Homestands (Chicago Wind #1) (11 page)

There went her hard-earned money.

She pointed to the running water.

After a blank look, Mike got it. He turned the water off, winking at her as he did.

Okay, the winking could go.

In her office next to Terrell’s bathroom, she straightened her desk, leaving the room as Terrell turned off the bathroom light from his perch on Mike’s back. “All done, Mommy,” Terrell called. “I brushed every tooth—twice.”

And she hadn’t had to be the enforcer. Who was this Mike Connor look-alike?

She followed him into Terrell’s room, where he dumped Terrell onto his bed.

Terrell bounced a few times before sliding to the floor and kneeling. “It’s time to pray, Dad.” He craned his neck back as far as it would go. “You have to get down.”

This she had to see. Meg leaned on the doorjamb, watching Mike bend his tall frame and fold his hands on the bed.

Terrell waved her over. “You too, Mommy.”

She knelt beside Mike, who gave her a wry smile before looking at Terrell for direction.

“We have to close our eyes,” Terrell said. “We’re talking to Jesus.”

Good for Terrell.

Meg bowed her head and listened while he prayed for his friends at school who were sick, for Jill and Clark, for his friends at church, and for his mom and dad. “And thank you, Jesus,” he said, “that Daddy could be here to say goodnight. Please fix everything so he can live with us. Amen.”

Meg caught her breath, her eyes opening to Mike’s grin.

He laughed, linking his fingers and stretching his long arms over his head. “What an interesting prayer.”

Her face burned. “Don’t count on an answer to that.”

Mike shrugged, still chuckling.

She tucked Terrell into bed and kissed him goodnight, then left so the two could have the last few minutes together, although whether they deserved it was now debatable. Wait till she got Terrell alone. She peeked in the bathroom, expecting to find his hand towel on the floor and toothpaste globs in the pedestal sink, but the towel hung over the rod and the toothpaste cap was snapped shut, the sink damp but glob free.

So very nice.

As she left the bathroom, Mike met her and followed her to the stairs.

She spoke before he could bring up Terrell’s prayer, her skin heating at the thought of it. “Terrell’s kindergarten graduation is coming up. He wants you to come, but I told him I didn’t know how that fit with your schedule.”

“When is it?”

“June first, a Saturday.”

“What time?”

“Morning. I can find the exact time for you.”

“I’ve got a night game that day. Tell Terrell I’ll be there.”

“Thanks. And lunch afterward, if you can.” She stopped at the front door, hand on the knob. The next step was simple—open door, say goodbye, lock door behind ex-husband, then find something else to do besides wringing child’s neck.

But Mike’s eyes twinkled. “Are you kicking me out?”

She opened the door in answer. “Terrell’s in bed, Mike.”

“I know.” He wiggled his eyebrows and let his gaze roam the room. “Isn’t this alone time nice.”

If he liked talking to himself. “Goodbye, Mike.”

“Stop it. Come sit with me.” He closed the door and started for the living room, grabbing her hand when she didn’t move.

His fingers felt warm and familiar—no. She yanked her hand from his. “Mike!”

He huffed his frustration. “What is wrong with two adults enjoying conversation?”

Nothing, unless that conversation included a certain ex-husband.

“You’re scared,” he said.

Maybe that too. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, gaze locking onto the dark floor behind him. “That’s silly.”

“So what we went through—that’s over and done for you? No unresolved issues?”

He had to mention that.

His hand tipped her chin up.

Meg jerked away. What right did he have to touch her?

“Some night, Meg, we need to talk.”

No, they didn’t. What he’d done, what he’d said—he’d hurt her enough. Filling in the
why
s and
how
s wouldn’t heal anything.

What she needed to do was change the topic. She forced her eyes to his. “I have something for you. Wait here.” She tried not to run up the stairs. Maybe giving him his yearbooks and baseball scrapbook would end wherever Mike expected their conversation to go.

Being alone with him terrified her.

She ransacked her walk-in closet in her search, not caring that she messed up perfectly organized shelves. The sooner Mike left her house, the better.

Her eyes welled up, and Meg cleared them with her palms. She would not cry in front of Mike. She would not let him know how much she still hurt.

She clamped a hand over her mouth, muffling the sob that shook her. She hated what he’d done to her. With one decision, he’d changed how she thought and acted and how she viewed everything and everyone.

And now he was back, acting as if they could actually forget the wounds they’d inflicted on each other. Was he really that crazy? That insensitive?

Sniffing, she pulled her yearbooks from the box and dropped them on the floor. She’d deal with her closet later. She lifted the awkward box and started down the hall.

Right now, Mike had to go.

He stood waiting at the bottom of the stairs and took the box from her arms. “I was about to come after you.” He looked from the box to her, eyes narrow. “What’s this?”

“Some things of yours I didn’t realize I had.”

“Like?”

He set the box on the floor, bent to open it.

“Mike, no!” He couldn’t look at them here. One bittersweet memory and she’d lose control again.

“No, what?”

He needed to take them home. He needed to leave. Her vision blurred. Maybe her tears would scare him away. “Please go.”

He took a step back and ran a hand through his hair, his mouth tight in a frustrated smile. The muscles along his jaw clenched. “Fine.” He nodded her way, then picked up the box as if it were full of cotton candy and tucked it beneath an arm. “After everything I did, I understand why you’d want nothing to do with me.” He blew out a breath, fingering a frayed corner of the box. “But someday, Meg, we have to talk. We don’t have a choice.”

No choice?

He opened the door, said goodbye, and left.

No, he was wrong. She might share Terrell with him and listen to their baseball conversations, but never again would she relive the death throes of her marriage.

Somehow she would move on.

So Monday night had not gone as planned. Fine. This morning would be different.

Outside Meg’s house, Mike slammed his Range Rover door and locked the vehicle. He started up her sidewalk, bag of fresh cinnamon rolls in hand.

His refusal to see or speak to Brooke had convinced Shauni that he was committed to making up with Meg, and Shauni had spent a full morning brainstorming with him on how to rebuild the connection between them. Recreating good memories was one idea, and cinnamon rolls dated back to their first month of marriage. They’d sat in bed the morning after he returned from a road trip and caught up with each other while they ate their gooey rolls.

What he wouldn’t give to do that again.

He halted at the sight of two cars parked in her driveway. It figured she’d have people over just when he thought he’d catch her alone. What would Shauni tell him to do?

Probably to think like a woman.

He sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, listening to the birds chirp in Meg’s bushes and the dog across the street yap away.

Nothing entered his mind.

Of course not. If he could think like a woman, he wouldn’t be in this situation. He sighed and continued up her sidewalk. All he could think about were the dozen fans he’d fought off at the restaurant just to get these rolls. Meg was going to eat them, and she was going to enjoy them. Clients, friends, whatever—he didn’t have a day to lose because in less than two weeks he’d leave for another road trip. By then, he needed to be back in her good graces.

He rang her doorbell. One of the Wind’s charities, a childhood cancer foundation, was hosting a black-tie fundraiser next Friday. He’d already bought two tickets, one for himself and one for Meg. He pictured her in an evening dress, silver earrings dangling with that thick, golden hair piled on her head. He’d introduce her to his teammates and to local celebrities—actors and musicians—who came to the event. After the dinner, they’d spend the rest of the night enjoying downtown Chicago at its best, and by the time the city began to stir—

First, he had to find some alone time with her.

Without warning, her door swung open. Meg stood there, lips downturned, eyes narrowed.

Yeah, good thing he couldn’t think like a woman. He looked around her, but the house seemed silent and empty. “Hi,” he said. “You got a minute?”

She tilted her head, lips squished together as she debated. “I can spare that.”

Just like always, giving him crumbs. He held up the brown bag, forcing a smile he didn’t feel anymore. “I’ve had a taste for cinnamon rolls. Thought you might like to share them with me.”

Her mouth twitched, but she stepped back enough to let him enter. “I guess I can take a short break.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got to leave for the stadium in an hour.” She could go back to her precious job then.

She led the way to the kitchen.

Mike glanced in the living room and family room and, when he entered the kitchen, the formal dining room. There didn’t seem to be anyone around.

“What are you looking for?” Meg asked, pulling two plates from an upper cabinet.

“I thought you had a client here. The cars.”

“Oh.”

She stepped around him, seeming to take care not to brush against him.

He followed her to the table and sat down, waiting for the explanation.

Instead, she opened the bag and put one massive roll on each plate, pausing to suck warm icing from her thumb.

“Good?” he asked.

She nodded, seating herself to his left. She unwrapped her roll with her fingers, just like she always had.

Had she forgotten he didn’t believe in getting sticky? And where was her explanation of the cars? He leaned back in his chair, fingers linked across his stomach. “You’re way too helpful.”

She glanced at him, swallowed her mouthful, and looked down at his roll. “What?”

“Got a fork?”

“Oh. Right.” She pushed her chair back and took her time getting his fork. Had she forgotten the way he’d teased her about getting icing all over her fingers? Or how she’d claimed it tasted better that way? Those memories were instant replay in his mind. If she’d forgotten—

“Here you go.” She handed him the fork and sat down, digging into her roll once again. “Terrell will be sorry he missed you.”

Probably her way of telling him not to bother coming if Terrell wasn’t home. Whatever. With his fork he cut a piece of the roll and stabbed it. “Do you remember how often we did this?”

“Too often.” Her eyes darted to his plate, his hands, his shoulders, never reaching his face before returning to her roll.

He leaned forward, willing her to look at him. “Why did we quit?”

Her hand fell against the tabletop, and she sent him an exasperated look. “Because I was gaining weight.”

“Oh.” So he’d forgotten that detail.

He ate the bite on his fork, his gaze never leaving her profile. Somehow she wasn’t enjoying this as much as he’d hoped she would. No reminiscing, no
remember when
. She seemed cold, aloof, as if she didn’t want to talk to him. As if he’d done something wrong.

Shauni would tell him to ask. “Meg, did I say something wrong last night?”

Her shoulders slumped, but she kept on unrolling the sticky layers.

“You clammed up and kicked me out. I want to know what I did. So I won’t do it again.” There. He’d taken the blame. That had to work.

She glanced at him.

He met her gaze, smiling his encouragement. If she’d just talk to him—

“It isn’t you, Mike.”

What? “It’s not you. It’s me,” he joked.

She smiled at her roll. “No, really. You caught me off guard.” She shoved her chair back and walked around the peninsula to the sink.

Mike waited while she washed her hands, but again she didn’t speak. He filled in the silence. “How’d I catch you off guard?”

From the stairs in the foyer came sounds of a conversation. A man’s and woman’s voices neared.

No. Not now. “Clients?”

Meg leaned against the counter. She looked relieved. “My assistant. Her fiancé.”

“I didn’t know you had someone working for you.” Mike joined her as a tall, slim blonde walked into the room followed by a dark, big-muscled man. Talk about opposites.

The man’s eyes settled on him. And narrowed.

What was this?

The blonde quickstepped her way to Meg and grabbed her shoulder, eyes glued to Mike as she stage-whispered in Meg’s ear. “Tell me that’s not Mike Connor.”

A fan? This, he could handle. He forced seriousness into his expression. “I’m not Mike Connor.” When confused belief registered on her face, he broke into a laugh. He held out his hand, and slowly she took it. “Hi,” he said. “Mike Connor.”

“Dana. Jarvis,” she added, hazel eyes big. “Meg’s assistant.”

“Nice to meet you.” He reached a hand to the man. “I hear you’re the fiancé.”

The man hesitated before gripping his hand. His fingers squeezed Mike’s to the point of pain. “Ben Reynolds,” he said, jaw tight.

Mike tightened his own grip before releasing Ben’s hand, resisting the urge to see if his own bore finger marks. What was up with this guy?

“How do you know Meg?” Dana asked.

Meg’s head lolled toward one shoulder. “Mike’s my ex-husband.”

So
no one
knew about him. Not Terrell, not her own assistant. Huh.

“No kidding.” Dana’s eyes went wide. “You’re Terrell’s dad?”

“In the flesh.”

“No kidding,” she said again.

Her eyes were still wide. Ben’s were still narrowed. Meg’s were closing in irritation.

Time to change the subject. Mike focused on Dana. “How long have you worked for Meg?”

“Nine, ten months now?” she asked, her head slanted toward Meg.