“She’s…” Emma’s throat bobbed. “She’s…”
Her voice wavered then stopped and she swallowed again.
“Just say it, Em.” His gaze locked with hers. Dillon gripped the arms of his chair tighter. “Please.”
“She’s dead.” One single tear escaped down her pale cheek.
Her words hit him with all the force of a meaty fist straight to the gut. The air left his lungs, along with a soft curse. He sat in stunned silence, staring past Emma to the two-way mirrored window beside the door. A single thought playing like a broken record through his mind. He’d lost his chance to make amends with his best friend.
Chapter Two
God, why didn’t he just say something?
Emma shifted in her seat and peeked at Dillon’s still form. He’d been sitting there staring at the ceiling for what seemed like forever, like the white tiles above him contained the answers to the mysteries of life. His head rested on the back of the chair, hands draped loosely on the arms.
So unbearably calm and silent while she fought to control her emotions. Tears burned behind her eyelids, itching to follow their predecessors down her cheeks. Being in the same room with him flooded her mind with memories, half of which revolved around him, all of which revolved around Janey.
Saying the words out loud, having to watch his eyes slide shut when the news hit him was more awful than she imagined. If she got through this without having a complete meltdown, it would be a miracle. Seeing him made her miss Janey something awful. It became a throbbing ache deep in the pit of her stomach. One she wasn’t sure would ever go away.
“When?”
Startled by the sudden sound of his voice, she jerked her gaze in his direction. Only to wish she hadn’t. Dillon stared at
her
. Pain and longing added a haunted shadow to the depths of his eyes, and a wave of weakness washed over her.
“A…a month ago.” She dropped her gaze to the floor and clasped her shaking hands until her knuckles turned white, fighting back the tears that welled to life in her eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. It’s just—”
“Don’t apologize.”
The gentle understanding and quiet patience in his voice all but zapped the last of her strength. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep, shaky breath.
Just keep talking
.
Keep talking and you’ll be fine.
“It…it was an accident. Janey wanted to go out, and I-I told her she had responsibilities now, that she couldn’t go traipsing around anytime she felt like it. There were certain things she had to give up, that it all came with the territory.” The words spilled from her lips on a torrent of pent-up anger, pain and guilt.
All the while the memory replayed through her mind like a bad horror movie, and her grip on sanity and her resolve slipped a notch.
“She said she wanted a little freedom.” Emma stared at the floor, the white flecked tiles beneath her feet blurring. “A little time to herself. That…that she’d be back in a couple of hours, but two hours turned into four. Then it began to rain, thundering and lightning, and it was cold. The rain turned to ice. Then the police came…”
She wasn’t even aware Dillon had moved until his jeans appeared in her line of vision, his broad form looming over her. Her heart pounded, but she didn’t dare look up, didn’t dare stop talking.
“She’d gone for a ride with this guy on his bike, a friend of hers, but the roads were wet and slippery, and, and…” Her voice cracked, a wave of pain washing through her chest. In an instant, Emma saw her failure. “Oh God, Dillon. Why didn’t Janey ever listen to me? She used to tell me I was only her sister, that I had no right to—”
“Stop.” Dillon gripped her shoulders and pulled her out of her seat, tugging her against his big, warm body. He held her tight. His voice was a soothing murmur in her ear. “Stop. It’s not your fault.”
God help her, she pressed her cheek to his chest, for the briefest of moments, allowing herself to accept the comfort he offered. He smelled so good, all warm and spicy. His hands caressed her back. His deep, rich voice murmured reassurances. He was soothing and calm in a moment when she felt anything but.
Just like that night.
Emma squeezed her eyes shut, willed the memories away, but they came in an onslaught, a barrage of images and sensations she’d tried for eight years to forget. She was barely twenty-two when her mother died. That day she was everything the moment dictated her to be. She set aside her grief to console sixteen-year-old Janey, who was understandably beside herself. Planned the funeral and prepared for the small get together at their house afterwards; held it together in the face of the people who came to offer condolences on their loss.
Janey had run off halfway through the funeral. She was always prone to running off when upset, and Emma let her go, knowing her sister needed time to deal with her grief. When all the people finally went home and Janie still hadn’t come back, Emma had gone looking for her. She didn’t remember when it started to rain. Only that she ended up in the park in a last ditch effort to find her sister, but Janey was nowhere to be found. The last of Emma’s strength ran out and the grief finally struck her. She’d never felt so alone, so lost. She stood there, slowly getting soaked, seeing very little and feeling nothing, trying to make sense of her life.
That day, responsibility weighed heavily on her shoulders. Her mother’s death made her an instant parent, and Janey hated it. Emma wondered how she’d ever be strong enough for her willful little sister when she didn’t feel strong enough for herself.
Out of the rain, Dillon’s familiar voice called her name. An odd mix of relief and shock seized her when she turned. His dark eyes were full of concern. Dillon wrapped his coat around her shoulders and drew her against him.
The last thing Emma expected was for him, of all people, to comfort her, to care how she held up. Dillon came to tell her he found Janey sound asleep in their mother’s bed. Afterwards, he took her home, made her change and sat with her on the sofa in the living room. He held her, murmuring soft reassurances. She cried until no more tears would come. She remembered losing herself in the gentleness of his eyes. That night he gave her strength when, for the first time in her life, she had none.
“You, of all people, ought to know you could never stop Janey from doing what she wanted.” Dillon’s voice rumbled through his chest, his calm tone contradicting the fierce pounding of his heartbeat beneath her ear.
Looking at him, the acknowledgment flitted through his eyes, subdued, but there all the same. Dillon remembered that day.
“I’m sorry, Em.” He stared so deep into her eyes she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in his.
Her heart pounded in response to the memories, to the man. It hammered out the longing to press against him again, to return the comfort he offered, but she couldn’t.
“I’m sorry too.” She braced her hands against his chest and shoved away from him, swiping the tears from her cheeks. “I didn’t come here for this.”
“It’s okay.”
“I came here to tell you.” She squared her shoulders, drew what was left of her strength around her and held tight to it. “And to ask if you ever get any time off from this place.”
A sick sensation twisted through her stomach. She didn’t want to ask the question she knew she had to. She didn’t want to hear his answer, to have all those images taunt her mind.
He went silent, but his penetrating eyes bored through her.
“Yeah.” Confusion laced his voice. “We’re closed on Sundays. It’s a slow night and it keeps the churchgoers happy.”
“I was thinking maybe we could have dinner.” Emma clasped her hands together to still their sudden quaking.
His brows drew together, and he cocked his head to the side. “Dinner?”
She nodded. “So we can talk. I figured we could do it over dinner. We both have to eat, right?”
His eyes narrowed. “You have more to tell me.”
She took a deep breath and nodded, forcing herself to hold his gaze Emma reached into the right pocket of her jacket. She fingered the folded piece of paper, soft and worn from numerous readings, before pulling it out. It was now or never.
“I found this when I went through her things.” The paper trembled in her fingers. “Frankly, we need to talk about what’s in this, and I don’t want to do it here.”
Curiosity lit his eyes. Dillon took the letter. Her heartbeat tripled when he glanced at it. He ran the pad of his thumb over the soft, worn paper, but instead of opening and reading it, he pocketed it and looked at her again. “All right. Sunday night then. Seven o’clock, my place. I’ll cook.”
Sunday night, Emma sat in the car in the driveway of the bed and breakfast, staring in the rearview mirror. Her bundled passenger squirmed, turning her head from side to side and kicking at the blanket that covered her legs. The stillness of the vehicle and sudden chill in the air woke Annie from a peaceful slumber. The baby’s fussing seemed to echo the nervous knot in Emma’s stomach.
She twisted in her seat to readjust the blanket and smiled at the chubby little face. “You ready for this, sweet girl?”
Slate blue eyes blinked at her and began to fill with tears. A fat bottom lip popped out. The baby let out a long, tired whimper.
Emma sighed. “Yeah, me neither.”
She turned back around and stared at the wooden light pole in front of her. She was going to have to be in his house, surrounded by his things, immersed in his scent—a fact that made her stomach somersault to think about. She hadn’t anticipated remembering that night. The way it changed her view of him. How was it she’d known him for most of her life and never discovered Dillon James had a heart? Why had it changed her view of him entirely?
She always attributed the stress of the funeral to the new buds of emotions that sprouted around her memories of him, but he’d done it again. He comforted her in a weak moment, and she found his arms a disturbingly safe place to be.
Now, the thought of being alone with him, having to discuss intimate topics with him, all of which revolved around his relationship with Janey, made her tremble with a bad case of nerves. Dillon would have to tell her things she didn’t want to know.
On top of it, somehow in the middle of all that, she had to convince him to not take Annie away from her.
Emma let her head fall back against the headrest and closed her eyes.
God give me strength
.
“Come on, sweetie.” Mind set, Emma opened her eyes and smiled in the rearview mirror before shifting the car into gear. “Let’s get this over with.”
* * *
Bent over the open oven, Dillon jerked his head up at the knock on the front door. Emma. He shoved the rack back inside and closed the oven door before glancing at the microwave clock. Damn. The woman couldn’t be five minutes late?
“Coming,” he bellowed in the general direction of the front door then stepped to his right. He scooped up the place settings he’d gotten out and deposited them on the dining room table on his way through.
He was running late. He woke later than intended this afternoon, and from there the entire day had been off. Paperwork at the club had taken longer than expected. Now dinner wasn’t done and he hadn’t managed to set the table yet. It didn’t help any that his stomach had twisted itself into a nervous knot. He felt like a damn kid on his first date because
Emma
would be
here
, in
his
house. He’d always attributed his infatuation with her to a teenage crush, but holding her in his arms Friday night, the emotion flared all over again. How good her soft curves felt against him.
He stopped in front of the door and raked a hand through his hair, tried to prepare himself for the night ahead. Above all the awkward emotions, he knew whatever news she still had for him couldn’t possibly be good. He wasn’t looking forward to hearing it.
He smoothed his hands on his jeans then stepped forward and pulled the door open. He was even more unprepared for the sight that greeted him. Emma stood on his doorstep with her hair free flowing around her shoulders, looking gorgeous.
And an overstuffed diaper bag slung over one shoulder. He jerked his gaze to the car seat dangling from her other hand, the top of which had been covered by a fuzzy pink blanket. The bundle contained within squirmed and whimpered until the blanket fell away to reveal a chubby little face. Big, watery blue eyes rimmed with long red lashes peered up at him.
A baby.
“Wow.” He shifted his attention from the now fussing child back to Emma. “I didn’t even know you were married.”
All the implications of
that
revelation quickly assaulted his senses. His stomach tightened, the green-eyed monster rearing its ugly head. Hatred for a man he didn’t even know. A man who so obviously got what he’d only been able to dream about once upon a time.
A soft blush stole across Emma’s cheeks. She looked at the baby, gently shushing her. A frigid wind blew past him into the house and whipped her hair around her face.
“I’m not.” She glanced at him, her brows drawn together. “Can we come in? It’s cold and I don’t want her to catch a chill.”
“Sorry.” He stepped back and pulled the door open wider. “You surprised me. Janey never told me you had a baby.”
A thought that quickly had his chest constricting. Janey hadn’t told him much of anything for well over a year. His best friend had become a stranger.
Emma stopped inside the doorway and stared at him like she’d just seen a ghost. A split second later, the look disappeared and her mouth curled into a tight smile. “Smells good in here. Lasagna?”
She turned that smile on him, waiting expectantly, and set the car seat on the floor. She stepped out of her snow-dusted boots, leaving them on the mat beside the door.
Dillon managed to smile and nod, his mind struggling to keep up with her. “With fresh garlic bread.” Emma’s favorite, if he remembered correctly. “Ma’s recipe. I’m afraid dinner’s not quite done yet. I underestimated the cooking time. Still has about fifteen minutes or so.”