Homestands (Chicago Wind #1) (14 page)

He turned the key in the ignition. “Clark and Jill—they’re your neighbors?”

She nodded.

“They invited us over for dinner tomorrow. I’ve got an off day.”

“
Us
? We are not an
us
. They should have talked to me.”

“Jill said you okayed it.”

She had? Was that what Jill had been talking about?

Mike glanced her way, lips tilted as if he were annoyed. Or confused. Or both.

Yes, she was being a bit of a baby. But who could blame her? She rubbed her hand over her face, wanting to go straight to bed. If anything good had come from this night, it was that her eyes were wide open. If these people and her own friends acted starstruck over Mike, how much worse was his everyday life? And if he’d had an affair when he was a much lesser known ballplayer, what made her think he’d handle magnified attention any better?

Beneath crossed arms, she squeezed her hands into fists. Never, she promised, would she let anything happen between herself and Mike.
Never.
She’d do whatever it took to make Mike realize that he was a part of Terrell’s life only.

Mike chuckled. “I thought Clark was your husband.”

Her husband? Meg frowned at him. “What?”

“I saw Clark with you and Terrell on opening day.” His agreeable smile was back. “I thought you two were married.”

“No. Obviously. We’re not.”

She should be so lucky.

Despite Meg’s best wishing, Monday’s work hours passed with no news of a cancellation from either Jill or Mike. Meg worked feverishly on the Layton design, using that as her way out of spending the entire day with Mike like he’d suggested Sunday night. He’d accepted her excuse, promising to see her Monday evening.

As Terrell would say, yippee.

Jill called three times. Meg didn’t answer, and Jill finally texted for Meg to bring a side dish. Now, with six o’clock nearing, Meg put the finishing touches on a taffy-apple salad. How she dreaded being with Mike and her supposed friends.

Her clock inched past the hour, and still Mike did not ring her doorbell. Maybe something had come up, some team golf outing he’d forgotten about. Or maybe during his off-day workout, he’d dropped some huge weight on his toe.

One could hope.

Terrell ran into the kitchen as she washed her hands. “When are we going next door? I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.” She dried her hands and tossed him a leftover apple cube. “We’ll go when your dad gets here.”

Your dad.
How long until those words felt normal?

“But he’s been here. His car’s in Clark’s driveway.”

She clenched her teeth, irritated over her unconscious expectations. Of course he’d go straight to the Ashburns’ house. Why did she think he’d stop by her place first, as if they were family?

Salad in hand, she locked her back door and followed Terrell through the gap in the side bushes to the Ashburns’ yard. From the back of their two-story white house, a red brick patio extended, home to deck chairs and a round glass table with an open umbrella in soft yellow and white.

Beyond the furniture Clark stood at the grill, turning what smelled like steaks. Mike, dressed in an aqua-blue T-shirt, tan shorts, and sandals, stood with his back to her, a can of Coke in one hand.

Well. At least there were steaks.

When Terrell’s sneakers thumped on the patio, Mike turned.

Clark looked up too, a smile spreading over his face. “Here they are. Better late than never.”

“Mommy was waiting for Dad to meet us at our house.”

Her face burned. Did Terrell have to tell everything?

“Sorry.” Mike set down his drink and reached for her salad. “I assumed we’d meet here.”

Meg let him take the bowl.

Jill stepped through the sliding glass doors and onto the deck, holding Samuel in one arm and an ExerSaucer in the other.

Meg faked a smile and crossed the deck to meet her. “I’ll take Samuel.” She lifted him from Jill’s arm. She’d spend the evening with his cute, diapery self, since he was the only one who hadn’t betrayed her.

Then again, Samuel would probably reach for Mike the second he walked by.

“Thanks for bringing the salad.” Jill stacked the plastic plates on top of the napkins to keep them from blowing away. “I wasn’t sure if you’d gotten my message or not.”

Meg snagged a potato chip from a bowl and snapped it between her teeth. She focused on the wavy air over the grill. “I was working.”

“Really. Meg, if we upset you, I wish you’d tell us instead of ignoring us.”

“
If
you upset me?” She struggled to keep her voice low enough so the men wouldn’t hear. “What do you expect when you plop down beside Mike and invite him over for dinner?”

“We’re not allowed to talk to him?”

Jill knew what she meant. “I told you everything he did to me. But evidently Mike’s more important.”

Oh, did that sound petty.

“Clark saw how upset you were with people swarming him. Didn’t you see him shoo everyone away?”

Samuel dropped his caterpillar rattle. Meg picked it up and wiped it off on her shorts. Clark was a pastor—he would want Mike left alone so he’d enjoy the service.

Ugh. That sounded petty too.

“We thought if Mike got to know us, your next-door neighbors, you wouldn’t be alone with him as much. He comes over, and we all get together, take some pressure off you.”

Bitter words slipped away. What a wonderful idea—if it worked.

“Believe me, I’d never put him above our friendship.” Jill wrapped her arm around Meg’s shoulders. “You’re the one who’s going to redecorate my kitchen, right?”

Meg leaned into her friend. How was it possible to feel relieved and horrible at the same time? “I’m an idiot, Jill.”

“Aren’t we all every now and then?”

“I should have known better.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Samuel reached for Jill, and Meg released him to his mom.

Jill rubbed her nose against his cheek, smiling when Samuel laughed. “I’m so hungry, I can’t remember—were we talking about something?”

With friendship restored, Meg relaxed enough to enjoy the evening, Mike’s presence included. And as she sat across the table from him, Jill and Clark opposite each other, she had to admit that their plan of befriending Mike for her sanity’s sake looked to be working. Mike seemed to like Clark, and the relaxed conversation eased the tension that had built in Meg’s shoulders and neck.

The meal over, Meg and Jill cleaned up the small mess while Clark, Mike, and Terrell played catch in the backyard. Later Jill brought out a half-full bag of marshmallows, and everyone gathered around the small fire pit, toasting and burning marshmallows.

The hot coals faded with the sun, coaxing the cooling evening to an end.

Terrell licked sticky marshmallow bits from his fingers before waving goodbye to the Ashburns and leading the way through the bushes to their yard.

This time Mike joined them on the way back.

“That was fun.” Terrell watched his fingers cling to each other. “I want to do that again.”

“You just like burning marshmallows.” Mike grabbed Terrell by the waist and slung him around his shoulders. “You pyro.”

Terrell shrieked, and Meg ducked out of the way of his feet. They’d been more hands on today, playing like boys probably, since it was nothing she understood. She watched them wrestle and tackle each other until they fell to the ground.

Grass stains.

“Bath time, Terrell,” she said. “You’ve got school tomorrow.”

He moaned and flopped onto his back, arms and legs spread.

Mike pretended to sucker-punch him, and Terrell curled into a ball, shielding his stomach while he laughed.

Meg smiled as she unlocked her kitchen door.

“Get up, bath boy.” Mike grabbed Terrell’s hands and hauled him to his feet.

“What’s
pyro
?” Terrell asked.

“Nothing you need to know about.” Meg gave him a playful swat. “Go take that bath.”

Terrell shuffled for the back door.

“Hey, where’s my goodnight?” Mike asked.

Terrell hugged him, his voice muffled in Mike’s stomach. “You’re leaving?”

“I’ve got a day game tomorrow. Got to get up early like you.”

“Will you come over?”

“Can’t. I’ve got a full day. But I should see you Thursday or Friday, definitely Saturday for your graduation, okay?”

“I guess.” Terrell wiped his chin at Mike, and Mike lunged as if to chase him. Terrell squealed and ran through the kitchen into the foyer.

Mike chuckled. “He’s crazy.”

Somehow that was a fitting compliment.“Thanks for all the time you’ve spent with him.” A breeze flung hair across her mouth, and she tucked the strand behind her ear, pausing to study this man who’d changed far less than she’d imagined. She should have known how good he’d be with kids—how he’d play with them yet at the same time demand respect.

Kids had meant everything to him. And she’d taken that away.

The smile in his brown eyes faded. His expression turned serious as if he had something to say.

Her stomach clenched, and she turned for the screen door Terrell had slammed. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to hear it. Not now, when she felt weak. “Goodnight, Mike.”

“Meg, wait.”

Mike’s hand on her arm—his fingers long, gentle, familiar—turned her back around. She eased out of his grasp as she faced him.

The light Terrell had turned on in the kitchen highlighted his mouth and jaw. He moved into the shadows, and his eyes became dark, almost black.

Meg swallowed. If only she could lean into her door and slip right through it.

“Tonight was fun,” he said. “Your friends are great.”

She nodded, searching his face.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.” He rubbed his palms together, shifting his weight to his other foot. “Do you have plans for Friday night?”

He stood so close. “Friday?” She’d forgotten how tall he was, how muscled and lean his arms and chest were, how very masculine he was. She cleared her throat as if the sound could clear her mind as well. What had he asked? Friday? “No. I’ll be here. With Terrell. Working. The Layton project.”

“Oh.” His gaze drifted past her. He caught his lip in his teeth. “I’ve got that charity dinner.”

“What was it? Some children’s…”

“…Cancer foundation. A couple of other guys are going. Plus some Bulls and Bears players. Chicago actors, musicians. The mayor. The governor. Although that might not be a selling point.”

A smile slipped past her. “True.”

He broke into a grin, exhaling as if relieved about something. “Yeah. Well.” He nodded at the ground.

He still had those deep, long dimples around his mouth when he smiled like that. She’d forgotten—

He raised his gaze to hers, his smile and dimples gone. “Meg.” His voice lowered. “Would you go with me? As my date?”

Time spun backwards to her junior year in high school, to that freezing April day where she’d sat through every inning of Mike’s blowout game, hoping he’d understand that she was there because of him. She could still picture him trailing his teammates after the game ended, his head tilted so his eyes were on her. She could hear his spikes on the metal bleachers as he’d climbed them, could replay his fast “Hi, how are you?” and the words she’d wanted to hear—would she like to go out after he’d cleaned up?

She’d thought him sweet in his nervousness, cute and such a gentleman.

Callused hands touched her wrists.

Meg flinched, face to face with Mike again, but this time a man, strong and built, no longer cute but handsome, attractive. And still tied to her life.

“Meg,” he whispered. He drew her close. Bent his head to hers, his lips brushing hers in a slow, light kiss.

Her eyes drifted shut, and Meg let him kiss her again, overwhelmed in memories and feelings. Hadn’t she lived on these for a time, wondering if they’d ever recover the beauty of what they’d lost? If Mike would ever look for her? He’d found her, hadn’t he? He’d come back—

She jerked her arms from around his neck, her head down, her eyes on her hands. How could she have let one sentence, one touch, melt her like that?

How could she have kissed him?

Mike reached for her.

She stepped back. “You shouldn’t have kissed me.”

His chuckle was low and intimate. “Says the woman who was enjoying that kiss.”

She had. She
had.
How horrible that he knew. “Don’t kiss me, Mike. We can’t kiss.”

“Why not?”

Good question. She held a hand to her suddenly throbbing forehead. “We’re not married.”

“So? You don’t have to be married to kiss.”

His words cleared her head. “And you don’t have to be married at all, do you?”

“Wow.” He huffed his surprise, took a step back. “Did not see that coming. Really nice, Meg. That was low.” He set his hands on his hips. “I know what I did was wrong—”

“But you did it anyway.”

“Our marriage was a wreck—”

“And that makes it okay?”

“Can I finish a sentence?” He lowered his voice. “I
know
what I did, and I hate what I did. I’d give anything to go back and undo it, but I can’t. I’ve apologized, and I meant it. What else do you want?”

“Apologizing doesn’t change the fact that I can’t trust you.”

“So you want to trust me?”

She met his gaze. “I didn’t say that.”

He took a step back, his tongue pushing against his cheek, his eyes focusing somewhere above the roof.

He would be angry now, his voice raised, his words blaming her.

But when he spoke, his tone was flat. “Are you coming? On Friday?”

Wouldn’t this feel good. “No.”

He shrugged immediately, as if he’d known she’d never say yes. “Then I’ll take someone else.”

He disappeared around the corner of the house.

Meg stood in the faint light and waited for the good feeling to come.

Waited.

Waited.

After several more seconds, she gave up. She walked inside her quiet, empty kitchen and closed and locked the door behind her.

The faint sound of the running shower met her.

She leaned against her door, wrapped her arms around herself, and closed her eyes. Why did she feel like she’d lost when she’d been so certain she had won?