Homestands (Chicago Wind #1) (18 page)

“What?” She stared at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. Something about Ben’s sketchy. I don’t like you being around him.”

“They’re my clients, Mike. You can’t tell me to stop working because you don’t like him.”

The words—almost verbatim from arguments seven, eight, nine years old—dropped like a boulder between them. Meg’s eyes widened.

Even Mike blinked and took a step back.

She opened her mouth. She had to say something—anything—to move past the resurrection of so many problems. But she couldn’t. She brushed her hair over her shoulder. Why couldn’t she find anything to say?

Mike’s voice, soft and low, rang accusing in her ears. “So we’re back to that.”

How like him to blame her for what he’d done. “It’s not the same. This is how I support myself and Terrell.”

“Does it have to be that way?”

“We’re not getting back together—”

“Child support, Meg.”

“No.” He’d brought it up before. Once. She’d shut him down. “Just stay here with Terrell.”

He ignored her, his smile sardonic. “Has anything changed?”

She looked away from eyes that knew so well what she had been—and what he believed her to still be. But this time things
were
different. Weren’t they?

“I thought all this church stuff was supposed to make you different, better.”

What did he know about how much she’d changed? “Who says what I am is wrong? If you don’t like it, move on.”

A smile grew on his face. “Step on your toes?”

She turned her back on him. “Like you said, Mike, you’re a jerk.”

“You’re still not going to Reynolds’ house alone.”

“Watch me.” She swung her purse strap over her shoulder and grabbed her keys, jangling them at him—

Mike stood in the kitchen doorway, mouth open, eyes staring past her.

She looked behind herself.

There was nothing there but the front door.

“What now?” she huffed.

His focus shifted to her, and something in his expression sent a shiver through her.

“Mike? What is it?”

“I’m not sure.” He stared at her for several more seconds. “Terrell,” he finally called. “Get your shoes on.”

“Mike, he can’t come.”

He grabbed his wallet from the console and shoved it into his back pocket. “Here’s the deal. I’ll drive you so Ben knows I know you’re there. We’ll pop in, say hi. Then I’ll pick you up when you’re done.”

This was dumb. “But will Ben know that
you
know that he knows—”

“Knock it off.”

Terrell entered the room, holding his sandals. “Where are we going?”

“We’re dropping your mom off at a client’s home.”

She closed her eyes. “This is embarrassing.”

“Trust me, Meg.”

She met his eyes.

Something in them underlined his concern.

Still… “Just for tonight,” she snapped.

Pain flickered across his face.

Nicely done, Meg. Way to be mean.

She marched upstairs to her office to gather her things.

The drive to Ben and Dana’s home took half an hour. Mike parked his Range Rover, out of place in an older neighborhood of starter homes, on the cracked concrete drive.

As Meg stepped out of the vehicle, Ben appeared in the front doorway. He opened the screen. “Look who it is.” He nodded at Mike’s arm. “How are you enjoying the cast?”

“Loving every minute.” Mike turned his back on him to open Terrell’s door and help him climb down. His low voice reached her. “Moron.” He slammed the door, then started up the sidewalk with Terrell in tow.

“Be nice,” Meg whispered behind him.

“I called him a moron, didn’t I?” he hissed over his shoulder.

At the front door, Ben extended his hand, and Mike gripped it. Even with Ben’s grin, Meg felt the tension. She offered Ben what she hoped was a calming smile and followed Mike and Terrell into the living room.

Ben let the screen slam behind him. “I suppose this isn’t much compared to what you’re used to, Connor, but it’s home to us.”

Meg surveyed the room, the furniture older but laid out well.

“Actually,” Mike said, “this is nicer than mine. More color, cozier.”

Ben snorted, shouldering past them to the dining room. “Cozy is how agents describe tiny houses no one wants to buy.”

Mike rolled his eyes.

In the kitchen Dana was drying dishes. The room smelled of cheese and herbs, and Meg inhaled the lingering aromas.

“Wow. What did you have for dinner?” Mike asked.

Ben smirked as if he’d cooked the meal. “One of Dana’s specialties. Four cheese chicken pizza with white sauce. Out of this world.”

“Smells like it,” Meg said. The men were like snarling animals fighting over territory. If she ignored them, maybe they’d both go away. “Dana, may I put my things on your table?”

“I just wiped it. Make sure it’s dry.” Dana held out a hand for Terrell to give her a high-five. “Did you come along for the ride, or do you have ideas for fixing up the place?”

Meg tugged her bags from Mike’s hand as she answered for him. “They’re leaving.” Right this second if she could help it.

“We’re just dropping Meg off.” Mike’s gaze moved from Dana to Ben. “Terrell and I are hanging out tonight, but we’ll be back when she’s ready to go.”

“Yes, and I’ll text you when we’re done.” Meg tugged on his arm until he moved for the front door, he and Ben still in a stare-down.

“You’ve got my number, right?” Mike asked.

“Yes. Got it.”
Go already,
she pleaded with her eyes.

He did.

Ben locked the door behind them, then raised his eyebrows at her. “A little controlling, isn’t he?”

Protective, yes. But controlling? The words she’d thrown at him in her kitchen resurfaced. Meg chased them away with a smile. “He just wants to make sure I’m safe, I guess.”

“I think it’s sweet.” Dana pulled out a chair and motioned for Meg to sit. “Ben, are you going to join us?”

Meg settled herself at the table before looking at Ben.

His coal-like eyes were trained on her.

She held them a moment before reaching for one of her bags. A small shiver slid over her as she unzipped it, considering for the first time that perhaps Mike wasn’t overreacting.

Two hours later Meg stashed the last of her things in her bag as Mike’s headlights flashed through the living room window.

Ben didn’t move from his seat in the recliner. “Your guardian’s here,” he called.

The night had not gone well. She’d hoped to leave with a final budget along with their wants and ideas, but after a few minutes, it was obvious they were dreaming up completely opposite kitchens.

And sitting there while the two of them tried to hash it out—Dana not listening, Ben… bullying—had been uncomfortable.

Horribly uncomfortable.

Meg hurried through her goodbyes and jogged down the sidewalk, despite her bags.

Mike met her halfway and stowed her things beside Terrell while she climbed in the Range Rover. “How’d it go?” he asked as he backed out of the driveway.

“Terrible. They don’t agree on anything. Dana has this dream kitchen that will cost ten times their budget.”

“So what now?”

“She has to give in to Ben. He’s right, but she doesn’t see it.” Why was she talking to him? She was mad at him. “She wants to knock out half of the back of their house and triple the kitchen size. It’d be twice as big as their living room.”

Mike raised an eyebrow. “Can you do that?”

“Do what?”

“A remodel like that.”

“Sure. I’ve got a contractor I work with. He’s really good.”

“He?”

“Forty-nine, happily married, grandchild on the way.”

“Glad to hear it.”

She shook her head and looked into the back of the Range Rover.

Terrell slept, his head bobbing with the ride.

“Looks like you wore him out.”

“Too much ski ball.”

“Where’d you go?”

“Chuck E. Cheese’s. Which was a mistake—an obnoxious amount of autographs and pictures.” He raised his eyebrows, puffed out his cheeks. “Then we found a park with those remote control boats.”

“Sounds fun.”

“It was. And I didn’t have to see the guys get blown out in New York.”

“They lost?”

He nodded, melancholy in the motion.

“They haven’t won a game since you got hurt.”

He shrugged. Weariness clung to his features, dragging his mouth down. He looked so different without his usual smile.

Poor Mike.

Poor Mike—what was she thinking? When he’d actually blamed
her
tonight for their messed-up marriage? A hard thing to do when he’d had the affair, left, and filed for divorce.

What could he fault her for? She closed her eyes. He’d been busy, loving life in the big leagues. She’d filled his days away with design classes and friends, with decorating her home and her friends’ homes. He’d spent hours hitting in the cage, hours working on defensive skills, hours working out—and that was the off-season. What was wrong with finding her own interests?

Meg opened her eyes.

They sat at a red light.

Mike was watching her.

He turned back to the stoplight, silence filling the air between them.

She closed her eyes again and pretended to doze.

But the emptiness that had been on his face was hard to ignore.

When the Range Rover stilled, Meg looked up to find her dark house before them.

She’d forgotten to leave a light on. As usual.

“I’ll get Terrell.” Mike opened his door, light filling the interior.

Meg reached for her purse.

It wasn’t beside her feet or her seat. Mike must have put it with her bags.

But it wasn’t there, either.

She’d left it at Dana’s house.

“Mike, I forgot my purse.”

He looked up from where he was about to lift a still-sleeping Terrell from his carseat. He sent her a blank look.

“My keys. I’m locked out.”

“Don’t you have a spare somewhere?”

He’d be mad. “I’ve been meaning to do that.”

He rested his good arm on the doorframe, eyes closing.

“I was in a hurry to get out of there…” Why was she apologizing?

“It’s fine.” Lips pinched, he fumbled with Terrell’s seat belt. “We’ll just go back. Like I’ve got anything to do tomorrow, anyway.” He shut Terrell’s door before returning to his seat. He tossed her his cell. “Let them know we’re coming.”

Meg called, but no one answered.

How could she have forgotten her purse? If she’d gone alone, this would not have happened. The next time Mike pulled this stunt, she’d bring that up.

The Range Rover’s clock read 10:13 when Mike pulled into Ben and Dana’s driveway. The front of the house was dark.

Mike sent her a look of pure frustration.

“They could still be up,” she said.

“Right. I’ll wait here.”

“Thanks a bunch.” She stepped out of the Range Rover, planning to walk to the front door, but as she rounded the Range Rover, light spilling into the backyard caught her attention. She walked the length of the drive and crossed the grass to the back stairs.

Kitchen light rested on the lawn in a golden rectangle.

The interior door must be open. Someone was up.

Meg took one step up the stairs and screamed Mike’s name.

Mike lurched at Meg’s scream. He pressed the gas, raced up the driveway, almost bumping the garage. He slammed the vehicle into Park and jumped out, leaving his door open.

Meg stood on the bottom stair, hands covering her mouth.

Mike grabbed her around the waist and tugged her aside, his gaze darting to the doorway.

A woman—his sister, Betsy—lay on the kitchen floor, motionless, bruises darkening on her face, the one eye he could see swollen. Blood trickled from a small cut at the corner of her mouth, but far worse was the blood beneath her head.

Mike gasped for air, reaching for the top step. Not Betsy, not again.

Someone pulled him back. “Don’t go in!”

He turned.

Meg? Why was she here?

Her hand on his arm shook. “Don’t, Mike!” she begged.

A neighbor’s porch light flashed on, and a man in a Bears T-shirt looked out.

“Call 911!” Mike hollered. “Someone’s hurt!”

The man scurried back inside.

Mike looked at Betsy, but it was Dana lying there—alive or dead? He squeezed his eyes shut, opened them, mentally shook himself. “Get in the Range Rover,” he said, “and lock the doors. I’ll check her.”

“Mike! What if whoever did that—”

“Ben did this.” He clenched his shaking fingers into a fist. The guy deserved a beating of his own. “Get in the car. If you see him, lay on the horn.”

Meg ran.

Mike waited until the Range Rover’s door slammed, then stepped into the kitchen. The screen fell shut behind him. So what? If Ben were in the house, he’d already heard them, already knew they were there.

He knelt beside Dana and felt her wrist.

Nothing.

He held his lip between his teeth. That didn’t mean anything. He wasn’t an EMT. What did he know? He sat back and slowed his breathing. He couldn’t do anything anyway—

Her chest rose.