The Lives Between Us (42 page)

“Cut the act! It wasn’t just me you hurt. You went after Ed through his wife and kid.” Mark’s eyes narrowed and his face twisted in disgust. “That’s despicable.”

“It would be—if it was true.”

“We’re through.” Mark quietly closed the door in her face.

Skye stared at the door. What happened to the sensitive man she’d fallen in love with?

She’d been fooling herself hoping he’d understand—even appreciate the sensitive story she’d written about Edward and his struggle. His intractable attitude tonight proved with certain finality that if she turned it in, she’d lose Mark forever.

“Tell me again why we’re here.” Faith tossed the scarf over her shoulder and leaned close to Skye.

Skye smiled at the freckle-faced cheerleader with the small nose ring and handed her a ten for their admission. Bracing for that initial chill, Skye pushed her sister through the glass doors into the arena.

“Jeff has a hockey game. With Edward in D.C., Mark will be here and he won’t be able to run away from me or shut a door in my face. I have to try one last time.” Before she handed in the article tomorrow.

Faith flinched and pulled back as bodies rammed the boards ahead of them. “And why am I here?”

“He likes you. A lot more than me right now.”

“Sooo... You’re using me?” Faith said. “For the past month, I hardly see you ’cause when you’re not working at the bar or at the paper, or meeting with the architect, you’re out with Mark, or at the hospital visiting the Hastingses, and now that we get to spend a few hours together, you bring me here?”

“That’s a very negative way to look at it,” Skye said as she craned her head, peeking into the stands. She took her sister’s mittened hand and dragged her forward. “Come on.”

“If he wouldn’t listen to you the other times, why would he this time?”

Skye held up a folded piece of paper. “Names and phone numbers of the guys who wrote those articles. He needs to hear from them that they don’t know me and I didn’t tell them anything.”

“Why wouldn’t he think that they’d lie for you?”

Skye stopped and faced her sister. “He can’t. He just can’t ’cause I can’t think of any other way to convince him I’m innocent.” She started walking again.

“What if he’s not here? You wasted ten bucks.”

Skye searched through the fifty or so dedicated parents and energetic teens. “He’ll be here.”

Skye made sure they arrived a little bit into the first period, so Mark would be paying attention to the game. The rink echoed noisily with cheering, music, and sounds of bodies smashing into the boards. Skye looked left to the area where they’d sat last time and, sure enough, he sat in the same spot.

Skye gasped and froze. “Oh, no.”

“What’s the matter?”

“He’s not alone.”

* * *

Jeff glanced up into the stands to find Uncle Mark sitting in his usual place. Grandpa sat to his left, but then somebody else sat with them. He squinted to get a better look. Dad? No way. Dad wasn’t due back from D.C. until tomorrow. The puck whizzed by his stick—he’d missed a pass.
Shit
.

He sprinted after the puck. Twenty-one on the other team had it. Jeff slammed twenty-one into the boards and took the puck back. With an easy flick of the wrist, he flipped it to Evan, who, shot and scored.
Yes
.

Stick in the air, he circled behind the net and bumped Evan.
Yeah, man. Nice and smooth.
His dad and Mark were on their feet cheering. For once Dad wasn’t on the phone. He’d actually seen his assist. And from the ass-splitting grin on his father’s face, he’d finally done the old man proud. Jeff coasted back to the centerline.

The rest of the game blurred past, like a dream. Jeff scored twice, but with a last-minute grab the goalie caught his shot and robbed him of his hat trick. Still, it was one of his best games ever—and in front of Dad. Pretty cool.

Too bad Mom hadn’t been there, but he’d seen Dad pointing a camera in his direction. Dad didn’t know how to work the thing. The video would probably come out all jiggly and blurry, but it was better than nothing.

After the game, Jeff stifled the impulse to skate over to the men like he used to run to his parents after a little league game. Instead, he filed out with his teammates, took a record fast shower, threw his gear together, and sauntered out of the locker room. Dad and Grandpa were standing with some lady, while Uncle Mark talked to Skye—and neither looked happy.

Jeff hadn’t seen Skye since that time in the Village. Her eyes were overly bright, and if Uncle Mark’s back got any stiffer, he’d snap in two. Uncle Mark took some paper she handed him, crushed it, and threw it in the nearby garbage can. Skye’s eyes opened wide as she looked up at him.

Jeff’s pace slowed, and he frowned. Wonder what they’re fighting about. He hefted his sports bag and walked over to the others. As soon as his dad spotted him, he raised an arm and thumped him on the shoulders. “Great game, Jeff. You’ll get that hat trick next time. Well done.”

“Hey, Dad. What’re you doing here?”

“I cut out early to watch your game.” He looked at the lady. “Much more entertaining than listening to Ted Stevens go on endlessly about the internet.”

His dad left work early just to watch him play? He puffed out his chest. That was a first. Thank God he’d played well. From the way Dad had been cheering, he must have had a good time.

“I’m sure,” the lady said.

“Jeff, this is Mrs. Lynch. Ms. Kendall’s sister. They came to watch your game.”

Ms. Kendall’s sister didn’t look anything like her. She was a tall, skinny blond with bright blue eyes. Maybe they were steps.

“I don’t know anything about hockey, but you looked terrific to me,” she said with a warm smile.

Jeff grinned and bobbed his head. He’d had one of those rare magical games where everything went his way. “Thanks.”

“Yes, good job, Jeff,” Grandpa said.

“I was on.”

“I’ll say, and I caught a bunch of it.” Dad held up the video camera. “Recorded it for Mom.”

“Where’d you get that?”

“Bought it—well, I had Ben research it and pick it up for me this week. It’s been too long since we’ve had family movies.”

Had they ever? Maybe when he’d been young. Since his dad became a senator, only Mom took pictures. Uncle Mark came up on his right. Skye trailed behind, her nose red and her eyes glossy, like she’d been crying.

Uncle Mark raised his fist for Jeff to bump. “Way to go, kid.”

“Another great game, Jeff,” Skye said.

“Thanks.” His glance flickered away. Her over bright smile made him uneasy. He shifted his bag to the other shoulder and turned to Dad. “What’s for dinner? I’m starving.”

“How about we go out to celebrate?”

Really? “It’s only five-thirty. Don’t you have to work, or go to a meeting or something?”

“It can wait. Tonight we celebrate.”

Jeff grinned. “Great. Where?”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Little Tony’s?” They had the best burgers in town.

“Let’s do it.” Dad took his equipment bag and slung it over his shoulder. He’d never carried his gear before. Jeff could get used to this.

Jeff looked back at Uncle Mark, Skye, and her sister. “Comin’?”

“Your dad’s buying? I’m in.” Uncle Mark stared hard at Skye. “But I think the ladies have other plans.”

Skye blushed. “I... Yeah, thanks for the invitation, but we’ve got to get home. I just wanted to...ah... Faith loves hockey and I was telling her how great you were, so I thought we’d have a ladies afternoon out and watch you play.”

“Thanks for comin’.” He waved and hurried after Dad and Grandpa. He didn’t know what had happened to change his dad, but he was gonna ride this wave as long as it ran. Suddenly Jeff turned and watched the sisters climbing into Skye’s car.

Mrs. Lynch said she didn’t know anything about hockey. Why would she lie about that?

* * *

Mark watched Skye barge through the kitchen door, then come out with a plate of French fries. With a quick search of the room, she located him, isolated from the late-afternoon crowd in one of the back booths. Mark’s hands tightened on his beer bottle, and he took another fortifying sip.
It’s over, Dutton
.

Though she’d lost a little weight, defining her features more, Skye looked as graceful and beautiful as ever. Her hair bounced at her shoulders, the satiny curls tempting him to plunge his hand into the thick mass to see if it was still as silky as Mark remembered. His groin tightened uncomfortably. Mark dropped his gaze to the table.

So she’s hot? A neurotic, mean, manipulative bitch hides beneath that sweet smile. You’re better off without her, man
.

As Skye neared, Mark noticed the faint bruising beneath her eyes that makeup had failed to completely conceal. Apparently she wasn’t sleeping any better than he was. Good. Maybe she had a conscience after all. Mark got out of his seat when Skye reached the booth, then reseated himself after she slid in. He schooled his features into a bland expression.

“Thanks for coming.” She flashed a smile.

Mark’s knee bounced manically. He worked at peeling the label from his Heineken. “I didn’t want to have to take out a restraining order against you.”

Skye’s smile faltered as if she wasn’t sure if he was joking or not.

The light floral scent of her perfume—the perfume he’d given her for Valentine’s Day—hung in the air between them. God, she smelled good. And, damn it, she shouldn’t.

“What do you want, Skye?” Mark steeled himself against the hurt darkening her eyes.
She used you, Noelle, and Jeff, to hurt Ed.

“I just wanted to tell you you’re making a big mistake breaking up with me, but...” Skye took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. “I won’t fight it anymore.”

Mark searched her face for nervousness or a telltale blush. Why the sudden about-face? “You won’t?”

Skye shook her head. “I don’t know what else to say or do to convince you and Edward that I didn’t do it, and I’m tired of fighting. So I give up.”

Mark sat back in his seat. It wasn’t until that minute that he’d realized that he’d always secretly hoped she’d come up with a credible excuse. Now she’d stripped away that hope. It really was over. “You admit it?”

“Oh, no.” Skye shook her head. “I didn’t do it. I just give up trying to convince you. I’m tired of defending myself. This is as close to masochism as I’ve ever gotten, and it’s a bit too brutal for me.”

They sat in silence for a minute. Once again, a stalemate. It was over. Now they could both move on. “You were creative; I’ll give you that. Getting Don Miller from
The Times
to give you that notarized letter claiming he’d never met you, spoken, or communicated with you, was creative—however ineffective.”

Skye bit her lip, undoubtedly biting back the urge to argue. Mark smiled inwardly. It hadn’t been nice to bait her.

She inclined her head. “I’d like to take credit for that, but...” She paused and dropped the fry she was twirling about in her ranch dressing. “I once had a great friend who tried to convince me of something that way.”

Bam. In your face, Dutton
.

Skye stared at him long and hard, as if she wanted to say more. Then she frowned and looked away.

Time to move on
. Mark polished off his beer and reached for his wallet.

“How’s work?” Skye asked.

He threw a ten on the table and shoved his wallet in his back pocket. “Great. Word-of-mouth is selling our storing adult stem cells, and with that and the cord blood, we’re in a great position to finance our research.”

Skye nodded and smiled. “That’s good. Hey, um, not that it’s any of my business, but…” She picked up a French fry and raised curious eyes to Mark. “Why didn’t you use stem cells in your cancer treatment?”

“We didn’t have any matching stem cells, but now that I’ve been well, I’ve stored some of my adult stem cells in case I ever need them.”

“So, did you ever manage to get that new ESC line for your diabetes research?”

“Not yet.” Mark snorted. “Damn ESCs have been a royal pain in the butt from the beginning.”

“So Aviva isn’t using any ESCs now?”

“No. Why?” He scanned her face as if trying to read her motive. “There’s no story here.”

Skye raised her eyebrows. “Don’t be so sure; your company might make for interesting press.”

Press. Always the job. Stupid to think she cared. Mark hardened his eyes. “Make an appointment if you want an interview.”

“And...” She shrugged as if he hadn’t spoken. “It’s pitiful, really. I miss you. I miss our late-night conversations. I miss the way you made me laugh.” She softened her voice. “I miss cuddling while we watched movies. Heck, I even miss you bossing me around.”

I miss you, too. Too bad you don’t understand loyalty
. Mark bit back the truths. Truths that wouldn’t do either of them any good at this point. He swallowed hard and avoided her gaze. Sliding out of the booth, he stood. “I gotta go.”

Skye stood, too. Swiping her hands down each thigh, she looked at him. “I know it’s corny, but do you think maybe we can be friends?”

“No.” Mark spun on his heel and headed for the pub door.

“Didn’t think so,” Skye whispered.

Mark disappeared out the door. Skye picked up her cold fries and his empty Heineken bottle and carried them into the kitchen. She took the ten, swiped the table down, and reset it so it’d be ready for the evening crowd. At the bar, she rang up his beer, and then reached in her pocket for her cell phone. Skye dialed through her address book until she found the number and hit send.

“Jenny, I’ve got your info, and I’ve got an idea, but I need your help.”

Skye jumped in Jenny’s Jeep and handed her the indexed binder she’d put together. “Want to share what it’s about?”

Jenny opened the binder and scanned the tabs. She put it in the back seat and headed downtown. “My stepdaughter has Huntington’s. She’s asymptomatic right now, but it’s just a matter of time.”