Authors: Sally Bradley
She’d done everything she could to make sure Kendall had a good time, despite how sick it made her. Once, while he was on the phone, she’d thrown up in her bathroom and knew she couldn’t do it anymore. When he’d said he’d be back in two weeks for game seven, she’d wanted to dash for the bathroom again. But he’d handed her his June payment, another ten thousand in cash, and said he’d bring the extra four grand if he came back.
Fourteen thousand more. Another chunk out of her mortgage. Another several months closer to the home being all hers. She could do it a little longer.
“You okay, Miska?” Fatherly concern creased Dad’s forehead.
She smiled at him. “I’m thinking.”
“About?”
“Just… work stuff.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m losing an editing client in a few months.”
“Ah. Have any new leads?”
“I’ve got feelers out. Too early to know, though.”
“Something will show up.”
“Right.” Spoken like someone who wasn’t affected by her forthcoming money woes. Maybe that fourteen thousand should go in the bank, just in case.
The thought made her instantly nauseous. Something would come along before things got bad. Hadn’t they before?
Of course those things had been Mark and Kendall.
She shivered. She couldn’t handle another man.
“They keep this place so cold. Here.” Dad handed her his jacket. “This will help.”
Arguing wasn’t worth the effort. She draped the jacket across her shoulders. “Thanks.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
The least he could do. Yes, there was so much more he could have done. Her sinuses tingled. Great. Nothing like crying in public. She pressed her fingertips against her nose.
“What is it?”
Her fingers fought back the pain. “I just wish you’d been there.”
“Been where?”
“Everywhere I was. Everywhere Wade and Zane and Mom were. We were never a family.” She stared at the couple in the corner, at the man playing got-your-nose with one of his girls. What would her life be like if her parents had stayed together? Then again, switch the gender on all the kids, and she could be looking at her own family months before it came apart.
Dad cleared his throat. “I’ve told you how sorry I am.”
She dragged her gaze to his. Saying it once made it better? “You could say that every day for the rest of my life, and it wouldn’t fix a thing.
Dad
.”
“You’ll feel better if you forgive me.”
“How do you know?”
He shrugged. “Forgiveness makes a difference.”
“Who did you have to forgive?”
He stared at his half-empty glass.
Exactly. What did he know about how she felt?
Her gaze wandered again to the happy family. The mom scolded a twin while she wiped the baby’s hands. The man laughed and shoveled another forkful of pasta into his mouth.
What was wrong with her that she couldn’t catch a man like that woman had?
Movement between her and the family distracted her. Her eyes adjusted.
A man in a dark blue suit smiled at her.
She blinked back. He thought she was looking at him? He raised his eyebrows, and she turned toward the other side of the restaurant, watching a handful of people leave through the glass doors.
Get the hint, buddy?
“Miska.” Dad wiped his mouth. “You don’t know what my family was like.”
“That would be because you’ve never told me.”
“It wasn’t
Leave It to Beaver
. Not even close.”
“Who wants
Leave It to Beaver
anymore? Or do guys really wish their wives wore dresses and pearls while they made dinner?”
He studied her.
She sniffed, the pungent scent of olives and vinegar penetrating her nose. “I’m sorry. It’s not been a good week.”
“So I see.” He went back to his sandwich, lips pursed, eyebrows raised.
Miska rolled her eyes. “I’m thirty. You don’t need to treat me like I’m a smart-mouthed thirteen-year-old.”
“Then don’t act like one.”
She shot to her feet. Her thighs banged the table, and the jacket fell. “I’ve got better things to do than listen to this.” She grabbed her purse. “Thanks for lunch. Talk to you later.”
“Miska—”
She held up a hand as she walked away, longing to break into a run. She ran her palm down the snug white sheath she wore and sucked in a breath. Looked like he wanted to make up for everything after all, including treating her like a child.
He had no right.
Outside, she stopped on the busy sidewalk, not caring that people had to veer around her. She breathed deeply the mix of lake-fresh air, car fumes, cooking oil, and tires. Ahead of her a horn honked, then blared. This she could manage. This she understood.
Her dad, she did not.
She turned for home, glancing in the restaurant’s windows.
Her dad wrote furiously in a notebook.
She halted. He was writing? He hadn’t bothered coming after her? But what should she expect? He’d chased skirts, never his children.
Someone stopped beside her. “Miss? You dropped this.”
She forced herself to look away from her dad.
The man in the blue suit stood beside her. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
He held out a white business card.
“What’s this?”
He grinned at her, a dimple forming in one cheek. “You dropped this.”
She had? She took the card.
Allen Carmichael, attorney—
She threw the card to the ground. “I did not drop that,” she snapped and marched down the street.
“Come on.” He laughed, right behind her. “Don’t be like that.”
She whirled on him. “And what should I be like? Huh, Allen? You don’t even know my name.”
“Your dad said it was Mariska.”
“My dad.”
“He said you needed a good, stable man in your life. I saw the way you were looking at that family. I could give you that.”
She jerked her finger at him, her whole body shaking. “My
dad
doesn’t have the first clue about what I need. And you’re definitely not it. So no thank you.”
She spun on her heel and stormed away from a father who gave her name to strangers, from a man who wanted her just for fun, toward the home that was her haven—until she’d invited Kendall inside.
Until she’d invited Mark.
She dashed tears from her eyes. A horn blared in her ear, and someone jerked her back. She blinked at the cab that had been turning the corner, a foot or two from where she’d almost stepped off the curb. The front end of the cab still lurched.
“Watch where you’re going,” someone warned.
“Sorry.”
The cab continued, the walk sign flashed, and she darted across the street. Another block and she’d be home. Safe in her apartment. Safe alone.
How she wished the man of her dreams waited there for her.
How was lunch?
he’d ask.
How’s your dad?
She’d tell him how he’d treated her, and he’d take her in his strong arms—well, one strong and one in a cast—and hold her close. And it would be all right.
Everything would be all right.
Except that it could never be all right. She’d seen the revulsion on Dillan’s face. He knew now what she really was, how cheap and easy she was.
A man like him would never look at her.
She’d made a terrible, horrible mistake when she’d let Mark into her life. But how could she have known that the most perfect man she’d ever meet was thirteen months away from moving in next door?
What she wouldn’t give to do those months over.
Safe inside her condo, she changed out of the dress and threw it in her hamper. She should burn it. Blue-suit man had appreciated it too much.
Blue-suit man…
She dressed, then called her father, ignoring his hello. “What are you doing, giving my name out to men?”
“Calm down, Miska. You make it home okay?”
“You mean did I get assaulted by Allen? No, I fought him off. Yes, I’m home.”
He chuckled.
“It’s not funny. I can’t believe you told some stranger my name. You’re supposed to look at every man interested in me like you’re going to kill him.”
“I thought you said you were thirty.”
He had no
clue
how to be a dad. “When it comes to men, could you pretend I’m thirteen? Don’t give out my name.”
“I know Allen, some. We’ve had lunch together. He isn’t a stranger.”
“He is to me.”
“You need a good guy, Miska.”
“I’ll find him myself, thank you.”
“You mean Mark?”
“No.”
No?
She sucked in a breath. “Could you do me a favor and just play Dad? Chase the guys away? Love me no matter what?”
“I’m doing my best, Miska.”
She rubbed her forehead. Today his best was lacking. “I need to go.”
“You know it’s awfully hard to be a good dad when you didn’t have one yourself.”
So there it was. It wasn’t his fault, just like it wasn’t Wade’s fault or Zane’s fault that they couldn’t make a marriage last. “You know, Dad, I’m sorry you had a rotten family life. I am, because I know what that’s like.”
“Don’t throw that back at me.”
“I’m not. Honestly. But don’t you think someone needs to stand up and say enough? That it’s time to quit passing on the mistakes of our parents? Don’t you get tired of that?”
He didn’t say anything.
“I have a nephew I never see because he lives with his mom who hates Zane’s guts. And Zane thinks his son will be fine without him because he was fine without his dad. And I wonder what that little boy will grow up to be, what he’ll do to a woman twenty years from now. And all I wish is that some man out there would step in and be his dad and show him how to be the right kind of man.”
“Like I wasn’t, you mean.”
“It’s the truth, isn’t it?” She groaned. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to rub your past in your face. I’m just thinking out loud. Wishing I could make things better.”
“Some things can’t be fixed.”
“But we can’t give up on the future either.” What did her future hold? True love? A hot, faithful man who’d love her no matter what? Could Mark be that for her?
What about Dillan?
She pushed that idea away. Dillan
would
be faithful to his wife, just like he’d said. She tightened her grip on the phone. “I really have to go.”
“Miska—”
“No, Dad. I’ll talk to you later.” She hung up. Already she hated some woman she didn’t know, some woman who’d end up with a crazy-tall, decent-looking guy who’d love her in ways Miska couldn’t imagine.
If only Dillan had never seen Kendall. If only she’d never met Mark. If only…
She set the phone aside. “Enough,” she whispered.
Nothing changed. Kendall’s red silk duvet was still on her bed, the phone cord he’d forgotten still on her counter. He was still coming back. Mark was still coming back.
And Dillan—Dillan would never look at her again.
Miska was retouching her resume when the knock sounded. She glanced at the clock. Ten twenty-five at night. Who on earth?
Tracy stood outside, grinning. “Come with me. Hurry.”
“Where?”
“There’s no time. Come on.”
Miska followed her.
Tracy opened the door to Dillan and Garrett’s place.
Whoa. “Tracy—”
“Hurry up. Before he gets here.”
Inside hushed chatter and laughter sounded from the living room. Around the kitchen corner, two heads popped into view, peering down the dark hallway.
Miska sniffed. “I smell chocolate.”
“Surprise party for Dillan—and he’s in the building.”
The living room and kitchen opened up to over two dozen people crouching behind the island and furniture, tucked away in the kitchen or on the far side of the living room.
“He’s going to hate this.”
Cam chuckled from in front of the master bedroom door. “I know.”
He scooted sideways. Miska tucked herself beside him, Tracy on her other side. In front of the windows, Matt and Jordan crouched behind the overstuffed chair.
Garrett walked into the living room from the main hallway.
Someone groaned.
“Sorry.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I blame the chili dog.”
More hushed sounds of disgust spread through those closest to the hall.
Garrett sprawled across the couch and turned on the TV. “He’ll be here any second. Grin and bear it.”
Miska whispered in Tracy’s ear. “I don’t have anything for him.”
“It’s okay. We’re just hanging out.”
Did Tracy not know? Had Dillan kept what he’d seen to himself? “He won’t want me here.”
“So what? I do.”
People near the hallway shushed, and she heard the faint sound of a lock turning. The door squeaked open, and Garrett turned in his seat. “Hey, man.”
“Hey.” The door closed. “Aw, Garrett. What’s wrong with your bathroom?”
Dillan appeared, and people jumped up at him. “Surprise!”
He froze beside the island, his gaze flying around the room. People blew noisemakers and clapped, reached out to pound him on the back and tell him happy birthday. His look of shock faded to bemused acceptance. Miska hung back. She’d let him enjoy his friends before she wished him a happy birthday and left.
Garrett made his way behind the island and waved Dillan over. Two chocolate cakes, large circles of yumminess, sat on the counter.
Dillan gave a happy moan. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Portillo’s chocolate cake? Yeah.”
“Can it be my birthday every Friday?”
Miska smiled while the crowd laughed.
“Thank you all for coming. Have a safe trip home so I can be alone with my cake.”
“Hey now,” someone said.
He grinned. “Fine. I’ll share.”
Garrett raised a hand. “Since this is Dillan’s last year in his twenties, we decided we should have a party for him before he gets his wheelchair and can’t get around. Right, Cam?”
Cam gave him a thumbs-up. “Thank goodness for elevators.”
People laughed again, easily amused at the prospect of cake.
Miska looked back to see Dillan’s eyes shift from her to the cake, his easy grin gone.
Her own smile vanished. She shouldn’t be here.
Garrett continued. “We thought about putting twenty-nine candles on the cake, but we didn’t want to char the thing so…” He held up two fat number candles, one a two and the other a nine. He stuck them in the cake, the nine in front of the two. “Happy birthday, Dillan.”