скачать книгу бесплатно
They could have hung laundry on the tension strung between them.
“Well, then,” he said, jangling his car keys, “I suppose I’ll go back to the hotel, get my things. If that’s okay.”
Propping her elbow on the arm of the sofa, Cass let her head drop into her palm, her eyes drifting closed. “Blake, please. Don’t make me think. Or make decisions. Or even react. Just do whatever you need to do, okay?”
“Only if you’re sure…”
Now her eyes popped open. “Blake!”
The ambivalence in the gentle brown eyes that met hers tied her insides into a million little knots. And she knew, at that moment, that he hadn’t changed. Not really. Not enough to matter, at least.
Why, God? Why are you doing this to me?
She straightened, folding her hands primly in what was left of her lap. “I’m going to be miserable, no matter what you do. So if it makes Lucille a little happier right now…” Her breath gripped her throat, and she realized how perilously close she was to falling apart. “And I’m sure Shaun really would appreciate your being here,” she got out. “He’s got some activities planned I’m not going to be up for. If you could stick around and take him, I’d be very grateful.”
At that, she saw some of the tension ease from her former husband’s shoulders. “I’d be happy to help,” he said with that smile that used to…
Never mind what that smile used to do. She couldn’t let it do it now. Or ever again. And that’s all she needed to remember, she thought as she watched Blake leave the room, recalling how she used to cuddle up to those broad shoulders on chilly mornings.…
N’uh, uh-uh…
All she needed to remember was that remembering was not an option.
Chapter Two
Blake found Shaun doing a bad impression of a skateboarder in the cul-de-sac in front of the house. The kid had changed into a pair of droopy jeans with shredded hems, topped by three layers of shirts in varying degrees of grunge. For a split second, Blake considered whether he even wanted to be seen with the kid.
“I’m going back to the hotel to get my stuff,” he called over. “Wanna come?”
The skateboard went flying in one direction, Shaun in another, as he came to a halt. Panting, he took off his hat—its original color anybody’s guess—shook out his now-unconfined hair, then pushed the hat back on his head. Backward. “You staying here?” he asked as he snatched the skateboard up off the pavement, then ambled toward Blake, board dangling from his knuckles.
“Appears so.” Blake waited until the boy reached him before continuing. “Lucille’s idea.”
Shaun nodded, a half grin tugging at his lips as he hissed out a breath. “What’d Mom say?”
“Not much,” Blake said cautiously. “Although she did mention that you had some plans for the next few days and maybe I could play shuttle service.”
Another nod. “Yeah, that’d be cool. I s’pose.” Now he gave Blake’s Range Rover the once-over. “Not bad,” he pronounced, skimming one hand over the hood. “New?”
“The Bronco gave up the ghost last winter.” For some reason, Shaun’s nonchalance was making Blake antsy. “So. You want to come with me or not?”
“Yeah. Sure. C’n I put the board in back?”
“Yeah. Sure,” Blake echoed, opening the door.
The skateboard duly deposited, they both climbed into the car. Shaun immediately asked if he could turn on the radio; Blake, assuming the kid wasn’t thinking along the lines of an easy listening or classical station, not so immediately agreed. Two button clicks later, the glove-leather interior of his car pulsed with mind-numbing, quadrophonically enhanced hip-hop. Blake glanced over at his son, who was drumming the dash in time to the…music. He sucked in a deep, deep breath, then let it out very, very slowly.
It was a start.
Cass blew a puff of air through her bangs and considered the plate of food in her hands, still uneaten, still unwanted. Right on cue, reminding her she wasn’t the only one who needed to eat, the baby delivered a swift kick to her right kidney. With a sigh, she lifted something unrecognizable to her mouth and began to nibble, only to quickly dispose of it in her napkin. Whoever had put the chicken liver on her plate had an obvious death wish. Liver, in whatever form, from whatever animal, was still something’s innards, and Cass did not eat innards. Ever.
Tears sprang to her eyes.
“Hey, honey…you okay?”
Cass immediately reined everything in as Mercy plopped herself down beside her, wiping her sapphire-blue-tipped fingers on a napkin. The nails were a perfect match to the petite woman’s fitted suit. Her lips, thankfully, were not.
“Sure,” Cass answered. “I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So if you’d already made up your mind how I was, why’d you ask?”
“Because that’s what friends do.”
“Ask? Or predetermine the answers?”
“Whatever works.”
Cass settled farther into the sofa, the plate precariously balanced on top of the mound that contained her unborn child. “Well, consider this. If I was okay, they probably really would come take me away.”
“Good point,” Mercy said. “But with the baby coming and everything? Dana and I are just worried about you, you know?”
Dana Malone, the third partner in their business venture, was—thank God—not in evidence at the moment. “Don’t be. Please. You know hovering makes me crazy.”
“Tough. If we didn’t bug you, you’d probably starve to death.” Yards of ebony corkscrew curls, only minimally tamed by a narrow, blue velvet headband, tangled with the collar of her suit as she shook her head. “For someone so savvy about running a business, you’re pathetic when it comes to taking care of yourself.” Teak eyes settled on Cass’s plate. “Why didn’t you eat the liver?”
“Because I’d rather cut out my own. So live up to your name, Mercy, and show me some.”
“Liver’s a good source of iron, which you need for the baby—”
“So bring me a bowl of Total. Get off my case.”
Mercy humphed, then scanned the room and the dwindled-to-almost-nothing crowd. “Your ex left?” she asked, making Cass jump.
“Only temporarily,” she said, trying to sound blasé. “Lucille got her claws in him and invited him to stay over.”
“Stay over? As in, here?” One sapphire nail jabbed downward. “In this house?”
The soft leather cushioned Cass’s aching neck muscles as she leaned back against the sofa and faced her partner. “Does that mean I’m not the only one who thinks this is a little strange?”
Her brows now dipped, Mercy leaned over and snitched a taquito off Cass’s plate. Crossing her legs, she propped her elbow on her knee as she munched, waving the truncated taquito around for emphasis. “I think…I think I don’t know what I think. Except… Dios mio, he’s a hunk and a half. Oh, God—” Five long fingers clamped around Cass’s wrist. “That was really stupid.”
“Forget it. Besides, you’re right.”
Up went the brows again.
“Oh, for crying out loud, Merce. Look. If someone lets you borrow something—like, I don’t know, a beautiful piece of jewelry or something—it’s no less beautiful when you have to give it back, right?”
Mercedes considered that for a moment, then said, “Well, all I have to say is, what you gave back is serious Harry Winston material.” She shook her head, then picked a cheesy something or other off Cass’s plate and popped it into her mouth. Mercedes Zamora, Cass had decided a long time ago, epitomized the word spitfire. Petite, pretty, vivacious, adorable figure, just quirky enough to keep you on your toes. “So what happened? Why’d you two break up?”
And deadly.
“Geez, lady. Anybody ever tell you your timing stinks?”
Mercy pinned her with a look that could intimidate a Mafia goon. “Maybe. But you have this nasty habit of holding things in, and that’s not good, you know? Very bad for the blood pressure.”
Cass closed her eyes, hoping against hope the woman would go away. “I’d rather think of it as keeping my personal life, well…personal.”
But going away was clearly not on Mercy’s to-do list. From two feet away, Cass could hear her chewing. “The guy’s history, right?”
The mantel clock chimed during the several seconds that passed before Cass replied, her eyes still closed. “Ancient, even.”
“So?”
“So…” So she would toss her friend a scrap and maybe then she’d go away. “We got married too early. We couldn’t handle it. End of story.” The baby squirmed again; Cass absently rubbed the little elbow or knee or whatever it was. And through the anger and the confusion and all the dreck that threatened to turn her into a raving nutso, floated the love she felt for the little guy who knew nothing of any of this.
“And…you’re not going to say anything more.”
Tired as she was, Cass opened her eyes, looked her friend straight in hers and lied. “There’s nothing else to say. Really.” She shrugged. “Just one of those things.”
Mercy rolled her eyes and stuffed another taquito into her cute little mouth.
* * *
Blake’s head was still softly buzzing, like overhead power lines, from his far-too-close encounter with current pop culture. More than his humming head, however, he’d regretted that the noise had precluded conversation. Now, as he tossed his overnight bag into the car before returning to the house, he decided to get the conversation going before his son made any musical requests.
“So…how’s school?”
The sardonic smile seemed far too old on a fifteen-year-old’s face. “Dude—” he buckled up, adjusted his shoulder strap “—you sound like every lame father in every lame movie, you know, when the father is, like, trying to ‘relate’ to his estranged kid.”
Blake tried not to tense. Or get defensive. Or ask if Shaun wanted the music back on. “I see. Well, unfortunately I really am interested in how you’re doing in school. Lame though that may be.”
“’S’okay,” the kid allowed, and Blake felt a muscle or two relax. “I made Honor Roll last nine weeks.” He leaned forward, index finger poised to send Blake over the edge. Blake caught his wrist.
“Forget it. My brain cells are still staggering around in my head, thudding into each other. They need some time to recuperate, okay?”
Shaun was giving him that odd, pitying look again. Then he scrunched down in his seat, his arms folded over his chest. “Yeah. Whatever.”
They pulled out onto I-40, headed back toward Albuquerque’s Far Heights. “Good for you. About the Honor Roll, I mean.”
“Yeah, but like, Mom is still on me about everything.” The words tumbled out in a rush. “Where am I going? Who am I going to be with? Crap like that.”
The reprimand fell out of Blake’s mouth before he could catch it. “Watch your mouth, Shaun.”
“God.” The word came out on a groan. “Not you, too.”
“Yep. Me, too.” Blake checked his side mirror before pulling into the left lane to pass a truck. “A regular tyrant. In any case, your mother has every right to know where you are and what you’re doing. In case you missed it, you’re not legal yet. She’s responsible for you. If you screw up, she gets blamed.”
Shaun shifted in his seat, his brow beetled. “Why does everyone assume I’m going to screw up?”
Remembering what it was like to be his age should have helped. Instead, thinking about the Dark Ages of his youth only made Blake feel old and tired and woefully inept. For a split second he envied his partner, Troy, and his three-year-old twins. Three-year-olds, even those three-year-olds, he could deal with. A Happy Meal and the zoo and you were good to go. Teenagers…?
His heartfelt sigh earned him yet another of Shaun’s looks. “No one does,” he said quietly. Hopefully. “But kids do mess up, you know. And she—and I—just want you to be careful.”
“Geez, man…” The lanky arms twisted more tightly across his chest. But there were no further comments. Blake wasn’t sure if this was a good sign or not.
“So…” Fool that he was, Blake refused to let the silence gain a foothold. “Next lame question…” That got a sideways glance and a cocked eyebrow. “Any girls in your life?”
“You mean, like a girlfriend?” Shaun gave a sharp, short laugh. “Uh, no. Chicks are way too expensive. Besides, with no wheels, it’s like, pointless. I mean, whuttami s’posed to do? Ask Mom to drive me on a date?”
He decided not to go anywhere near the “wheels” topic. “Whoa. Chicks?”
Bam! Up went the wall again. “Hey. Lighten up. It’s not like they care or anything.”
“Well, I care. And your mother would probably boot you clear into next week if she heard you say that. Let me fill you in, if you expect to get anywhere with the female sex, ever. ‘Girls’ is okay until they reach about seventeen. After that, they’re ‘women.” ’
Silence. Then, “You going to criticize everything I say?”
Damn.
“That wasn’t my intention, Shaun. Look, I didn’t come down here to argue with you—”
“Why did you come down, anyway?”
Puzzled, Blake flicked his son a glance. “Because I thought you wanted me to.”
“Oh, right. Like that made any difference before.”
Careful…
“Meaning?”
“Meaning…” The kid hit the automatic window button, lowering the tinted glass. Raised it again. Lowered it. Slouched even farther down in his seat. “Meaning how many times did I ask you to come down this past year, and you were too busy? Now, suddenly, Alan’s dead, and look who’s here.” The boy punched his knee with his fist. “Oh, hell, man…this really, really sucks.”
His own stomach churning, Blake spoke without thinking. “Shaun. Language.”
“Oh, come on, man. This is way kids talk nowadays. Get with the program, geez.”
“I’m not naive, Shaun,” Blake snapped, angry that they were skirting the issue. Angrier because he wasn’t sure what the issue was. “This is the way kids have always talked. Around each other. Not around their parents.” He leveled his gaze at his son. “Got it?”
A sullen glare was his only response.
Several seconds passed before Blake spoke. “I apologize. I didn’t come all this way to hassle you about your language. But I guess…I’m not very good at this.”
He caught Shaun’s frown. “Good at what?”
One hand on the steering wheel, Blake gestured ineffectually with the other. “Knowing what to say when someone dies. To make them feel better.” At the boy’s blank stare, Blake pushed on, “About Alan’s death. I imagine you’re upset about it—”
