What a Man's Gotta Do (23 page)

“Oh.” Mala got up from the bed, plucked a bunch of tissues from the box on her mother's nightstand. Sat back down again. Then she went through this routine where she kept opening her mouth, but nothing came out.

“I know what you're thinkin',” her mother said.

“Good.” Mala honked into the tissue. “Fill me in.”

“You're thinkin', somehow it was you who screwed up, picking Scott. And it was you who screwed up, again, fallin' for Eddie. Well, let me tell you something, okay? Scott left you because, for one thing, he didn't know what to do with a good woman, and for another, he's a schmuck. But Eddie left because he's mixed up and hurting about things that have nothin' to do with you, I'll bet my life on it. And maybe you think he's the best thing that ever happened to you, and maybe he is, I don't know, but I do know that you're the best thing that ever happened to
him,
only it's gonna take him some time for him to realize that. Like I said, men are dense.”

“Then why do we love them so much?”

Bev shrugged, then dragged Mala back into her arms. “Because who else is gonna make us feel so good about being women, huh?”

 

The kids had conked out by the end of the game, so Pop volunteered to help Mala get them home, which was either his way of playing the supportive father, which while annoying at the moment, was nice, or he was using this as an excuse to get close enough to Eddie to beat the snot out of him, which was both annoying and not nice at all.

Not that he said much on the short drive to her house, but then, pithy conversations weren't exactly Pop's strong suit. They carried in the kids; Mala put first Carrie, then Lucas into bed—jammies yes, teeth no—then wandered back into the kitchen, where she heard her father rummaging around in her cupboards.

“Where the hell you keep the coffee filters?”

“Right by the coffee…maker…”

She froze at the sight of the set of keys and note on the counter.

Marty looked over. “From him, right?”

“You didn't look?”

“No, Miss Smarty-pants, I didn't look. And how'd he get in, anyway?”

“Same way you and Ma do. He knows where the key is.”

“Oh.” Then, “What's it say?”

She picked up the folded note, annoyed that her hand was shaking. His handwriting was terrible, which she found comforting in a perverse kind of way.

She handed the note to her father, and thought, well, hell—that was more than she ever got from Scott, wasn't it?

F
ebruary dragged by in its usual bleak way, a seemingly endless cycle of fresh snow and drab slush and muddy sneakers and squabbles when it was too icky to go outside and even more endless questions about why Eddie had moved out when Carrie had seen him at Krogers just the other day when she was in there with Nana Bev and didn't he like them anymore? Lucas, especially, seemed more inclined to moping than usual, which tore at Mala's heart. She'd find him sprawled on his bed, flipping though books he couldn't yet read, the pup stretched out beside him in silent commiseration, but if Mala asked him if he was okay, he'd just shrug.

Which was about her reaction whenever anyone asked her if she was okay, too.

She was…managing. Holding her own. Coping. She took care of her kids and met with clients and cleaned house and played with her nieces and nephews and basically acted as though nothing had changed.

Except
she
had.

Everything
had.

Mala told herself it was just the never-ending gray weather
that was getting to her, combined with her surly children and the steadily escalating frenzy of tax season. But a person can only lie to herself for so long. In Mala's case, she barely made it to Valentine's day. And now it was the last day of February and she really needed to do something about finding a new tenant for the apartment, except she didn't really need to, yet, since Eddie had paid up for another month.

Seated at the computer in her home office, Mala rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, then she tried again to focus on the file glaring back at her and told herself, very sternly, that none of this was anybody's fault.

But God, she felt so empty inside. Worse, even, than she had with Scott. Much worse, because, after all, Scott was a scuzzbag. Eddie didn't even come close.

Did she miss the sex? Sure she did. There were nights she woke up craving Eddie's touch so much she nearly cried out with it. But she missed far, far more than that. She missed
him,
his goodness and gentleness and the way he'd poke at her fears and make her take good, long, hard looks at herself.

The tears came, as they always did. She'd never met another man like Eddie, never would again. He'd been her one last shot at a dream she'd just about given up on, the prince she'd always envisioned as sweeping her off her feet one day….

“Mama?”

She swiped at her eyes, smiled for her daughter. “What is it, honey?”

“Did you see? The crocuses came up in the backyard! Come look!” Carrie grabbed her hand and tugged her up from her chair. “Come on, Mama!”

With a sigh, Mala let her child drag her out to the backyard, where, sure enough, a whole bevy of purple and white and yellow flowers had sprung up all over the still-dead lawn. Mala smiled at the cheerful little things, willing herself to believe that, just when things look their bleakest, something good always happens….

Then the dog trotted over to the biggest, prettiest, cheeriest clump of flowers and whizzed all over them.

 

“No,” Galen said from behind her desk. “I'm not
asking
you if you want out of your commitment.”

Standing just inside the door to her office, Eddie stared at her for several seconds, then let out a short, sharp laugh. “You cannin' me?”

“I suppose you could call it that.” She opened her desk drawer, pulled out an envelope which she then held out to him. “With full pay for the rest of the month, needless to say.”

Eddie stared at the envelope for several seconds, then lifted his gaze to the redhead's. “Look, I don't know what Mala's told you—”

“Actually, she hasn't said a word. She's got far too much class for that. But when she asked if I minded bringing over the restaurant's paperwork to her house, rather than her coming in here, I kinda figured it out. So I just think, since you were planning to leave anyway, and I said I'd be able to come back to work the first of March, this would make things easier. For everybody.”

Eddie hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “Your friendship means that much?”

She lowered the hand holding the envelope, giving him a smile that seemed almost sympathetic. “It's called loyalty, Eddie. You know—not being afraid to stick by those who mean the most to you?”

Heat raced up his neck. No way was he getting into this with her. It was none of her business, what had gone on between him and Mala. Just like it was none of her business how many sleepless nights he'd had since the Superbowl party, worrying himself half to death that he'd hurt Mala, having no earthly idea how to go about checking up on her without making everything even worse than it already was.

He turned, stomped over to the door. “I'll finish out the night—”

“That won't be necessary,” Galen said softly.

His hand braced on the edge of the door, Eddie turned back, a frown biting into his forehead. “I never pegged you as bein' the vindictive sort, Galen.”

Her brows lifted, but she didn't seem the least bit offended.
“Vindictive? I just gave you the one thing you clearly value over anything else in the world. Your freedom. Oh, don't give me that ‘she-doesn't-understand' look. Believe me, Eddie, I understand exactly what's going on inside your head. All too well. There was a time when I thought there was nothing more precious than my independence.” She stood, walked around the desk, then folded the envelope in two, stuck it in Eddie's shirt pocket. “I was wrong.”

Eddie yanked the envelope from his pocket and tossed it on top of a nearby filing cabinet before striding from the office.

Only, this was the first time he could remember leaving a place when he felt so much like he'd just run straight into…nothing.

He got out onto the street, the spring sunshine barely strong enough to cut the wind's bitter chill as he strode out to his car. Okay, fine, so he'd leave. Get the hell out of this town, away from memories he'd never wanted, had been stupid enough to collect. Once he'd left Mala's, he'd found a cheesy little place on the other side of town, all the better to avoid running into her. But there'd been that day a couple weeks back when he'd gone into the Kroger's close to the restaurant to pick up some extra veggies when they'd run out and had run into Carrie and Bev. And the confusion in Carrie's eyes, not to mention the censure in Bev's, was nearly his undoing. Clear as day, those amber eyes had said, “You at least owe my daughter an apology.”

So now he found himself driving the few blocks to Mala's, his heart pounding so loud it was making his head hurt. For all he knew, she might not even be home.

Except she was, on her knees out front, planting flowers of some kind along the walk. Her back was to him, but he saw her whole body stiffen when he pulled up. When she didn't turn around, he realized two things: that she knew it was him, and that she had no intention of making this easy.

 

Mala heard the Camaro pull up—funny how you get used to the sound of certain car engines—but she didn't turn around, not even when she heard the car door slam. Her heart pounded
in her chest in tandem with Eddie's boots thunking against the concrete.

“Hey,” he said softly, right behind her, and her heart jolted into her throat.

She glanced up at him, then back at the hole she was digging for the next bedding plant, trying not to react when she sensed him crouching beside her.

“You sure those won't freeze?”

“They're pansies. They can withstand just about anything. Which is kinda funny when you think about what most people mean when they say ‘pansy'…”

God. She was so pathetic.

After a moment, he said, “Galen gave me my walking papers.”

Her gaze shot to his. “You're kidding?”

“Nope. Good as told me to get my sorry butt out of town.”

The look in his eyes would be her undoing, if she didn't hold firm now. The man didn't have a mean bone in his body; it was patently obvious that what he'd done was killing him. She also knew this was her last chance at getting him to see what he was doing to himself. “I see.” She swiped at a stray piece of hair with the back of her wrist. “So…are you?”

“Figured I may as well. But…”

“What?”

He exhaled loudly beside her. “It's just I don't like leavin' things this way.”

“And what way is that?”

“Like what we had was just some kind of passin'…I don't know. Like it didn't mean anything. And why are you makin' me work so hard here?”

Finally, she sat back on her heels, squinted at him in the sun. “Because maybe you're the one who's got more work to do?”

He sort of smiled at that, then shifted to lean on one knee. Her heart nearly stopped beating at that. Only then he said, “You're the first woman it's ever pained me to leave, you know that? The thought of never seeing you again…” His face contorted as he shook his head. “You and the kids mean more
to me than any people I've ever known since my mother died. And I'd like to think I could come back, every now and again, and visit you all—”

“No,” she said, yanking her head around before his eyes got to her again. “It's like you said, when you first told me why this wouldn't work—I deserve more than that.”

Finally, she dared to look back at him, because what she was about to say wouldn't mean jack otherwise. “You asked me if I ever considered what I wanted out of life, which is what got us into this situation to begin with, since I thought having a fling with you
was
what I wanted. Well, I was wrong. And I apologize for not understanding myself better, and for not listening to you to begin with. But the fact is…” She shook her head. “I do deserve more. Certainly more than a half-assed relationship with some guy who would always have one foot out the door, ready to take off when things got too…whatever it is they get for you. So, no. Don't bother coming back just to
visit.
And if that seems too demanding, well, tough. I don't know how to love any other way.”

The pain in his eyes stood out sharp and clear. “I just wish I could've left you with something other than more heartache, Miss Mala.”

Against her better judgment, she reached up, felt his roughened cheek beneath her fingertips one last time. “Oh, Eddie…but you're not, don't you see? I'd gone dead inside, more than I'd even realized. It was almost as if…as if I'd let Scott take my heart with him when he left. And how dumb was that? I looked like me, sounded like me, but I sure as hell didn't
feel
like me. So thank you, Eddie King. Thank you for giving me back my heart. For giving me back
myself.
”

A second, then two, ticked by; then he leaned forward, pressed his lips into her hair.

Then he was gone.

She managed to hold on to the tears until she could no longer hear the Camaro's engine.

 

Eddie'd gone on ahead and moved to Vegas, figuring he might as well get settled. Except, after nearly two weeks, he
was anything but. For the first time in his life, that precious freedom of his sat in his mouth like a bad taste you can't get rid of, no matter what you do. He already hated Vegas with a passion, even though, once you got out of the flashy part, the surrounding areas weren't much different than most other places. He'd even found a nice one-bedroom in a quiet complex with no kids that he could tell, nobody paid him any mind or butted in his business or stopped him to chat. Just the way he liked it.

Or had, up until one smart-mouthed, dimpled brunette had wormed her way into his life.

Fact was, not an hour went by that he didn't think about Mala, or the kids, the way Lucas would smile up at him like Eddie was the best thing since sliced bread, the way Carrie would talk his ear off.

And after these endless days in what amounted to self-exile, Eddie had to admit all the arguments he'd spent a lifetime fine-honing against making a commitment meant diddly-squat. He got along with Mala just fine, even if they did snipe at each other from time to time. He'd seen her parents in action enough to realize, well, hey, that's what people who live together
do.
An argument now and again isn't fatal, for crying out loud. And as for the kids…well, yeah, sure, they still scared him. But far as he could tell, all parents felt that way—could they keep their kids happy and healthy and safe? Would they make the right choices, or screw up, bigtime?

Eddie sank onto the edge of the bed, letting his head drop forward into his hands. What was that she'd said, about how she'd been dead inside until he'd come along? He'd tried real hard to dismiss her words as nothing more than sentimental female claptrap, until it finally got through his thick skull that he'd been feeling the same way, only he'd been doing it for so long, he thought it was normal. Hell, he hadn't been content all these years; he'd just been numb. And now that Mala had jolted him back to life, there was no going back, was there?

Fact was, he was one lonely sonuvabitch. And had been, ever since he could remember. So the question was—he lifted his head, staring at his sorry-assed reflection in the mirror over
the blond wood dresser—what in tarnation was he gonna do about it?

What she'd said, that night at her folks, was absolutely true: he'd based every single decision he'd made since he was seventeen on his past, not the present. And certainly not the future. And what was worse, he'd ordered his life in part on a past that existed only in his own head. He had some nerve, thinking he was free when the fact was he'd been imprisoned just as surely as if he'd been behind twenty-foot high walls.

And nobody'd built those walls but him.

If he wanted to really be free, he'd have to take some risks. Put his butt on the line. Quit blaming the past when he didn't even have the guts to confront it.