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Chapter Seven

Fallon had been gone for two days. I knew because I hadn’t seen her Audi outside the Vickers’ house for just as long. I’d finally caved and knocked on their door and asked Isla where she was. Apparently, she’d had to go to Chicago for some meeting, leaving her car at the airport. When I asked Isla if she needed anything, she said that she and Bob were good. But the strain in her voice lingered with me.

I tried to put Fallon out of mind, knowing I was due for a three-day shift the next day. It didn’t work. She was there, in the back of my mind, no matter how hard I tried to shove her back into a box. Zarek immediately called me on it.

“I’m the one who’s supposed to be distracted, not you,” he grumbled.

We were both in the firehouse weight room. He was spotting me as I bench-pressed.

“I’m not distracted,” I protested, frowning up at him.

“Sure, you’re not. I’ve taken you down forty pounds in the last five minutes and you haven’t even noticed.”

I looked at the barbell in confusion, and sure enough, the bastard had stripped forty pounds without me even catching on.

What the hell?

“Look, I’m worried about her, okay?” I admitted. I picked up the towel and swiped sweat from my face.

“What’s there to be worried about?” Zarek’s bitterness cut through the air like a knife through butter. I winced at the edge in his voice.

“I’m done.” I slotted the bar into the catch, sat up, and turned to face him. “Talk to me,” I demanded.

“What’s there to talk about? When I call, Chloe stays on the line just long enough to tell me she’s fine, then she hangs up. That’s it. Every damn time.”

“Zoe has to be giving you something. Anything. She’s her twin for fuck’s sake.”

Zarek nodded. “She says I have to give Chloe space. She swears that Chloe’s okay, but she won’t say much more than that.” His shoulders sagged under the weight of his frustration. “This shit is killing me. When we got married, I promised her, man. I swore to cherish her, to love her in sickness and in health.” His eyes, filled with anguish, locked on mine. “How can I do that if she won’t even let me hold her?”

I reached up and grabbed him by the back of his neck and pressed my forehead to his. “I’ve known the two of you for most of my life. There’s no way that you won’t work this out. You and Chloe were meant to be together.”

Zarek let out a shaky breath. His voice was barely above a whisper. “From your lips to God’s ears.”

I let him go, and he turned away, his shoulders hunched in defeat. Watching him leave the weight room, I could feel his grief with every step he took toward the door.

His words echoed in my head long after he was gone. Everything he’d said, all of his pain, made me realize that the possibility of a future with Fallon meant everything to me.

Dad was right, I was going to have to do some real soul searching to figure out what made me sabotage our relationship nine years ago, so that we could have the life we deserved. The life she deserved.

If I couldn’t give Fallon all the best things in the world. If I couldn’t cherish and love her like the treasure she was, I should just walk away.

And I wasn’t fucking walking away!

“I like this.”

“What, Mom? I couldn’t hear you.” I paused, brushing dirt off my sunhat with the back of my wrist. I must have misheard her. Maybe all the time in the sun was making me hallucinate

“I said, I like this. It feels like old times.”

I knelt up, blinking against the sun. The words caught me off-guard. For a second, I let myself believe her, even as something inside me braced for the inevitable. “I agree. It’s a beautiful day to be working in the garden.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve felt up to this. Seeing your father smile gave me the motivation. Inviting Harry, Mo, and Skip over was a good idea on your part.”

My shoulders tensed. Compliments from her were rare and often came with strings. I waited, like a rabbit sensing the hawk.

“That’s good,” I mumbled, my trowel digging into the soil.

“But you shouldn’t have made that fancy spinach dip. I told you to just melt the Velveeta. You should’ve listened to me.”

There it was. The put-down. I sighed, swallowing the urge to point out that the spinach dip had been nearly gone before we even stepped outside. Why bother? Some battles weren’t worth fighting.

“Michael was over while you were gone.”

That got my attention. My hands stilled. “He was?”

“Yes,” she said, brushing dirt off her dungarees. “He had a lot of complimentary things to say about the job you do in Chicago. Sounds like you’re important.”

I didn’t look up, just yanked a stubborn weed from its roots. What was I supposed to say to that?

“Michael showed us an article about you in some fancy magazine—your picture and everything. It was a nice picture, even with that bright red lipstick.”

“They had a makeup artist, Mom.” What the hell, why was I trying to defend myself? I was a grown-ass woman, for fuck’s sake.

She dusted off her hands and moved closer, sidling into my space even as I shifted away. “I meant it, Fallon. It was a nice picture.”

I kept my focus on the weeds, biting back a retort.

“What made you think to invite your dad’s friends over?” she asked, her tone softening.

“I read up on it. It was one of the suggestions I found.”

“What other suggestions were there?”

I glanced sideways, startled by the genuine interest in her eyes. She rarely lingered on anything I had to say. “Some easy hobbies he could do sitting down or in bed,” I said, a grin tugging at my lips. “Like knitting or building model airplanes.”

I nearly fell over when she giggled—a sound I hadn’t heard in years. It caught me so off-guard, I stared.

“What? You don’t think I can laugh?” she asked, still smiling.

“It’s just been a while.”

“You’re right,” she admitted. “It has. I laughed more when you lived here.”

“You mean when I lived here and Michael came over,” I corrected, my tone flat.

She frowned, sitting back on her heels. “You make it sound like I liked him better than I liked you.”

“That’s because you did. You do.”

Her expression grew sharp, but not unkind. “Fallon Jane, I never liked Michael better than you. I love you. You’re my daughter. If I seemed glad to see him, it’s because you were happy when he was around.”

“And because Dad was happy,” I mumbled.

Her gaze pinned me, steady and unyielding. “We’re not talking about your dad. We’re talking about me. I’ve always liked Michael Rankin, but I love you. You’re my daughter, Fallon. That’s never changed.”

I managed not to roll my eyes, but my skepticism must have been written all over my face.

“Fallon, tell me you know that.”

“Can we not do this?” I said, my voice tight. “I know where I stand. I know you and Dad always wanted a boy.”

“Where did you ever get that idea?” Her voice cracked. “I was thrilled to bring a daughter home from the hospital. Don’t you remember baking together? Or how about reading Little Women for Mrs. Oxley’s class? You wouldn’t have passed without us tackling that together.”

“I hated that book,” I said, lips twitching. “Even Jo seemed wimpy.”

Mom laughed again, a softer sound this time. “I should’ve known you’d grow up to be a big-deal businesswoman.”

“Yeah, but I liked Mrs. March. She was kickass, keeping everything together.”

Her face fell, the laughter vanishing as quickly as it had come. “Your grandmother was like her. She made every one of us feel like we were her favorite.”

“Do you regret moving from Connecticut?” I asked quietly.

She sighed, her gaze turning distant. “I’d have followed your dad to the ends of the earth. But yes, I wish I’d been closer to my family. I wish I’d been with Mom when she died.”

I pulled off my gardening glove and laid a hand on her wrist. “She knew you loved her.”

She nodded but didn’t speak. Then, with a deep breath, she asked, “Why did you call off the wedding?”

The air seemed to still, the gentle rustling of leaves falling silent. “Why are you asking now?”

“I should’ve asked you then. Instead, I let your father’s anger carry me along. But I knew better. You didn’t want to be a big-shot career woman. You wanted to be Michael’s wife. You wanted to have his children.”

The words cut deep, because they were true.

Once.

“What happened, Fallon? What made you leave?”

I swallowed hard, the memories swirling, heavy and dark. “Why didn’t you ask me then?” I really wanted to know.

Her face crumpled. “Your father was so angry. How could you have left? How could you have embarrassed us like that? He was furious.”

“I tried calling the next week.”

“He wouldn’t take your calls.”

“I called when he was at work, Mom. You didn’t take my calls.”

She stared at the dirt between her knees, her silence louder than any words.

“I made a mistake,” she said finally, her voice hoarse.

Tears stung my eyes as I stood, brushing the dirt from my knees. Her face—so much like mine—was streaked with tears she didn’t bother to wipe away.

“You have to admit, you made a mistake, too,” she said, almost pleading.

I nodded, my throat tight. “You’re right. I made mistakes. But I was twenty-two, and I reached out. But you? You never reached back. I bet your mom would have.”

More tears fell as I turned and walked away.