“Was it a heart attack?”
“More of a ‘my-daughters-don’t-visit-me-enough’ attack.”
“A false alarm?”
Bella sighed. “Another.”
“You really should visit her more often.”
Bella threw her hands up. “There’s no such thing as often enough. I swear, the woman wants to crawl inside my life and nest.”
Cassie smothered a laugh. Yeah. She felt the same way sometimes.
“It’s better than having parents who could give a rat’s ass.” Lucy speared the bacon with a fork and then smiled. It was a patently fake smile, though no one commented.
They all knew. They knew Lucy’s parents. Knew she was nothing more than a glittering accessory to their glittering lives. A trinket in a treasure chest of baubles.
“There.” Lucy spoke into the silence, shattering the discomfort of her friends’ pity. “The bacon is done.”
Not bothering with fake eggs and toast—because who would when there was bacon?—they all poured cups of fresh coffee and took their plates to the table. Even Bella, who wolfed down the very un-vegan offering like it was her last meal. And then she stole some of Emily’s when she wasn’t looking.
Stupid Emily, for not looking.
“Oh,” Bella said as she popped the last crispy ort into her gaping maw. “I remembered who he is.”
Cassie’s bacon bliss shattered. Because she knew to whom Bella referred. Still, she said, “Who?”
Bella shot her a glower. “You know damn well who, ya damn poacher. Dylan Deveney. The Highlander.” She leaned in and hissed, “The one you spent the night with? Remember him?”
Cassie cleared her throat and meticulously wiped her hand on a napkin.
“Well?” Emily nudged Bella and—thank God—attracted her gimlet gaze. “Who is he? It’s been driving me nuts.”
Bella sat back and puffed up her chest, clearly reveling in the attention and the fact that she knew something the others didn’t. “He’s the guy on the radio. The shock jock. I know you’ve heard of him.”
Cassie’s belly dropped as realization hit.
Holy hell. Yes. Now she placed the low, raspy tones of his familiar voice. She’d listened to his show once. Once. She’d turned it off. And the ringtone on his phone? His show’s trademark jingle.
“
That
guy?” Lucy boggled. “The
What’s Hot, What’s Not Blog
called him a juvenile douche bag with a potty mouth and a puerile sense of humor.”
“He’s hysterical,” Bella insisted. “I listen to him every morning.”
“You would.” Emily sniffed. “I, for one, have never heard his show. But I’ve read about it. He’s revolting.”
“His show must be just an act,” Lucy said, shooting Cassie a surreptitious look. “He didn’t seem like a jerk yesterday. He seemed really nice.”
Emily nibbled her lower lip. “He was nice…”
Bella nodded, blotting bacon crumbs with a finger. “I didn’t recognize him because in all the promo pictures he has long, flowing hair.” She waggled her brows. Bella dug long, flowing hair on a guy.
Lucy took a sip of her coffee. “Oh yeah. I remember reading about it in the paper. One day he up and shaved it off.”
“Shaved it?” The way Bella screeched, you’d think he’d kicked a puppy. “Damn crime against nature,” she mumbled.
Cassie gaped at Lucy. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“You read
the paper
?” Who did that anymore?
“Why?” Bella wailed. “Why would he shave his head? Guys with long hair are hot.”
A little demon goaded her, and Cassie couldn’t resist. “Holt has long hair,” she murmured.
It was fun watching Bella blush. She wrinkled her nose, and her diamond stud winked. “Holt’s an ass.”
“So is Dylan Deveney.” Lucy smirked.
Heat crawled up Cassie’s neck. Dylan wasn’t an ass. She was beset with the urge to defend him. But she didn’t. Besides, the jury was still out. If he never called—as she suspected would be the case—then, and only then would she label him an ass. There was still hope. But a dwindling brand of it. She cleared her throat. “So, Em, why did he cut his hair?”
Emily shook her head. “I can’t remember, exactly. I think it was something about someone having cancer and losing their hair? He shaved it off in solidarity.”
Cassie’s pulse stilled. She suddenly knew, with a certainty that poleaxed her.
Lila
.
Lila, his little girl, his princess, had had cancer. And lost her hair.
And he’d shaved his head, sacrificed his iconic locks, to make her feel better.
Cassie’s throat closed up. It didn’t sound like something an ass would do. It sounded like something a father would do. A father who desperately loved his daughter.
She rose and turned away from the table, strolling to the slider, staring out at the crashing surf. But she saw none of the magnificent panoply. Barely heard the conversation nattering on behind her.
Her heart ached for him. Wept at his loss. She knew how it felt to lose someone to cancer. A dear brother was bad enough. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose a child.
Chapter Eleven
The cacophony, when Dylan stepped over his sister’s threshold, was overwhelming. After the dead quiet of his little cabin once Cassie left and the long, serene ferry ride back to Seattle, the squeals and laughter coming from the family room were almost painful. Dylan had dreaded this day and contemplated making up some stupid excuse to cry off the family get-together, but in the end he decided it wasn’t fair to Sara. And besides, Dawn would know it was a stupid excuse and never let him forget it.
She met him at the door with a warm, sisterly hug. “You made it!”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Funny how the lie slipped out.
Her expression puckered as she studied him, as though she smelled the prevarication in his tone. But she didn’t comment on it. Bless her. “Come in. Sara will be delighted you made it.”
He handed his sister a small wrapped package. She traced the glittery bow with a finger. “She’ll like this.”
Dylan forced a chuckle. “You don’t even know what it is.”
Dawn shrugged. “Won’t matter. It came from you.”
A piercing shriek rattled his eardrums, and a ball of pink tulle rocketed across the airy foyer and launched herself at him. He caught her—he couldn’t not—and hefted her up into his arms, though it pained him to do so. “Uncle Dylan!” she squealed, wrapping her chubby arms around his neck and holding him in a death grip.
He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of little girl, trying desperately not to think of another little girl. One who would never hug him so fiercely again. “Happy birthday, sweetie.”
She leaned back and took his cheeks in her palms and held him steady so she could glare at him. She poofed out her cheeks and pursed her lips. “Where have you beeeeeeeen? I’ve been wanting to see you, and mommy says you’re busy and ‘please stop asking, Sara.’ But I’ve missed you sooooo much.”
Lila had been a drama queen as well. She and Sara had been cut from the same cloth. Which made it even more painful. Made it that much harder to pretend he wasn’t bleeding inside.
“I’m here now.”
“Ooh!” She wriggled until he set her down then took his hand and towed him into the family room. “There’s cake and pink ice cream, but we were waiting for you. Look who’s here!” she bellowed, elegant little hostess that she was. “Uncle Dylan!”
Heads turned. The younger guests grinned with glee. Older, more sedate eyes studied him with a wary weight. He knew what they were wondering. Was he drunk? He didn’t blame them. He’d ruined more than one family get-together with his surly moods and penchant for attempting to drown his pain.
With something akin to shock, he realized he hadn’t had a drink in over a month.
Aaron nodded from where he perched on the bricks of the fireplace with an infant on his knee. His wife, Jana, held the other twin. Dylan dipped his head in their general direction, but didn’t make eye contact with his brother. They hadn’t spoken since that last fight; Dylan was far too bitter to apologize.
Steven sat on the sofa, surrounded by little ones as well. He and Donna had a full brood of five. And number six was starting to show.
Dylan swallowed the bile rising in his throat and forced a congenial smile. “Hey.”
Jake loped in from the kitchen with Trevor clinging to his back, brandishing an imaginary lasso. “Hey Dylan,” he grunted as he passed.
“Faster, Uncle Jake,” Trevor commanded, and Jake complied, disappearing into the hall.
It was always like this. Insanity. Families. Children.
He’d forgotten.
A part of him wanted to turn and run for the hills.
But he couldn’t. Sara still had hold of his hand. As though she would never let him go. “Sit down, Uncle Dylan,” she ordered. “I want to sit on your lap. Did you see my crown?” She tipped her head up and grinned. Her dimples winked at him. A shaft of pain sawed at his heart. Two little girls should never look so alike. It wasn’t fair.
“It’s a very pretty crown.”
“I’m a princess today.” He sat on the sofa, and she crawled into his lap and put her nose against his and stared at him. Because they were so close—far too close—she had to cross her eyes to make the impact she desired. “I was hoping you’d come to my party, Uncle Dylan. I’m this many.”
She pulled back to show him what he already knew. Five chubby fingers waved before his face.
“Wow.” He swallowed. “Five already? You’re so grown up.”
This seemed to appease her. She wriggled off his lap, made a little pirouette before him and struck a pose, arms arched over her head. “I’m in ballet.”
“Really?” He glanced at Dawn who was watching her daughter show off—and torment her brother—with a doting expression. It was wrong of him to feel the shaft of unadulterated jealousy. Dawn deserved to be happy. She deserved to have a houseful of laughing, healthy, mischievous children. All his siblings did. It was wrong to feel bitter.
“Nuh huh. And
pinano
. Wanna hear?”
All the other adults in the room groaned, but Sara ignored them and flitted over to the upright in the corner and lifted the cover. She settled herself primly on the bench and proceeded to butcher “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” hitting more wrong notes than right.
Dylan blinked back the sting of tears.
She was so precious. Too precious.
And she was five.
Lila had been diagnosed at five.
And then she was gone in the blink of an eye.
“How are you holding up?” Dawn cornered him after dinner, caught him standing by the window holding a paper plate with a slice of pink cake gored with a plastic fork, otherwise untouched.
“I’m…okay.”
She crossed her arms and leaned against the pane. “Liar. Still, I appreciate you coming. She’s been talking about you for days.”
The furniture had been cleared to the sides of the room, and now the children were whacking a piñata with a baseball bat. Trevor, apparently, was a ferocious fiend when there was candy in the offing.
“I keep meaning to come more often, but…”
Dawn sighed. “I know. I get it.” She nibbled her lip, as though she wanted to say something but was holding it back.
Dylan frowned. “What?”
Her lashes flickered. “Have you gotten the test yet?”
His gut clenched. He looked away.
Shit.
Not this again. “There’s no need.” No need for any stupid test. When Lila had become sick, the hospital had screened both him and Helen for the Remlinger gene.
He would never forget that day. When they sat at the dining room table and stared at the envelope. Then Helen had opened it. Read the results. The accusation in her eyes when she finally looked up at him was burned into his brain. It had been the beginning of the end of their marriage.
“Dylan, you really should get re-tested. I tested negative. So did the others. None of your siblings have this gene, Dylan. What are the odds you do?”
“One in five.”
She glowered at him, clearly not appreciating his logic. “It just doesn’t make any sense. There’s no family history of Remlinger.”
“It was probably a recessive gene.”
“Or Helen was the carrier.”
Dylan raked his fingers through his hair. “Don’t start this again, Dawn. The results were pretty fucking clear.”
“Goddamn it Dylan, labs make mistakes all the time. I see it every day. How can you live your life with something like this hanging over your head and not get a confirmation? You need to know.”
“Maybe I don’t want to know.”
The heat of her glare singed him. “Quit punishing yourself.”
He waited until the acid churning in his gut settled before he answered. ”I’m not.”
“You are. It’s not your fault.”
“I have to go.” He shoved the paper plate with the slice of frothy pink cake at his sister and headed for the door.
Sara—eagle eye that she was—ran to intercept him. She grabbed his leg and hugged tight. And, as determined as he was to escape this torture, he couldn’t move. She was a dead weight.
“Uncle Dylan, are you going? Already?”
He disentangled her and knelt at her side. “I have to, sweetie. I have to work in the morning.” He hugged her then, because he didn’t want her to see his expression. He hugged her long and hard. “Happy birthday, princess,” he whispered. “I’ll come back and see you soon.”
He turned to leave but Dawn, being Dawn, had to have the last word. She followed him to the door and muttered, as he passed by her into the night, “It’s not your fault.”
But it was.
It was his fault.
Lila was dead because he’d given her the gene that killed her.
Chapter Twelve
“Darling!” Cassie’s mother wreathed her in a fragrant hug. Mother always wore this scent, something expensive and elegant. It clung to her like a cloud.
“Mother.”
“You’re just in time for dinner.” She patted her golden hair though, as usual, it was perfect, coiled into an intricate knot at her nape. “Do come in.”
Cassie handed over the obligatory bottle of pricey wine and followed her mother into the sitting room, barely listening as she oohed and ahhed over the vintage. Though Cassie knew it would go into the wine cellar with all the other bottles she’d brought.