choice of words. He started his car, his mind racing.
By the time Mike parked in her driveway, night had chased the last bits of dusk away. Warmth had vanished, as well. At Meg’s front door, he hunched his shoulders, only to feel the sticky, half-frozen yogurt cling to his chest.
Remember , he reminded himself, humor. Smile. Make her laugh . He pushed the doorbell and rested his hand high on the door frame while he waited for her to answer.
The foyer window remained dark. He tilted his head to listen for footsteps, but none sounded. He pushed the doorbell again. Waited some more. No sound. No light. Nothing—
Lights flicked on.
Mike plastered on a smile.
The door opened, and Meg stood silent, welcoming light reflecting off the wood and walls behind her. He waited for her to say something—hello would be fine—but she didn’t.
He raised his eyebrows. “That was cold, Meg.”
She’d never been able to stay hurt. One joke, and a smile, however faint, would force its way onto her face. He watched for that hint of amusement, for anything that would tell him he was forgiven.
Instead she remained unmoved, her face empty.
Not good. Tears would have been better than this.
“Where’s Terrell?” he asked.
“In the tub. Do you need something?”
“A washcloth, perhaps?” He motioned to his shirt.
She stared him down, arms crossed.
“You’re right,” he said. “We need to talk. May I come in?”
“No. But you can leave.”
“How about you talk, and I’ll listen. You can get things off your chest while I get this stuff off mine.”
“I have nothing to say.”
She moved to close the door, but Mike caught the edge and held it open. “It’s a good thing I didn’t take you out for coffee,” he joked.
“Go away, Mike.”
Go away? He dropped his hand from the door.
“I’m tired,” she said, “and I don’t—I don’t want to argue. Can we just—” She looked away. “Thanks for the ice cream.”
She moved the door, and, numbed by her words, he let it go.
The door clicked shut and the locks turned. The foyer window darkened.
Go away.
Had she just told him to get lost? He stared at the carved door shut in his face. She’d better not if she wanted to keep Terrell. He raised a fist, ready to order her to open up, but Terrell’s face, marred by fear, stopped him. He lowered his hand. He couldn’t do that to Terrell. He’d already done enough.
Tonight, just tonight, he’d leave.
He glanced at her house before climbing into his Range Rover.
The Meg he remembered had not been home tonight. But if he was patient, maybe in time she’d make an appearance. Then he’d get that elusive second chance that haunted him.
Mike backed out of her driveway, spirits rising. She’d have a couple weeks to cool off before he returned. And when he did, he’d have a plan.
Next time everything would be different.
Chapter Twelve
“What are you watching?”
Ben stiffened at Dana’s soft voice hovering above the recliner. Her arms circled his neck, and he held himself still instead of pushing her away. “Baseball reruns,” he said.
“I thought it looked old.” She slid onto the arm of the chair, blocking the light. “Do people really watch these games?”
“There’s a whole channel for it.” He should tell her to go away. The last thing he wanted was her asking lots of questions—and then feeling sorry for him.
“Who’s playing?”
“Boston, Oakland.” The teams had gone into the final game of the year tied for the last playoff spot. The winner of the game had moved on to the post season. The loser had gone home.
“What’s the score?”
It was right there in the corner, for Pete’s sake. “Four to three, Boston.” He added more to keep her quiet. “Two on, no outs, bottom of the ninth, Oakland’s batting.”
If she couldn’t find the score, maybe she wouldn’t notice who was pitching.
“Is that you ?”
Ben closed his eyes. “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you
By the time Mike parked in her driveway, night had chased the last bits of dusk away. Warmth had vanished, as well. At Meg’s front door, he hunched his shoulders, only to feel the sticky, half-frozen yogurt cling to his chest.
Remember , he reminded himself, humor. Smile. Make her laugh . He pushed the doorbell and rested his hand high on the door frame while he waited for her to answer.
The foyer window remained dark. He tilted his head to listen for footsteps, but none sounded. He pushed the doorbell again. Waited some more. No sound. No light. Nothing—
Lights flicked on.
Mike plastered on a smile.
The door opened, and Meg stood silent, welcoming light reflecting off the wood and walls behind her. He waited for her to say something—hello would be fine—but she didn’t.
He raised his eyebrows. “That was cold, Meg.”
She’d never been able to stay hurt. One joke, and a smile, however faint, would force its way onto her face. He watched for that hint of amusement, for anything that would tell him he was forgiven.
Instead she remained unmoved, her face empty.
Not good. Tears would have been better than this.
“Where’s Terrell?” he asked.
“In the tub. Do you need something?”
“A washcloth, perhaps?” He motioned to his shirt.
She stared him down, arms crossed.
“You’re right,” he said. “We need to talk. May I come in?”
“No. But you can leave.”
“How about you talk, and I’ll listen. You can get things off your chest while I get this stuff off mine.”
“I have nothing to say.”
She moved to close the door, but Mike caught the edge and held it open. “It’s a good thing I didn’t take you out for coffee,” he joked.
“Go away, Mike.”
Go away? He dropped his hand from the door.
“I’m tired,” she said, “and I don’t—I don’t want to argue. Can we just—” She looked away. “Thanks for the ice cream.”
She moved the door, and, numbed by her words, he let it go.
The door clicked shut and the locks turned. The foyer window darkened.
Go away.
Had she just told him to get lost? He stared at the carved door shut in his face. She’d better not if she wanted to keep Terrell. He raised a fist, ready to order her to open up, but Terrell’s face, marred by fear, stopped him. He lowered his hand. He couldn’t do that to Terrell. He’d already done enough.
Tonight, just tonight, he’d leave.
He glanced at her house before climbing into his Range Rover.
The Meg he remembered had not been home tonight. But if he was patient, maybe in time she’d make an appearance. Then he’d get that elusive second chance that haunted him.
Mike backed out of her driveway, spirits rising. She’d have a couple weeks to cool off before he returned. And when he did, he’d have a plan.
Next time everything would be different.
Chapter Twelve
“What are you watching?”
Ben stiffened at Dana’s soft voice hovering above the recliner. Her arms circled his neck, and he held himself still instead of pushing her away. “Baseball reruns,” he said.
“I thought it looked old.” She slid onto the arm of the chair, blocking the light. “Do people really watch these games?”
“There’s a whole channel for it.” He should tell her to go away. The last thing he wanted was her asking lots of questions—and then feeling sorry for him.
“Who’s playing?”
“Boston, Oakland.” The teams had gone into the final game of the year tied for the last playoff spot. The winner of the game had moved on to the post season. The loser had gone home.
“What’s the score?”
It was right there in the corner, for Pete’s sake. “Four to three, Boston.” He added more to keep her quiet. “Two on, no outs, bottom of the ninth, Oakland’s batting.”
If she couldn’t find the score, maybe she wouldn’t notice who was pitching.
“Is that you ?”
Ben closed his eyes. “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you
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