Page 3 of Now That It’s You (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #5)

K yle’s hands barely touched the steering wheel, his whole body looser than he actually felt. He’d had twenty-four hours to digest the news of his brother’s passing, which mostly left him feeling like a complete fuckup at this whole grief thing.

Shouldn’t he be tense? Or teary-eyed or ripped in two? He felt all those things, to some degree, but mostly he felt numb.

He’d left his mother’s house right after breakfast, determined to escape the crying and arguing and muffins that left greasy puddles in their cardboard box. He didn’t fault his family for their grief. It just didn’t look anything like his grief.

Turning the car down a narrow side street, Kyle realized he had no actual destination in mind.

Instinct had taken him back toward the hospital, which made no sense at all.

Matt was long gone from there, probably in a crematorium at the funeral home or something.

He tried to picture it in his mind, hoping the image might tap into the fountain of grief he knew should be bubbling inside him.

Instead, he found himself wondering what a crematorium looked like.

You’re losing it, man.

He blinked to clear his head, turning to look toward the hospital even though Matt wasn’t there anymore. His eyes landed on a droopy balloon bouquet tied to a bus stop bench on the side of the road.

Get well soon! a shiny balloon declared over the body of a dead pigeon. Kyle stared at the balloons. They looked like the ones Meg had brought yesterday, but that was silly. They couldn’t be hers. His mind just wanted an excuse to latch on to an image of her.

He didn’t realize he was smiling until he caught sight of his own reflection in the rearview mirror. Then he felt like a dick. What the hell kind of guy smiles the day after his brother dies?

He tried focusing on the dead pigeon instead, hoping to conjure some tears even if they were for the wrong reason. Dammit, he owed Matt some show of emotion.

But the memory of that bird just led him to another one of Meg.

Thanksgiving Day, more than three years ago.

The weather had been dreary and the whole family had gone out for a post-meal walk.

She’d spotted a dead dove on the ground, then looked up to see a second bird on the power line above.

Her eyes had filled with tears, and Kyle stopped walking to make sure she was okay.

“They mate for life,” she’d said.

Matt had caught her hand in his, tugging her along. “Come on, you’ll get bird mites.”

But Meg had pulled her hand free. “Doves mate for life,” she’d repeated, looking from the dead bird to the live one cooing overhead. “That one must be the partner.”

Kyle remembered feeling something heavy and hot pressing against his chest. He’d looked at her face clouded with sentiment, and he’d ached to take her in his arms.

But he hadn’t, obviously. For crying out loud, she’d been on the brink of becoming his brother’s wife. The most he could offer was a squeeze of her hand as he moved ahead and fell into step beside his parents.

But he’d seen tears glinting in her eyes over pumpkin pie that evening and knew she was thinking of the bird.

He shook his head now to clear the rest of the memory.

The part he’d wondered about ever since.

He turned the car down another narrow street.

He hadn’t realized where he was driving until that moment, but now it all made sense.

Pathway Park. It was one of Matt’s favorite spots.

He used to boast it was the best place in Portland to ogle joggers in skimpy sports bras and short shorts.

As Kyle pulled into the parking lot, he had to admit his brother had a point. A buxom brunette trotted past wearing something that looked more like an eye patch than a sports bra, and Kyle tried not to stare as he got out of the car.

Remembering the ducks that paddled the river looking for handouts, he rummaged in his backseat looking for birdseed or crackers or something to throw for them.

He found a Ziploc bag of marshmallows and tried to remember how they’d gotten there.

A camping trip with Cara; that was it. They’d made s’mores and snuggled under a green wool blanket just a few months before they split in August. The memory seemed hollow, like it belonged to someone else.

Kyle clenched the baggie in his fist and wondered if ducks ate marshmallows.

He shoved the car door shut and turned toward the park.

The air was somewhere between crisp and comfortably tepid, and he smelled crumbled leaves and river water flowing on the light breeze.

His boots sank into soggy grass and the squish of it beneath his soles gave him an odd sort of comfort.

He took a few steps forward, glancing at the blonde in a pink sports bra who bounced past on his right.

“Hey, there,” she called grinning at him over her shoulder. “Love that shirt.”

“Thanks.” Kyle looked down to see he was wearing the same plain white T-shirt he’d dug out of the hamper the day before. He looked back up to see the blonde jogging in place a few feet away.

“Let me amend that,” she said, brushing a perfect sheen of sweat from between her breasts. “I love the way you fill out that shirt.”

“Uh, thanks?”

The blonde laughed. “My name’s Stacey, and if you’d like to go out sometime?—”

“Actually, Stacey, now’s not a great time.”

“I didn’t mean now , silly. Obviously I’d want to shower first.” She shot him a suggestive look, probably waiting for him to say something flirtatious about the shower.

But Kyle just stood there, biting back the urge to tell her he wasn’t in the mood for a soapy grope-fest with a stranger the day after his brother died. Of course, his brother would have been the first person to hit on a woman no matter who died. Maybe this was a sign from Matt.

“Maybe later,” Kyle said, shuffling past her and making a beeline for the north end of the park.

There was a bench he remembered on a ledge overlooking the river and a path fringed with evergreens.

Matt always liked sitting there, claiming it had the best view of the joggers.

The female joggers. Kyle wasn’t in the mood for ogling, but he did feel like finding a connection to his brother.

What he didn’t expect to find was Meg.

He spotted her instantly, her rust-colored ringlets blowing behind her as she sat silhouetted against the river, shoulders hunched in a chocolate-colored poncho he knew would match her eyes.

He stood there for a few beats, staring at the back of her head, wondering what drew her here to this same bench he’d been aiming for.

The river twinkled like broken glass in the faint haze of sunlight seeping through the clouds. A pair of swans chugged past near the riverbank and Kyle remembered the doves again.

Meg turned like she knew he’d been watching her.

He was right, the poncho did match her eyes, and though they were a little puffy, he was relieved to see they looked dry.

She blinked at him, then offered a small, feeble wave.

He found himself striding toward her before he’d made up his mind to do that.

“How did you know?” she asked, her voice soft as the underside of a maple leaf.

“Know what?”

“That this was our spot.” She shoved her hands between her knees and gave him a wilted little smile. “Matt and I used to come here all the time. He said he found the ducks soothing.”

Kyle nodded, not willing to taint her memory of Matt. “Matt always liked this place.”

He stood there with his hands dangling at his sides, not sure what to say. She made it easier for him by sliding to one end of the bench and tipping her head toward the empty space. “There’s plenty of room,” she said. “If you wanted to sit here, too.”

Kyle hesitated, then took a few steps forward until he found himself settling onto the cool wood beside her.

Something smelled like lilacs, but it was October in Portland and lilacs were long gone, so it must be Meg’s hair.

She’d always smelled sweet and flowery, like a mix of lilacs and honeysuckle or peonies or some other flower he couldn’t name.

Matt used to complain that everything he owned ended up smelling like he’d spent the day in a greenhouse, though Kyle never saw the problem with that.

“What’s with the marshmallows?” she asked.

He’d forgotten he was holding them. “They’re for the ducks.”

“I didn’t realize ducks had a sweet tooth.” She frowned. “Or would it be a sweet beak?”

“That sounds like the name of an eighties band. ‘Coming up next, we have “Quack in Black” by Sweet Beak.’”

She laughed, her smile reaching all the way to her eyes. Then she froze like she’d been caught cursing in church. Her face folded back into a neutral frown, and Kyle considered telling her it was okay to smile.

But hell, he wasn’t exactly the authority on grief. Maybe he had it all wrong.

“So how are you doing?” she asked.

“Okay, under the circumstances.”

She shivered, even though it wasn’t particularly cold out, and pulled the hood of the poncho up over her head. It should have looked ridiculous, like a Jedi costume, but on Meg the hood made a frame for her lovely face.

Kyle gripped the bag of marshmallows tighter. “Sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“Thanks.” She bit her lip. “Did you get to?”

“Not in so many words, but we did talk a little before the surgery.”

What had they even discussed? Stupid shit like baseball stats and an argument about their first babysitter’s name. Christ. If he’d known it was the last conversation they’d ever have, he would have just agreed her name was Sunny, even though he knew damn well it was Valerie.

Meg nodded and looked out at the river. She was quiet a moment and, knowing Meg, perfectly content to sit in silence. She’d never been one for blurting out her thoughts, tending instead to muzzle herself around his outspoken family. But something about it made Kyle edgy now.

“How’s work?” he asked.