Absolution (5 page)

He got out and pulled his duffel from the passenger seat so his weapons wouldn’t be in the car, then closed the door softly behind him. Putting a hand on the intricate, black wrought iron courtyard gate that she’d also left ajar, he spotted Christa bent over working in the garden. When the gate shut behind him with a quiet clang, she looked up.

“Luke!” A delighted smile lit her face. As she rushed over to greet him, Luke was relieved at least one person was glad to see him.

Christa threw her arms around his shoulders and gave him a hard squeeze, which he returned.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said.

“Me, too. Nice hat, by the way.”

She chuckled. “Thanks.”

He set her away from him and nodded toward the house. “They all inside?”

“Yes.” She began gnawing on her lower lip, her robin’s-egg-blue gaze swinging up to the kitchen 32

Absolution

window. “Uh...want me to get you some privacy?”

“I think that might be best, so yeah. I’d appreciate it.”

He gestured for her to precede him, and her foot had just landed on the bottom step when the kitchen door opened onto the back porch. Rayne came out with a dish towel draped over one muscled shoulder, his expression guarded. A silent tension built in the cool air. Christa froze in mid-step, glancing between them uncertainly.

Luke met his son’s gaze squarely. “Hi, Rayne.”

He kept the belated Merry Christmas to himself.

They weren’t exactly close despite the attempt they’d made at reconciliation six months prior. Whatever Luke did, he did well. Including his failures. They were all fucking spectacular.

“Hi.” The tone was cautious, and Rayne’s dark brows pulled together in a hard frown. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see your mother.”
And then drop the
bomb about Tehrazzi on you
.

Rayne instantly sent a withering look at his wife. “Is this your doing?”

“Bryn contacted me,” Luke answered for her, wanting to spare her the fight that was brewing.

Christa didn’t deserve that.

Rayne’s jaw tightened. “Did she.” He cast another fulminating glare at Christa, but she brought her chin up.

“We didn’t tell him to come, we just thought he should know,” she said. “It was his decision to fly here—I’m just as surprised to see him as you are.”

Luke raised an eyebrow at his son. “Got a problem with me being here?”

Rayne held his gaze and instead said to Christa,

“Will you go inside for a minute?”

“No. She needs him, and you know it.” She went up the steps and laid a hand on his forearm, but 33

Kaylea Cross

Rayne didn’t budge. “I’ll get Bryn. Just give them a while alone, Rayne.”

Rayne didn’t answer her, simply kept staring at him with a good measure of resentment swirling in his eyes. When she was inside, Rayne took a step down and put a hand on the railing, not-so-subtly blocking Luke’s way. His hazel stare burned into Luke’s. “If you have
any
intention of leaving her after this, I suggest you turn around and do it right now.”

The open hostility coming from his son didn’t surprise Luke. He deserved it and more, and was secretly proud his son was protective of his mother.

But now wasn’t the moment for this confrontation.

He didn’t have much time left stateside.

Luke dropped the duffel and folded his arms across his chest. Quite something, to have to look up at your grown son. Rayne had him by at least three inches, and that was without standing on the steps.

Craning his head back put a crick in Luke’s neck.

“You really want to have this conversation out here?”

“Just tell me why you’re here.”

He nodded toward the house. “I want to make sure she’s okay.”

“You could’ve called and asked her.”

“I tried. She didn’t return my calls, and nobody wanted to talk last night, either.”

Rayne shook his head. “I don’t know why you came all this way, because there’s nothing you can do. You can’t help her right now—none of us can.”

The dread Luke had been fighting back returned in a rush. “What’s wrong with her?”

Rayne lost some of his aggression and dropped his arm with a sigh. “Ah, Christ, just go in and talk to her yourself, then. But if you hurt her again, I swear to God...” He gave a tight shake of his head, his jaw clenched so hard the muscles stood out.

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Absolution

“Understood.” Luke slapped him on the shoulder and picked up his duffel. “You’re a good kid, Rayne,”

he said on his way past up to the porch. Bryn and Christa were coming out when he reached it, and Bryn gave him a hug. “She know I’m here?” he asked them.

Christa shook her head. “She’s upstairs having a nap with Jake.”

Jake? Luke’s stomach dropped like a rock. She’d been single as of a month ago, and with being sick, how had she managed to meet someone so fast?

“Come on, let’s get outta here,” Rayne muttered, walking toward the gate, and the girls followed him.

“Has she been up there for long?” Luke asked, hating that he was going to meet Emily’s new lover.

“Not long, but it’s okay, just go on up. She won’t mind.”

Well,
he
minded for Christ’s sake.

Christa gave him a thumbs-up over her shoulder. “Good luck,” she whispered.

Luke nodded. He was gonna need it.

Standing at the back door, a sudden memory flashed through his head. He’d been on the front porch that time, standing in the pouring rain covered with stitches the night he’d come back from the FUBAR he and his team had walked into in Central America. This had been her parent’s house still. He’d dragged his sorry ass up the brick steps and knocked on the door, dying to be let in somewhere safe and familiar. Em had pulled the door open, her nightgown stretched tight across her full-term pregnant belly. She’d thrown her arms around him and held on tight.

But that wasn’t going to happen now. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even get a glass of sweet tea out of this visit.

Pushing open the door leading into the kitchen and stepping over the threshold was like walking 35

Kaylea Cross

into a time warp. The smell of lemon oil soap scented the air. All the appliances were modern stainless steel instead of white and the countertops were black granite instead of butcher block, but the cabinets were still painted a fresh white and the floor was still black and white tile in a diamond pattern. The furnishings were elegant and tasteful, like their owner.

Looking around him reminded Luke yet again that Emily was in a class far above his lowly station.

She was the princess raised in comfort and sophistication and he was the uneducated peon, having clawed his way through a childhood spent dodging his alcoholic father’s fists. He’d joined the Navy just to get the hell away from his old man and swore he’d never raise a hand to his children if he had any. At least he’d managed to keep that one promise. Too bad it hadn’t extended to his wife.

Sometimes he wasn’t sure what Emily had seen in him. For sure he’d never dreamed of winding up with someone of her social status. She wasn’t his usual type. Emily was elegant and refined and intelligent, in a different class from all the other women he’d been with.

A thousand memories assaulted him as he stood in the kitchen, but most vivid was the day he’d been standing at the sink, cleaning his hunting knife to get ready for a fishing trip with eight year old Rayne—

Footsteps overhead alerted him someone was up. Bracing himself, he went to the kitchen doorway where it led into the family room, and waited. The room smelled like Emily with the faint scent of vanilla perfuming the air. A quiet jingling sound followed by rhythmic clicks made him turn his head to look up the stairs.

Then Emily’s distinctive Charleston drawl called out. “Hang on a second, Jake.”

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Absolution

A moment later, a black-and-white Border collie mix came barreling down the stairs and raced up to him in a wriggling mass of fur. Since when did Em have a dog, Luke wondered above the relief flooding him, and reached down to scratch the soft ears. The animal leaned into him with a deep sigh and started up at him with adoring eyes. “Some guard dog you are, huh?”

Emily came into view on the stairs, and when she saw him her steps faltered. One graceful hand fluttered to her throat as she stared at him.

“Luke...hi.”

His eyes swept over her, heart sinking at what he saw. Even with the laugh lines creasing their corners, her eyes were still her loveliest feature, big and soft and green as emeralds. The mirrors into her beautiful soul. But now they were underlined with dark half circles, and she was thinner than she’d been at the wedding. Too thin. Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent. Yet her hair made him the most uneasy. She’d cut it short, way shorter than he’d ever seen it, into some sort of pixie style where it spiked all over, wisps of it framing her oval face.

Emily hated her hair short.

He found his voice. “Hi, Em.” Her hand was still over her throat, fingers covering the scar he’d given her beneath her jaw under her left ear. Shame crawled through him, like worms twisting in his belly.

The astonishment on her face quickly transformed into wariness, tinged with a hint of fear. It damn near broke his heart. They’d been married and had a child together, and yet they were little more than strangers facing each other across the room.

The whole thing made him incredibly sad.

They’d held their wedding reception in the back garden after their elopement. Her parents had 37

Kaylea Cross

thrown them a barbecue and dance, with the backyard lit up by paper lanterns and a bright three-quarter moon hanging above Charleston Harbor.

They’d been so in love, and so hot for each other they’d only stayed for half an hour before racing off to the historic bed and breakfast he’d booked for their wedding night. They’d only made it as far as the car before tearing each other’s clothes off.

He still remembered everything about her.

Every vivid, erotic detail. The feel of her silky skin, the tangy-sweet taste of her body and the breathless way she cried his name when she came…

Emily licked her lips. “What are you doing here?” The question wasn’t a demand for an explanation, rather a puzzled request.

“You didn’t return my calls, so I thought something was wrong.” And he’d been right.

She crossed her arms over her breasts defensively. “One of them told you to come, didn’t they?”

“No.” She still hadn’t moved off that bottom stair, so he took a step toward her. “What’s going on?” She retreated up two stairs, never taking her eyes off him. As though she was afraid he’d jump her or something. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit.” He fought back the edge of temper riding him, but the grinding in his gut needed an answer. “Are you sick?”

Her chin came up, but her gaze dropped. And so did his stomach. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t bother lying to me. You took off from Vancouver without a word to anyone except Bryn, and only to say you had ‘your own demons to face.’

What the hell did that mean?”

She flinched, her shoulders hunching. “I didn’t want to worry anyone, and you were just out of surgery.”

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Absolution

“Well as you can see I’m all healed up, so tell me now.” When she didn’t reply he maintained eye contact with her and watched her squirm, unwilling to let it go. If necessary, he’d stand there all damn day until he got an answer out of her. He took another step toward her. “Tell me.”

Finally, she sighed and came down the stairs to walk past him into the family room. The sweet scent of her perfume filled the air. “Do you want to sit down?”

Ever the genteel hostess. “No.” He wanted a goddamn straight answer. “Just tell me the truth.”

Her eyes snapped over to him and narrowed a moment, a spark of anger lighting their depths.

“Fine. I have cancer.”

For a moment a strange roaring filled his ears, and when he managed to speak, it sounded like his voice came from the other end of a tunnel. “What kind of cancer?”

Her throat moved as she swallowed. “Stage IIIA breast cancer.”

The words swam in his brain. Stage three...wasn’t that life-threatening? His gaze immediately dropped to where her arms shielded her breasts, covered by that loose t-shirt. He swallowed.

She’d had some sort of surgery, but it looked like she still had both breasts— “How bad is it?”

She shrugged and looked away, reaching a hand out to straighten an already straight, framed photo on the white traditional mantel. Fidgeting, like she always did when she was nervous. The fact that he was the cause of her discomfort twisted the razor blade buried in his heart. And still she didn’t reply.

Instead her elegant hands continued rearranging the frames until he wanted to scream.

“Em? How bad?”

When she finally lifted her head, her eyes were shadowed with a sadness that made him ache inside.

39

Kaylea Cross

“Pretty bad.”

The breath wheezed out of his lungs. For a moment he swore he swayed on his feet. Swallowing, he found his voice again. “Meaning?”

“No one’s a hundred percent sure yet. I’m doing chemo to try and kill off any other tumor cells, and the surgery went well, but...” She shrugged again.

Like it didn’t matter.

“What surgery?” he croaked.

Her shoulders hunched in a bit, and she cleared her throat as though embarrassed to tell him.

Finally she said, “I had a mastectomy.”

****

“Christ, Em...”

“I’m fine,” she snapped defensively, hating the sympathy in his eyes. She felt as vulnerable as if she stood naked in front of him. “Don’t worry about it.”

He made a scoffing sound. “Like hell.”

She turned her back on him and made her way into the kitchen. Jake scrambled to his feet and followed, his toenails tapping on the tile floor. Busy.