…
“Go Lindy, go!”
He could hear Cara’s screams from the other side of the house, but knew in his gut Lindy wasn’t going. Dread clutched at his heart as he plowed through the door. She turned, wild-eyed, to face him, paperweight in hand, ready to take Nico on, her own safety an afterthought if it was a thought at all.
Crack!
A shot. A crimson stain spreading over the front of her shirt.
Owen jerked awake, his body drenched with sweat. His heart galloped in his chest as he flipped on the bedside lamp. A glance at the clock told him what he already knew. Two a.m. Same bat-dream, same bat-time, same bat-channel. Whoever said people didn’t dream in color could piss off. The red—all that f**king red—haunted him. Running a hand through his damp hair, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stared blindly out the window.
It had been one week since he’d been back. One week since his sister had been kicked in the stomach by the man who once professed to love her. One week since he’d seen Nico Stephanopoulos with a gun pointed at Lindy. And one week since he’d woken up in their hotel room alone. He was no closer to getting over it than the day it happened and he relived the nightmare of what could’ve been every time he closed his eyes. The need to punish Stephanopoulos set his blood boiling. Like Cara had reminded him, it was in the hands of the DA now, and all they could do was wait.
He stood, knowing from experience that there would be no more rest for him if he lay back down. He hadn’t managed to string together two hours of uninterrupted sleep since he’d gotten back. Slipping into his track pants and sneakers, he stretched in preparation for a run. Exhaustion was the order of the day. Maybe then he could get another hour or two of sleep.
He crept down the stairs and into his home gym. Clearing his mind, he stepped on the treadmill and cranked it from zero to six without bothering to warm up. An hour later, he stepped off, soaked and gasping. He’d wanted exhaustion, he’d gotten it. Still, that last mile might have been pushing it. It was probably an exercise in futility regardless, because he’d been plenty tired when he’d gone to bed the first time. No matter how far he ran, he couldn’t escape the reality that he’d blown it.
Big time.
He swiped his arm across his brow and dropped to the floor. God, he missed her. Her laugh, her silly jokes, the way she looked at him. Everything sucked without her. But damn it, he’d almost lost her for real. What if he gave her what she wanted, what she deserved, and truly let himself go? Opened up the floodgates and loved her as hard as he knew he could, and something happened? He didn’t know if he could stand it. Love meant pain.
As opposed to what you’re doing now, genius? He was surviving it, though, wasn’t he? Getting through the day. Going through the motions. Maybe he’d even find a nice woman eventually, and they’d enjoy one another’s company. She’d fit right into his life, like a neat little peg, and everything would be fine. Just fine.
With those words reverberating in his head, it felt like a bolt of lightning hit him square in the chest. For the first time, he realized something with the utmost clarity. That life was shite. Nothing like a life filled with love and Lindy. Could she hurt him? Shatter his heart? His thoughts turned momentarily to the other couples at the retreat. Just look at Bitsy Cedarhurst. And poor Marty. Hell, even the Warden had been sad for most of her marriage. His sister Cara. His mother. Nothing but pain. Except Lindy wasn’t Calvin Cedarhurst, or Jordan, or his father. And neither was he. They wouldn’t treat one another like that. If he was wrong, and things fell apart, it would be devastating. But unlike his mother, he was a survivor. And look at Cara now. She was empowered and happier than he’d seen her in more than a year. She’d made it through and come out the other side stronger than ever.
There were no guarantees. No contracts, no reams of data or crunching of numbers to determine whether he was making a rock solid deal. Love was a wild, crazy leap of faith. A risk. The same one Lindy had been willing to take on him, without reservation. She deserved no less than the same.
He stood, a kernel of hope melting away some of the ice that had settled around his heart. It was time to try and fix what he’d so carelessly attempted to break. He sure as hell didn’t deserve it, but he was going to ask her for another chance. He thought of the things he said to her that horrible night. The night she’d said she loved him. The night he’d thrown it back in her face, and his stomach pitched. Could she ever forgive him?
And if she didn’t, could he ever forgive himself?
…
Lindy stared at the pile of mismatched silks with disgust. She’d been back a week. Surely by now she should be able to handle the simple task of making a couple of pillows. She’d started out all right, but at some point during the process, she’d sewn the back piece of the red pillow to the front piece of the turquoise pillow. Stupid looking, like everything else lately. Except that cherry pie she bought the night before at the mini-mart.
She tossed the ruined fabric into the scrap pile she passed on her way to the kitchen. It was pie time. Those weeks with Owen might have ruined her for other men and two-hundred thread count sheets, but at least it hadn’t spoiled her love of crappy food.
The phone rang, startling her. She approached it slowly like she always did lately. Hoping it was Owen. Knowing it wasn’t. She peered down at the caller ID. Sarabeth. She considered picking up, but then let it go to voice mail. She wasn’t in the mood to talk right now. In the weeks since the incident, she’d kept in close contact with the young doctor. Sarabeth was still in shock about Nico and The Healing Place, and Lindy had certainly needed a shoulder to cry on after her blow up with Owen. They’d grown remarkably close during their nightly heart to hearts that often ended in tears but sometimes ended in laughter. If nothing else, in spite of her broken heart and Sarabeth’s decimated career, they’d each walked away from their experiences with a new friend. And God knew she needed one right now.
Resolving to call her back later, Lindy tiptoed into the kitchen, trying not to wake the sleeping puppies. Spying the pie on the counter, she winced when she saw that it was half gone already. She made a silent pledge to spend an extra thirty minutes on the treadmill, scooped up the box, and plucked a fork from the drawer. Why bother cutting a slice? She was alone and people who lived alone could eat straight out of the box if they wanted. Yay for perks.
Hot tears rushed to her eyes. She glanced at the clock and considered calling to check on Melba again. When Lindy had gotten back, the older woman had confided that she and Nate’s butcher, Russell, had fallen in love after a quarrel over the thickness of her olive loaf. He convinced her that they should discuss it over dinner, and three weeks later, he’d asked her to live in sin with him at his assisted living condo in Great Neck. In spite of Lindy’s concerns, Melba had said yes.
“I’ve been around a while, and I know what I know. Stanley is a good man and I’m not going to fool around playing coy while some other woman snatches him up. I don’t have all that much time left, and I want to enjoy every second of it.”
Lindy’s lips trembled into a watery smile at the memory. Melba was the best. She gave new meaning to the phrase “taking life by the balls,” and it wasn’t like they would never see each other again. They were meeting at the diner the following week for the early bird turkey-roll special. Everything was fine and this pity party had to stop.
As soon as she finished the pie.
She wiped the tears from her cheeks and let out a loud snuffle before shoveling a forkful of gooey pastry into her mouth. The sickly sweet and slightly tart gelatinous goo folded over her tongue, and she found herself wishing it could be used to spackle her shattered heart.
The rumble of what could only be a diesel engine interrupted her maudlin thoughts. Jeez, it sounded like an episode of Ice Road Truckers was setting up to film outside her house. What the heck was going on out there? She shuffled to the window and saw a giant flatbed truck sitting in her driveway covered by tarps. Must have the wrong house. She debated whether to go out and tell them so they didn’t ring her bell and wake the dogs, but then she glanced down at her cherry-stained Scooby Doo sweatshirt and decided against it. Hopefully they’d figured it out when they saw the house number on the door.
On her way back to the kitchen to put what was left of the pie away, an unsettling thought occurred to her. What if it wasn’t the wrong house? What if Mal had gotten involved in yet another far-fetched, get-rich-never scheme? All sorts of terrifying images ran through her mind and a frisson of fear skittered down her spine. What if he wanted them to open a mortuary and those tarps covered a dozen coffins? Or worse, a dozen customers…
She turned back and rushed out the door. Pie in hand, she ran down the stairs to the driveway in time to see a man leap down from the cab of the truck. “Hey, what’s all thi—” The words died on her lips as Owen turned to face her.
“Hey there.”
Her body went numb, but it had nothing to do with the frigid temperature. She clutched the pie closer to her chest, trying to alleviate the ache that had blown into a stabbing pain upon seeing his face. His gaze roamed over her from head to toe, and she resisted the urge to turn tail and run. Everyone knew that the first time you bumped into an ex you were supposed to make him regret losing out, and right now she looked like something the cat would’ve opted not to drag in. She’d made a karmic misstep along the way somewhere because the fickle wench had decided to pay her back in spades lately. To add insult to injury, he looked mouthwateringly gorgeous in his jeans and fisherman’s sweater, as always.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” she said when she was finally able to speak past the shock of seeing him again.
“I came to see you.”
“Is something wrong? I cashed the check. I hope that’s all right. I figured since we did catch Nic—”
“I’m not here about the check.”
“What then?”
Despite the fact that he looked gorgeous, something was different. The confidence he usually wore like a force field was nowhere to be found when he walked toward her.
His steps were hesitant, his body language unsure. “Is it too late?”
The question seemed like it was torn from him against his will. She tried to work out his meaning, but as he drew closer, she noted his face looked tired and drawn.
“Are you sick?” Dear God, what if it was something awful? Anxiety clawed at her and she reached out a hand to touch him before remembering that he wasn’t hers to touch. She snatched her hand back, and hurt clouded his eyes.
“No. Yes. No, not the way you mean. I just need to know the answer to the question. Is it too late?”
“Too late for what?” she asked dumbly, still searching his face for clues.
“For us? For me to have figured it out?” He dropped to one knee in front of her and her stomach followed.
Could this really be happening?
“Lindy, I screwed up. I screwed up bad. I didn’t know it, not really, until you were gone. Everything was gray. It was like what happened to my mother all over again. It terrified me until I realized something. I could live without you. I could throw myself into my work, socialize, and carve out some sort of life for myself. And, some day, when the memory of you faded a bit, I could be content with my lot.” His eyes beseeched her. “Then I realized that I don’t want to. I want to light up when you walk into a room. I want to fight with you, and be angry when you go down the mountain too fast. I want to risk it. Because I love you.”
He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket and held it out to her. “I know I’m not as brave as you are, but I’m willing to work at it every day. If you’ll have me, that is.” He flipped the lid up and looked her square in the eye. “Marry me, Lindy. Please.”