CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
MITCHELL DELUCA GOT out of his car in an unhurried manner, smiling as Charlie ran into his arms. Tousled the boy’s hair and glanced at Tom.
Tom got out, his heart thudding sickly against his ribs. Stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked over. “Hello.”
“Hey. Mitch DeLuca, Charlie’s father. Nice to meet you.” He offered his hand.
“We’ve met,” Tom said.
“Oh, yeah?”
Nope, he was sincere. “I was engaged to Melissa.”
Charlie looked between the two of them. “It’s Tom, Dad. Tom Barlow.”
“Right! Dude, sorry. Good to see you again.” Mitchell gave Tom a baffled look—So why exactly are you here? Then he turned to his boy, and the resemblance between them was a little shocking. Yes, Charlie looked like his mum...but he looked a lot like his father, too.
“How are you, son? It’s been a while, hasn’t it? You’re getting to be as tall as me.”
Charlie smiled proudly, and Tom felt it like a knife to the chest. It had taken two entire years for Charlie to smile at him, but Mitchell...Mitchell got to see that right away. No resentment toward Mitchell, no indeed.
“What’s new, pal?” Mitchell asked.
“Um, I’m may be getting my pilot’s license. And I’m in this boxing club? There’s a tournament in two weeks, and you should come!”
“Maybe. Let’s get going, okay? Your grandmother isn’t exactly thrilled to see me, know what I mean? Wanna grab something to eat, sport?”
“Sure! Yeah, of course!”
Mitchell glanced at Tom again. “Uh, listen, I’m gonna spend a little time with my son, okay?”
Tom nodded. “You do that.” He looked at Charlie. “Talk to you soon, mate.”
“Mate?” Mitchell smirked. “Yeah, that word has different connotations here, pal.” He shot Charlie a look. “Am I right, buddy?”
For a half second, Charlie looked conflicted. Then he glanced at his father and smirked. “Yeah. I keep telling him that.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s kind of gay, Tom.”
Ah.
“See you soon,” Tom said, but Charlie was already talking to Mitchell, awash in happiness over seeing his father. Then Mitchell, the deadbeat, neglectful, selfish bastard, slung his arm around Charlie’s shoulders and led him to the Mustang.
Charlie didn’t look back.
It doesn’t mean anything, Tom told himself.
Unfortunately, he knew better.
* * *
HONOR’S PHONE BUZZED with a text. Had to go to Wickham. See you sometime tonight.
That was...odd. Terse. Then again, texts were all too easy to misinterpret. She hit Call and waited. Tom’s voice mail came on.
You’ve reached Tom Barlow. Leave a message, and I’ll call you when I’m free. Cheers.
“Hi, Tom, it’s Honor,” she said, wincing. Hopefully, he knew her voice by now. “Just wanted to make sure everything was okay. I guess you’re working? Um, let me know if you want dinner. Or we could go to O’Rourke’s or something, if you were in the mood. Anyway, today was really great.” She paused. “Have a good rest of the afternoon. Bye. See you later. Talk to you soon.” Hang up the damn phone, the eggs said, peering over their reading glasses as they knit.
She hung up.
He’s blowing you off, they observed with sympathetic certainty.
“No, he’s not. There is no evidence of that,” she said.
But by nine o’clock that night, the evidence was pretty strong.
What had happened? After a magically perfect ten days, when it had felt like something shifted, like that cement barrier had come down, the wall was suddenly back. No phone call. One text to say, Don’t think I’ll make it back for dinner.
She mentally reviewed the day. Four hours with Tom and Charlie. Had she said something? Was Charlie okay? Had Charlie said something like Don’t marry Honor, I hate her? Because, quite frankly, she thought the kid might like her.
Screw it. She grabbed her phone, then put it down. Considered a text, typed a few words, deleted them.
Spike scrabbled against her calf, and Honor bent over and picked the little fluff ball up. “Any ideas?” she asked the doggy. Spike flopped on her back, offering her belly, and Honor idly rubbed it.
She watched TV for an hour—The Mysterious World of Pork-Borne Illnesses. Wondered idly if she had a tapeworm and, if so, could she eat unlimited amounts of Ben & Jerry’s Cinnamon Bun. When her phone rang, she lunged for it, earning a bark of protest from Spike. “Hello?”
“Hey. It’s Dana.”
Honor jerked in surprise. “Hi.”
“How are you?”
Spike yawned, already bored. “I’m fine. How are you?”
“You sound blue.”
“Nope.” The days of mood discussions had ended some time ago. “What can I do for you?”
Dana was quiet for a minute. “I don’t know. I called on impulse.”
Not every friendship was meant to last forever. Honor knew that. It didn’t mean you couldn’t miss the old times, even knowing those old times couldn’t be repeated.
“How are things with you?” she asked.
“They’re fine.”
“You feeling okay?”
“Sure. Why?”
Honor paused. “Um, just because you’re pregnant.”
“Right. No, I feel the same. Normal. I mean, everything’s normal.” Dana paused. “So you and Tom were pretty funny at the Black and White Ball.”
“I guess so.”
“He seems...great.” There was an odd note of yearning in Dana’s voice.
“He is,” Honor said. There was silence on the other end. “So why are you calling, Dana?”
“I don’t know.” She sighed. “You ever worry that Tom might find something out about you, and not like you anymore?”
Fungus. She didn’t want to have a relationship talk with Dana. Dana, who pretended not to know how much Honor had loved Brogan. Who’d blindsided her and dismissed her feelings.
But maybe Dana had been right about those feelings. After all, Honor now firmly believed she was in love with Tom, her walled-off, funny, delicious Brit.
“Not really,” Honor said hesitantly. “I don’t know that there’s anything to find out. That he doesn’t know already, I mean.”
“I probably shouldn’t be calling you to talk about this stuff,” Dana said, her voice small and sad.
“Yeah, it’s a little weird.”
“You were always a good friend.”
The words brought an unexpected lump to Honor’s throat. “Thanks.”
“And I wasn’t.”
“Is that an apology?”
Dana sighed. “Yes.”
“Accepted.”
“So are we friends again?”
Honor smoothed the scraggly fur on top of Spike’s head. “I don’t know.”
“You just said you accepted my apology.” Already, there was a defensive note in Dana’s voice.
“I really enjoyed our friendship,” Honor said now, carefully. “But I’m not sure we can go back to that.”
“But I just apologized! And I think you know that’s not easy for me.”
“Right. But...” She hesitated. “Dana, you have to realize—”
“Look, I’m going through some stuff, Honor, and people screw up, and I’m sorry! Are you going to hold this against me for my whole life?”
“No,” Honor said. “I’m really over it. But I just don’t—”
“You can forgive, you just can’t forget that I dared to get the man you wanted. You know what? Forget it.”
“Dana—” Nope. She’d hung up.
And that was just fine with Honor. Dana was demanding, selfish and always managed to give herself carte blanche when it came to her dealings with other people. She was always the wronged party, and never at fault.
While life had felt emptier without her friendship for a while, it also felt cleaner. Other people had filled the space Dana and Brogan had left.
She had Tom now. Didn’t she?
The silence of the house was deafening.
Where was he? What happened today? Was she really going to have to call Levi and see if there’d been any accidents?
Spike yawned, then began gnawing on Honor’s thumb.
The door opened, and Tom walked in. Unsteadily.
“Hey,” Honor said, rising to her feet.
“Hallo, darling,” he said. He put his wallet on the hall table and missed.
“Have you been drinking?”
“Yes.”
“And driving?” she barked.
“No, darling. I’m not a bloody idiot, am I? No, I drove stone-cold sober from the college to O’Rourke’s and then had a drink. More than one. And then I walked home to our pleasant abode to find my affianced, adorably concerned.”
“I was concerned. Why didn’t you call me?”
“Sorry. I should have. Hindsight and all that. But here I am all the same.” Spike jumped off the couch to growl. “Hallo, Ratty,” Tom said. “Careful, I’d hate to step on you.” Spike took the laces of Tom’s shoes in her teeth and whipped her head back and forth.
The phone rang again. Honor answered it. “Hey, it’s Colleen. Just wanted to make sure Tom got home okay. Connor took his keys.”
“He’s here and fine,” Honor said. “Thanks, Coll. And thank Connor for me, too.”
“No prob, hon. He’s a sweetheart, your Tom. See you soon!”
She hung up the phone. “I thought you were going to cut back,” she said.
“And I have,” he said. “Three drinks is hardly pissed, my sweet little Puritanical nag. Nor is four.”
“Connor O’Rourke had to take your keys.”
“No, love. I gave him my keys on the minute possibility that I might have a fit of idiocy and decide to drive.” He certainly sounded sober. “Now, I’m going to bed, darling. Care to join me?”
She didn’t answer.
“Right. Good night, then.”
With that, Tom gently shook Spike free and went upstairs, leaving Honor standing in the middle of the living room, surrounded by the quiet once more.