My mind raced in about a thousand different directions, none of which I could control. I was furious with Mark. I was happy for Nate while simultaneously being angry with him for picking the only girl on the enormous campus who could make me face Mark Brennan. If these two were dating, there was a distinct possibility I’d have to see him again and again.
It took every ounce of strength I had not to run out the door, jump in my car, and get the hell out of there. I was on the verge of a panic attack as my heart pounded and my stomach clenched.
Breathe, Jackie. Breathe
.
I kept telling myself that I could not throw up now—not in front of Mark.
“Mom,” Nate said, sounding tentative, “this is Kat Brennan.”
“We’ve met,” I replied.
My son stared at me with wide eyes.
“That’s right.” Kathy snapped her fingers and a smiled. “Jackie, right?”
I nodded.
Kathy glanced over at her father. “Daddy, this is Nate Ryan.”
“Ah.
Ryan
, not
Delgado
. Different name,” Mark said. “That’s why I didn’t catch the connection.”
I rolled my eyes. “Way to go, Sherlock. No wonder you’re a detective. I’m can’t believe you even remembered my name.” I muttered it sarcastically, hoping no one heard me. My stupid brain-before-mouth filter was obviously on the fritz again.
Things were already entirely too surreal when Patrick stirred up the mix by walking into the restaurant, whistling a tune. He punched his brother’s upper arm as he passed, and then he hugged me. It must have felt like embracing a stiff board.
I was still ready to bolt.
Or vomit.
I hadn’t decided.
“Mom? What’s wrong?” Patrick pulled away, knit his brows, and stared down at me with concern clearly etched on his face. I must have looked as bad as I felt.
I tried to swallow my escalating anxiety so everyone in The Chuckwagon didn’t suddenly figure out I was a damned basket case. “I–I’m fine.” My mouth was full of cotton, and my hands were shaking as if I’d just guzzled my third espresso.
“Mom? Don’t you feel well?” It was evidently Nate’s turn to ask.
“I’m...fine. Look, Nate. I really... I mean I’d like to...”
Shit!
If I asked him whether I could just leave, Mark would know he’d won—that he’d gotten to me. If I stayed, I’d have to talk to him. Either way, I lost.
God damn it anyway
.
“I really need to go back. I–I forgot to...lock the door at home. And I think I left Jellybean out of his cage.”
You’re a coward, Jackie Delgado.
“You’re leaving?” Nate’s voice held so much disappointment that it made my heart clench and my stomach roil some more. “You’re really leaving?”
I nodded and tried to hold back the angry tears as I started edging a few hesitant steps toward the door.
Carly stopped me with a simple hug. Of all the surprises in the world, I don’t think I could ever have been prepared for that girl throwing herself in my path and wrapping her arms around me.
“Don’t leave, Ms. Delgado. Please.”
I was so flabbergasted that I couldn’t move, couldn’t even put my arms around her and hug her back.
“I hate my dad,” she said. “He’s so effing stupid.”
“Carly, I—”
Before I could even spit out the words, Mark gently tugged Carly’s arms away from me, grabbed my elbow, and walked me right out the door. Our children all stood frozen like mannequins, watching us with dropped jaws.
Several yards away from the restaurant, Mark stopped and dropped my elbow. He opened his mouth to say something, but I beat him to the punch. “What could you possibly have to say to me that you can’t say in front of our kids?”
He put his hand behind my head, pulled me to him, and settled his mouth on mine before I even had the chance to protest. For a few very long, wonderful moments I surrendered to that incredible chemistry that we seemed to have in bushel barrels. Then my badly injured pride kicked back in, keeping me from drowning in that kiss. I pushed against his chest to get away. He tried to hold on for a moment or two, but then he let go.
“Why did you do that? You...you...horse’s ass! You have no right...”
“I know. I’m really sorry I didn’t call, Jackie. I am.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want your stupid apology. Just stay the hell away from me.” I started to stomp toward my car, but he clutched my upper arm.
“Don’t go. Please. We need to talk.”
“Screw you.” I tried to jerk my arm away, but Mark wouldn’t surrender it. I leveled a stare at his restraining hand. “Let me go.”
He shook his obstinate head. “Not until we talk.”
Patrick and Nate came charging out of the restaurant with Kathy and Carly close on their heels.
Judging from the heat shooting from his eyes like laser beams, my oldest was angry. “I don’t know what in the hell is going on here,” he said, “but you better let her go. Now.”
Great. Just what I needed, an audience to witness my humiliation at the hands of Mark Brennan.
Damn it!
Why couldn’t I have been aloof? Why couldn’t I pretend for just a short time that he hadn’t hurt me? Why couldn’t I feign indifference to the fact that Mark had discarded me? And now, not only were my children seeing me in the role of an immature, abandoned woman, but so were his.
Damn it all anyway
.
Mark stubbornly shook his head again. “Not until she hears what I have to say.”
Patrick clenched his hands into fists and made a threatening move toward Mark.
“No!” I squealed as I quickly put my body between them. I might want to give Mark a sound slap upside the head, but it was clear Patrick had less subtle tactics in mind. “No, Pat. No.” I turned back to Mark, desperately fighting the urge to kick him in the shins. “Fine. I’m listening. What exactly did you want to tell me about a couple of silly dates we had a couple of months ago?”
Yeah, that sounded aloof. Not.
“I’m sorry, Jackie. I really am. I... I...” He turned back to the kids who were all gaping at us like they were watching a grisly car accident.
Patrick still had his fists clenched at his sides and steam pouring out of his ears. Carly had tears in her eyes and a quivering lower lip. Kathy was clinging to Nate as if he was Leonardo DiCaprio and she was aboard the sinking Titanic. Poor Nate just looked confused.
Mark turned to stare holes in all of them. “Can we have a little privacy? Please?”
“No,” Patrick replied with a very authoritarian tone in his voice. I suddenly saw my ex-husband standing there in the form of my oldest son. “
No,
you can’t.”
“Fine.” Mark turned back to me. He seemed to take a few extraordinarily long moments to consider his words. “I needed some time, Jackie. Just some time.” Looking over his shoulder at the kids, he sighed heavily. “I really wanted to tell her this in private.”
“Tough shit,” Patrick replied, drawing a chastising glare from me. “You can say it to Mom—you can say it to us. I’m not sure exactly what’s going on here, but one thing’s crystal clear. You hurt her. And I’m not stupid enough to let you hurt her again, asshole.”
“Patrick David Ryan,” I scolded before Mark interrupted.
“You’re right, Patrick.” Mark narrowed his eyes at my oldest son. “I hurt her. But that doesn’t give you the right to talk to me that way.” Patrick just snorted, and I started to see the cop side of Mark’s personality assert itself. “Son, you’re treading on dangerous ground.”
I had to shake myself out of the stupor I had been in since running out of the restaurant. “Let it go, Pat. Please,” I begged. Then I pointed at the restaurant. “Why don’t you all go back inside? Get a table or something. We–we’ll join you in a minute.” I had no intention of staying. Pat opened his mouth, but I cut him off. “Go. Please, Pat. Just go.”
Pat gave me a curt nod and took a couple of steps back to talk to his brother. After a short conversation, the kids retreated a safe distance to the restaurant’s entrance.
“Thank you.” Mark reached for my hand.
I crossed my arms over my chest to try and discourage him from touching me. I couldn’t possibly talk to him if he touched me.
How had I let my feelings get so deep so quickly? Two dates shouldn’t have equaled the utter devastation I felt. “I didn’t do that for
you
, I did that for
my son
. I don’t need you waving that badge around and getting him in trouble just because he has the balls to stand up for me when I’m too chicken-shit to stand up for myself.”
I hated to hear the shrew in my voice, but despite my best efforts, I couldn’t stop it. Mark would never realize how much he had hurt me—how much I had let him hurt me.
“I really am sorry, Jackie. I had, I don’t know, an attack of guilt. I kept thinking about Elaine. The more I realized what I was feeling for you was so, so...strong, the more I felt like I was abandoning her. Like I was choosing you over her.” His voice had fallen away to a whisper
I closed my eyes.
No. No. No.
My mind screamed at me, trying desperately to protect me.
Raise the defenses, you idiot. Don’t you dare let him back in. Tell him to leave you alone.
I held my tongue.
“Yesterday, I did something I hadn’t done since the funeral,” he continued to explain. “I went to visit Elaine’s grave. And I–I had a long talk with her.”
For the love of God, don’t tell me this. Please don’t tell me this. You’ll make me care again.
But I realized I had never
stopped
caring. Even after six weeks of silence, of hurt, of rejection, I still wanted this man. My insides were tied in enormous knots I didn’t think I’d ever be able to work out.
I finally opened my eyes—in more ways than one—and looked up at Mark. The man had tears in his eyes.
Tears
. I took a long, ragged breath to hold off all I was thinking, all I was feeling. It sounded perilously like a sob.
“I–I finally let her go, Jackie. I let her go. I love Elaine. I always will.” The catch in his voice made my heart hurt and made my own eyes tear up even more. “But I’m still alive. She wouldn’t want...” He raked his fingers through his hair. “She wouldn’t want me to mourn her for the rest of my life.”
Stop Mark. Oh, please stop.
“I want to be with you, Jackie. Please, please forgive me.” He put his hand over his eyes in that wonderfully masculine way men wipe tears away by pinching the bridge of their nose with their index finger and thumb. After a couple of deep and what I assumed were calming sighs, Mark said, “I was going to call you tonight. I swear to God, I was going to call you tonight.”
This time, when he reached for my hand as it lay against my chest, I let him have it.
What in the hell are you thinking, Jackie?
Why couldn’t I be cool, calm, and collected? He shouldn’t be touching me—my shredded ego shouldn’t allow it. But as he drew my hand toward him and wrapped that big strong hand of his around my fingers, I started to cry.
I don’t cry in front of people!
I tried to turn my head away. He took a step to the side to follow and plant himself in my line of vision.
“I’m so sorry, Jackie. I’ll make it up to you. I don’t want to lose you.” He kissed the back of my hand before I jerked it away and tried to wipe away my tears. I couldn’t even talk because my throat was closed up. “Are you all right?” Mark asked as he cupped my cheek in his palm.
I sniffled and nodded, but I really wasn’t all right. I wasn’t sure I’d
ever
be all right. It was way too much high drama for one day.
Now, we had four young people staring at us, and I had not a clue as to what I should say to them. It’s impossible to explain something to other people when you don’t really understand it yourself. “Wh–what do we tell the kids?”
“I’ll handle it. Why don’t we go inside, have something to eat, and we’ll just...talk to them.” His hand fell away from my face. “Come on.” Mark took my hand and led me toward the firing squad.
“I made an ass out of myself,” I mumbled as we neared the door, my hand still in his.
“No, I made an ass out of myself. This is all
my
fault.”
***
Mark and I sat opposite each other. The guy actually played footsie with me under the table. I figured it was only polite to respond. After all, I didn’t want him to think I was rude. I had to remind myself several times that he had hurt me.
Funny, I was having trouble remembering that I was mad at him at all every time the toe of his shoe rubbed lightly against my shin.
Stupid perimenopause
.
It had been obvious to each and every person at our Chuckwagon table that the battle lines had already been drawn.
I saw Patrick’s gaze settle on Mark several times during the meal, and knowing my oldest as well as I do, he’d already decided Mark wasn’t worthy of me. Those blue eyes of Pat’s regarded Mark with the same smoldering, controlled anger that I saw every time David was around me. My oldest had assigned himself the role of my champion. And now he viewed Mark as a challenger who wasn’t worthy, just like he viewed David as fallen from Grace.
Carly was easy to read. She had already bonded to me, even sat beside me at lunch trying to “sell” me her father by listing his assets like a salesperson trying to get me to buy a really good used car.
One owner. Low mileage. Dependable. Nice chassis.
Nate and Kathy were a little more guarded. Probably because the only thing they seemed focused on was each other. Their hands touched often, with fleeting, loving glances passing between them.
Nate talked to Mark, but Mark usually just grunted or answered him in one or two words. That was a little unnerving. Mark had always seemed chatty and friendly.
Then I suddenly understood. Mark thought Nate should quit touching his daughter. The grunts and throaty growls seemed to coincide with Nate’s hand brushing Kathy’s skin.
Amazing.
I imagine my father would have looked at Mark the exact same way when I was Kathy’s age. Pop had stared David down a time or two. When I got pregnant with Pat, my father threatened to geld David on the spot. And I think he meant it literally. Mark was Kathy’s father—it was a role he obviously decided included protecting his daughter from male attention.