Crashing the Congressman’s Wedding (Crimson Romance) (10 page)

Justin dropped his chin to chest and squeezed his temples. What was he doing standing in the hallway like this with campaign slogans running through his head? Why was he thinking about political agendas when his mother was down the hall recovering from a heart attack?
Priorities.

And Robert had the audacity to question his commitment.

“Hey.”

Justin lifted his head and turned toward the voice.

Will, cell phone in hand, strode toward him. “End of the hall. Hang a right. She’s fading fast, so hurry.”

Justin’s heart slammed against the wall of his chest. “What?”

“Sorry. Bad choice of words. She’s tired, drifting off, going to sleep. Take your pick.” He raised his phone to his ear and gave Justin’s back a pat. “I’ll only be a minute.”

Walking the remainder of the sterile hallway, Justin’s heart rate retained its scattered beat. His mother’s tiredness was expected, but hospitals were containers for the unexpected. One minute his father had been smiling and squeezing his hand, the next minute he had been coding.

Not the same
, Justin thought, rubbing his fingers across the tight skin of his forehead.
Cancer obliterated his father. His mother suffered a heart attack. His brain knew the difference, but his throbbing heart and burning eyes proved his body didn’t.

He wished Will would return. Will was the rational Mitchell brother. He’d keep things focused when Mark started accusing Justin of breaking his mother’s heart. But maybe Justin deserved the blame. After all, he walked out of that church knowing full well his actions would jeopardize the decades-long relationship between the Mitchells and Parrishes.

A foot from the door, Justin paused and looked behind him for Will. The hall was empty. So much for moral support. He pressed a palm over his nose and mouth, and took one last deep breath. All too soon he was dropping his hand, setting his face, rolling his shoulders and stepping into the room.

“You look like hell.” His mother propped on pillows, while Mark sprawled in a chair beside her bed. She was pale, like the sickly green of the hospital gown gaping around her bony neck, and she was angry. He could tell by the hitch in her withered lips and the flare of a single nostril.

Angry or not, she was alive.

Justin crossed the room to the slow beeping of the monitors which were attached to every inch of his mother. At her side, he kicked Mark’s leg out of the way and leaned over to place a kiss on her clammy cheek. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he whispered. He would’ve grabbed her hand, but the sight of the IV pooling with drops of her blood was enough to make him woozy.

When he straightened, her shoulders slumped and her gasp echoed, sounding an alarm of beeps.

Mark shoved Justin aside to grab her hand. “It’s okay, Mom.”

Justin looked at the call button, resting beside his mother’s IV-tethered hand. He took a step away from the bed, ready to run for a nurse.

Mark fawned over her like he had since the day their father died. The more he stroked her thinning hair and spoke soothing words, the more the beeping slowed.

But Justin’s heart rate didn’t. It wasn’t that he believed her to be in grave danger. He’d seen his father sicker than this. It wasn’t that he wanted to comfort her. Mark had a solid hold on that. Justin’s racing heart was likely the byproduct of the panic that had been his constant companion since the church, a feeling that he was careening out of control.

Mark sat back and glared at Justin. Words weren’t needed to convey his message. Justin knew Mark blamed him for the heart attack. Nothing new. Mark blamed Justin for everything. Justin used to think it was the result of jealousy. After all, Mark’s token role in the family business was more a result of genetics than professional prowess — it was hard to make a name for yourself when you were busy gossiping with your mother. But now, along with the panic, Justin was feeling paranoid. Maybe Mark’s resentment was warranted.

Justin chewed his bottom lip and watched his mother struggle for sleep. The scattered thoughts, beeping machines and chill temperature of the room, made him just as restless.

“You’re going to look back one day and realize none of it was worth it.” Mark said, adjusting in the creaking vinyl chair.

“Easy for you to say,” Justin retorted without taking his eyes off his mother. “You only have one person depending on you. I have thousands.”

Mark scoffed. “You’re a self-crowned hero, bro. And that’s the worst kind.”

“Gentleman, another time, another place.” Will strolled into the room. “I have news. Robert and Harold want to meet.”

Justin snapped his head to attention. “When?”
Finally.
Now they could get the plan back on track and forget about the misstep at the church.

“In a half hour.”

The monitors’ beeping accelerated, drawing Justin’s attention back to his mother. “But I just got here. I haven’t spent any time with her.”

“They asked to meet with Mark and me … without you.”

Justin twisted his neck, causing a muscle strain. “Hell, no. I spearheaded this deal. I’m going to close it.”

“You nearly destroyed it,” Mark said, standing.

For a man who showed little interest in business, Mark was certainly enthusiastic to be included in the meeting. The funny thing was, despite his vibrato, a part of Justin was more than happy to miss the powwow and spend time with his mother. The sad thing was, he was too much of a control freak to bow out gracefully. “I’m going.”

“No, you aren’t.” Will shook his head. “Robert said he’d see you bright and early tomorrow morning in your office instead … something about keeping you focused on the campaign.”

Mark rolled his eyes.

“I can focus on MCI
and
my political career. I
am
focused on MCI and my political career. This is crazy.” The panic consumed him, clawing its way from the pit of his stomach and burning a trail across his face.

“Maybe.” Will said. “But I think it’s wise we cooperate with them until we know where this plant deal is headed.”

Complete cooperation.

Justin winced. This was his deal, his mess. He should be the one fixing it. He was always the one fixing things. But for the first time in years, he’d lost the vote of confidence.

Even worse, he didn’t have a plan to get it back.

Alice opened the cupboard doors in the box office and screamed. A dead mouse — at least she thought it was dead — littered the middle shelf. She slammed the door and ran into the lobby, shaking her head and hands, jumping from one foot to the other, hoping to wiggle the disgusting image out of her head.

“Yuck. Yuck. Yuck.”

Now what? After years of watching her mother cower under the thumb of a man, Alice prided herself on not needing one. But there were times when one would come in handy. She covered her face with her hands and growled in frustration. No,
she
was going to handle the mouse.

Bolstered by a few deep breaths, she tiptoed to the office doorway and peeked inside. What if he wasn’t dead? What if when she opened the cupboard he jumped at her? She whimpered and held a hand around her neck, sealing the gaps in her T-shirt collar.
Oh God.
This was going to be a nightmare.

She stepped inside the office and listened. If he scurried, so would she. She stepped closer still, the only sound the echo of her open-mouth breaths. She could leave him there, couldn’t she? She didn’t have to do this. There were so many other things to do. Stacks of boxes lined the second-floor rooms. She could sort through those. But what if there were mice in the boxes, too?

With another squeal, she retreated to the lobby, shaking her head. She needed an exterminator. She needed a cleaning crew. She needed … the grant. Maybe then she’d get some help, because right now, she was a little overwhelmed with the mouse, the theatre, Charlie. She couldn’t believe he was going to be a father. She couldn’t believe she was going to be an aunt. She couldn’t believe neither one of them would ever hold that baby.

Alice slumped into a folding chair.

“Hi.” The greeting sounded simultaneously with the scraping of the front door. Justin stepped off the darkened street and into the lobby. “I was coming from the hospital and saw the lights on.” He shoved his hands into his pants pockets and hitched his shoulders to his ears. “How’d it go with Morgan?”

Alice stifled a miserable laugh. Justin didn’t want to know. Oh, he thought he did, but looking at his wrinkled forehead, red-rimmed eyes, tousled hair and crinkled clothes, she knew he was under enough stress.

“How’s your mother?” Alice asked instead.

“She’s going to be okay.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

He scoffed. “Of course.”

She raised her brows in an I-don’t-believe-you sort of way.

“It’s just going to take some time,” he continued. “How much time all depends.” He pushed a breath past flabby lips.

“On what?”

“A lot of things.” He shuffled his feet, drawing Alice’s attention to his loafers. They seemed to have lost their shine. “Did Morgan find you, or did you leave before she got there?”

“She found me.”

Justin sighed. “I told you to leave.” His voice was missing its usual strength.

“And I told you to stop telling me what to do.” Maybe the exhaustion from the long drive and Morgan’s admission and the mouse in the cupboard had tempered Alice’s mood, because there wasn’t an ounce of anger in her words. In fact, she smiled, hoping to settle him and absolve her of any guilt that would come with avoiding the whole truth about Charlie and Morgan. “Relax, Justin. I didn’t say a word about the beach. I barely said anything.”

“What’d she say?”

A lot. Too much. So little that was safe to repeat. Alice gulped and latched onto the least painful truth. “She said … I can’t have you.” It still hurt like hell.

As an awkward silence filled the lobby, memories of the one and only time she’d almost had him filled her head. The air crackled between them.

Damn him. Damn the beach. Damn whatever stupid feelings lingered.

Wrinkles from his forehead dropped to the bridge of his nose. “Alice, I … ”

“Can you get rid of a mouse for me?” It seemed like a safer subject.

“Excuse me?”

“There’s a dead mouse in my office. I’d like him gone.”

Justin sucked a noisy breath through his mouth and nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

Thankful to be free of the two topics she wanted most to avoid, Alice stood and walked to the office. “It’s in there,” she said, pointing to the cupboards.

When he passed, he brushed a hand over the small of her back. It may have been an innocent gesture meant to gain him space to slip into the room, but that thought didn’t stop heat from searing her shirt and scalding her skin.

He looked around the room. “Do you have something for me to grab it with? A plastic grocery bag, maybe?”

He hadn’t shaved since the wedding. She’d noticed it in the car while they were racing away from the beach. The stubble she’d grazed with her lips had darkened, giving him a dangerous edge. It was dangerous because he didn’t look at all like Congressman Mitchell.

She stared a little too long.

“Alice, a bag?”

She startled. “Yes. No. I mean … ” Looking around the messy room, she expected to find a grocery bag. “You’d think so, huh? What about some rags? I think it’s dead.”

His green eyes widened and blinked. “You think?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t move when I screamed, but I didn’t keep the door open long, so I didn’t get a good look.”

With his shoulders rising and falling, he shook his head. “Is it in a trap?”

“I don’t think so.”

Still shaking his head, he opened the cupboard door. “It’s dead.”

“Good.”

He walked to a nearby pile of garbage and grabbed a pizza box. A petrified piece of pepperoni pizza slid onto the floor, landing inches from his shoes. He looked at the pizza and then at her. “No wonder you have mice.” There was a touch of Congressman Mitchell in his sneer.

Alice snorted in defense. “I have mice because the theatre is old and empty.”

“You need to clean this place before it’s condemned,” he warned.

She glared at Congressman Mitchell as he walked out of her office, carrying the box in both hands. He probably deserved a thank-you, but she hated the fact that he was still telling her what to do, so she bit her tongue and waited for the front door to scrape. When she heard it, she exhaled. With the mouse gone, she could get back to work.

Moving to the pile of trash where Justin found the pizza box, Alice cringed. It was a mess, but it wasn’t solely hers. Some of the trash, like the empty cartons of cigarettes, came with the building. Regardless, she needed to clean, but not because Justin told her to.

With a grunt, she dragged an empty box toward a pile of garbage and shoveled some trash inside. It was a gross job, but somebody had to do it. Since she didn’t have help — yet — the only somebody around was her. And if cleaning up kept the mice at bay, she’d do it.

Alice picked up an empty soda can and drilled it into the side of the box. Next, she reached for some water-stained paper towels.

“Start a separate box for non-recyclables.”

She jumped, and turned to see Justin, pulling a box to the pile beside her. The cuffs of his shirt were rolled up over his forearms. “What are you doing?”

He bent at the waist and gathered ancient magazines. “I’m helping you.” He tossed the tattered papers into his box and bent again to grab a dried-out paintbrush. “Slide your box closer.”

“Why?”

“So I can reach.”

The box was on her right, but she didn’t move. “No. Why are you helping me? I cause you nothing but trouble, remember?”

He straightened and tilted his head, his jaw pulsing. “I don’t want to argue, Alice. I want to stay busy, do something constructive.”

“I thought you said your mother was okay.”

“She is.”

“Then … ”

“I don’t want to talk. I want to work.”

“Fine.” Alice pitched another can into the box.

The more they cleaned, the more she questioned his motivation. He came for answers about her confrontation with Morgan. He got those answers — as far as he knew. Why was he still here? What could he be avoiding that was worth the risk of being here with her?