“Bring it home.”
Emily fell into his embrace, sure she was about to burst into tears, but none came. She’d tried several times to make them flow, even going so far as to sit on her bed and forcing herself to picture Trent and Veronica in the throes of a naked clutch. No matter how hard she envisioned Trent pounding Veronica into delirium, his nude ass clenching and unclenching, she just couldn’t seem to produce a single tear. Instead, numbness assaulted her once again and she lay motionless against her brother’s chest as he stroked her back.
“It’s going to be all right.” He held her at arm’s length and looked into her eyes. “I promise. Now tell me exactly what happened.”
Emily led him over to the loveseat and they sat. She shared the story of seeing Trent and Veronica outside the sports bar and her subsequent conversation with Trent.
Chris’s fair skin erupted in red splotches, just as it did when he was a little boy having a temper tantrum. “Asshole.”
“I’m inclined to agree.”
“Thank God for that. I was worried you might still be making excuses for him.”
Ouch. “He made enough for himself. He said he went crazy after the job loss, that he felt emasculated. Ronnie made him feel manly again.”
“Right. What he really means is he saw an opportunity and took it. He didn’t care if he hurt your feelings, Em. He flaunted his girlfriend down the street from your condo. The man has huge cajones, I’ll give him that much.”
“You’re right. I just wish I could make him understand the hell he’s put me through. I feel like someone’s locked me in a dark room with all my childhood monsters and no flashlight.”
“Trent knows exactly what he’s done, believe me. If there’s one thing that man isn’t short on, it’s self-awareness.”
“He always thought you hated him, that you didn’t think he was good enough for me.”
“He’s right. I do hate him and he’s nowhere near being good enough for you.”
“Don’t be mean.”
“I’m not. I don’t dislike the man because he lost his job. I dislike him because he’s a jerk and he fucked around on my sister.” Chris put an arm around her. “Em, I love you. You’re family and I think you’re an incredible catch, but you have this one little character flaw.”
“So this is my fault?”
“Of course not, but Trent took advantage of your good nature and you were too nice to put a stop to it. Ask anyone. They’ll agree he’s a total narcissist.”
“When did you become a psychologist?” Emily stood and paced the living room. “You’re a goddamn poet.”
“True, but I’m currently sleeping with a psychologist.”
“Too much information.”
“No, really. Listen to me. I’ve told Priya all about you and Trent, specifically about some of the stunts he’s pulled.”
“Is Priya your new girlfriend?”
“I guess you could say so.”
“Great. So you basically told this woman all about my personal problems.”
“Don’t worry. She’s a professional. If it makes you feel better, I never mentioned names and I referred to you as a ‘friend.’ I never said you were my sister. Besides, the bedroom is like the confessional.”
“Thank you, Father Christopher.”
“Look, I’m not going to sit here and rattle off everything Trent has done because you already know all the ways he’s hurt you. But just in case your sense of nostalgia urges you to forgive and forget, let me remind you of a couple of things.”
She had the impression her brother would tell them to her whether she asked him for the information or not. She dropped onto the ottoman opposite him. “Hit me.”
“He isolated you from family and friends. He picked on you. He denied his actions, time and again, and never took responsibility for his mistakes. Remember what he said about the sous-chef in the peanut incident?”
“That wasn’t his fault.”
Chris put a hand on her knee. “Whether he put the nuts in that dish himself or not, Trent was in charge of every plate that went out of that kitchen. He would have checked the food. You know this, Emily. A chef with his qualifications and experience should have noticed the plate looked different from the others. He had a chance to correct it and he didn’t. Even I could tell you what chopped up peanuts look like and I get excited when someone hands me some Taco Bell.”
“But…”
“No buts. He may have been dealing with a lot of stress, but the first opportunity some creature with boobs and a restaurant batted her eyelashes at him, he pounced. He used you. After two years as your fiancé, if he was unhappy, he owed you the courtesy of telling you he wanted out.”
“I know.”
“Personally, I think he enjoyed the rush. He slept with the woman down the road, for fuck’s sake.”
“I think he needs help.”
“He probably does but it can’t come from you. You can’t fix someone who won’t admit he’s broken.”
Broken. The word sat like a knife in her chest. Something stung her eye. She waited for the deluge of tears but for some reason, they still refused to flow.
“You’re a smart woman, Em. You don’t need me to tell you he’s bad news. ‘Better a little chiding than a great deal of heartbreak.’”
“Is that from one of your poems?”
“Nah. Shakespeare. The Merry Wives of Windsor. I know better than to take credit for that guy.” Chris grinned and mussed her hair. “Although I was tempted to quote Def Leppard instead. Their lyrics usually work in the same situations.”
“You’re a goofball.”
Her brother kissed her on the top of her head. “Perhaps, but this goofball knows one thing. You should be with a man who treats you like a queen.”
An image of Michael Zorn popped into Emily’s head. Who was she kidding? His image hadn’t ever left. She was tempted to text him to see how tiling day went at the house but decided against it. He’d already been way more supportive than she would have expected. She could hardly expect Michael to be at her emotional beck and call. Besides, surely he had plans, a social life. He must date. A man like him probably had hundreds of women offering him their bodies in lieu of payment for cleaning up their grout.
“Tell me more about Michael Zorn.”
“How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Read my mind. It’s creepy.”
“I work at a university. I spend all my time with young women. I can read them like a book.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re avoiding my question. Tell me about Zorn.”
“There’s nothing to tell. Our acquaintance began with a few emails about fixtures and caulking. Not exactly the basis of a grand romance.”
“And yet you admit you have feelings for him?”
“No. Maybe. It’s irrelevant.”
“He defended you in front of Trent.”
“Yeah, a couple of times.”
“My Muse is calling.” Chris held up a finger, pursed his lips, and put on a pompous poet face. “There once was a girl with a house. Michael hated her soon-to-be-spouse. Michael gave her a thrill when he wielded his drill. Before she knew it, she was unbuttoning her blouse.”
“Chris! This is serious.” Emily threw a couch cushion at him but couldn’t help laughing. “I knew the university paid you to write dirty limericks.”
“What? That one was awesome. I may get a copyright for it. Mark my words, sis. School children will be reciting it after my death.”
“Which will be at my hands. You’re impossible. Go home.”
Chris leaned back and kicked off his shoes, propping his feet up on the coffee table. “Nope. I think I’ll stay here with you tonight. You know, just in case your loser ex-fiancé actually does turn up shitfaced, begging for reconciliation. I don’t want you to cave.” He looked around. “Now where do you keep the wine glasses?”
Emily sighed as she padded into the kitchen for a couple of glasses. How could her own brother think she would cave?
Maybe because her recent behavior illustrated a feeblemindedness where Trent was concerned.
No caving. He’d gone too far. She needed to draw a line.
There might have been a time when Trent looked at her with adoring eyes but she’d glimpsed shadows in those eyes for some time now. She had too much self-respect to saddle herself to a man who only wanted her halfway. Alcohol and self-pity would never change that.
Carrying the glasses and one of the wine bottles, she sat next to Chris. He took them and set them on the table in front of them.
“Now, on the off chance Trent calls tonight, I will pick up the phone. It will give me a chance to tell the cocksucker to—”
“Okay, okay. No need to elaborate.”
Chris hugged her. “I’m proud of you.”
“Why? For being a dope for two years?”
“You weren’t a dope. You were duped. There’s a difference. I’d rather see you lose two years to him than a lifetime.” He patted her hand and gave her the side eye. “If you want to have an ugly cry, feel free. I promise not to take pictures, not too many anyway.”
“Is it wrong I don’t feel like crying?”
“What do you feel like?”
“I don’t know.” Emily tried to analyze the garbled messages her stomach was sending her, but the various twinges and groans just felt like a case of late-night munchies.
She’d said good-bye to Trent. Twenty-four months ago, he’d been the man of her dreams. Tall and handsome, with a promising job in the food industry, he’d swept her off her feet with his compliments and promises.
Empty, every last one of them.
She glanced at her bare ring finger. The choice of ring ought to have been a red flag, but she’d ignored it too. When the time to purchase a ring had come, Trent had insisted on getting her something fussy. Emily had begged him to purchase a more modest piece of jewelry. She hated showy jewels and felt nervous wearing them. He’d ignored her wishes and had bought her a honking solitaire. When she’d thrown it at him, despite how angry she’d been, she’d felt a weight fall from her shoulders.
At least Trent would make some good money in selling it.
And now? He was gone.
Emily should have still been shocked, but she wasn’t. She should have been angry, but couldn’t seem to muster up any more annoyance. She wasn’t even sure she was sad, other than being sad for him. Only one emotion filled her being and it made her chest expand, as if she’d just taken a big breath of fresh air.
Relief.
Trent was gone.
Chris, already into the wine, brandished the remote. “Let’s bury our sorrows in film. What are we in the mood for? Chick flick? Action movie? Some light porn?”
“You’re disgusting.” She grabbed his hand and snuggled against him. “And I love you.”
“Love you too, sis. Oh, and I should warn you. If I see Trent again, I will fuck him up.” He flicked through the channels until he found a BBC period drama, the kind Emily loved. “Here. You like this one, right?”
Colin Firth? Check. Waistcoats? Check. Genteel manners and heaving bosoms? Check. “Bingo.”
“You know what would make Pride and Sensibility even better?”
“It’s Pride and Prejudice, and what could possibly make it better?”
Chris pointed out a few of the Regency ladies on the screen. “A lesbian threesome.”
Emily shook her head and elbowed him in the ribs.